Chapter 1

The sterile, white walls of the New York hospital room felt like they were closing in on me. The silence was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor beside my bed. Just hours ago, I had lost my baby, a late-term miscarriage that tore a hole through my world.

My body ached, a deep, hollow pain that medicine couldn't touch. I reached for my phone, my fingers fumbling. I needed my husband, Matthew. I needed to hear his voice.

As I scrolled through Instagram, waiting for his number to connect, my thumb froze. A new post from Matthew Roberts, my husband. It was a picture of a tiny, perfect footprint, stamped in ink.

The caption shattered what was left of my heart.

"Welcome to the world, little angel. Dad will always protect you."

The phone finally started ringing in my ear. He picked up on the third ring, his voice rushed and annoyed.

"Maddy? What is it? I'm kind of busy."

A sob caught in my throat. "Matthew, the baby... our baby is gone."

"I know, I know. The doctor called me," he said, his tone dismissive. "Listen, you just need to rest up and recover. Be strong."

"Be strong?" I whispered, disbelief turning my blood to ice. "Where are you? I need you here."

"I can't," he said, and I could hear the sound of a baby crying softly in the background. "Maria just gave birth. It was a difficult delivery, and she needs me. The baby needs me."

"Maria?" The name was a slap in the face. Maria Chavez, his former intern.

"Yes, Maria. You know the situation," he said, his voice dropping to a cruel, low command. "Don't let the one that's gone compete for attention with the one that's here, understand?"

He didn't wait for an answer. The line went dead.

I stared at the blank screen of my phone, his words echoing in the silent room. He wasn't just in the same city; he was in the same hospital. He was in the exclusive maternity wing with his mistress and their child while I was alone, grieving the loss of ours.

The grief inside me curdled, hardening into something cold and sharp. My tears stopped. My hands stopped shaking. A strange, terrifying calm washed over me.

I scrolled through my contacts, my thumb hovering over a name I hadn't called in years. Ethan Scott. My childhood friend. Matthew's biggest rival.

I pressed the call button. He answered almost immediately, his voice deep and familiar, cutting through the fog of my pain.

"Madisyn?"

"Ethan," I said, my voice steady. "I have a proposal for you."

There was a pause on the other end. "I'm listening."

"Marry me," I said, the words feeling foreign and powerful on my tongue. "I'll give you controlling shares of Jenkins Construction as a wedding gift. All I want is for you to help me ruin Matthew Roberts. Are you in?"

The silence that followed was long, filled with the unspoken history between our families, the summer days in the Hamptons, the future that was once planned for us.

Finally, he spoke, his voice laced with a dark warning. "The Scott family heirs can be widowed, but never divorced. Once you make this choice, there's no going back."

"I know," I said, looking at the empty space in my hospital bed. "There's nothing to go back to."

"Alright, Madisyn," he said, and I could almost hear the smirk in his voice. "I'm in."