Chapter 1

The sterile scent of rubbing alcohol filled the air of the makeshift operating room in the Vanderbilt's upstate New York villa. This was my seventh time. Seven times pregnant with Ethan Vanderbilt’s child in five years. Olivia Hayes, his wife, stood over me. Her smile was a thin, cruel line. “Still fertile, Sarah?” She held a long, gleaming needle. My hands were tied to the cold metal table. “Ethan,” I whispered, a useless plea. He was there, in the doorway, a silhouette against the dim light from the hall. He watched. He always watched. Olivia’s face was close to mine. Her breath smelled of expensive perfume and something bitter. “He loves me, you know. He believes everything I tell him.” She said I’d ruined her life years ago, spread rumors about her. Ethan believed it. That’s why he kept me here. His revenge. The needle pricked my skin. I screamed. Olivia laughed. “This one won’t make it either, whore.” Ethan turned his back. Walked away. The pain was a fire consuming my belly. Then, a horrifying emptiness. Later, a doctor Ethan kept on call told me. “The fetus is gone, Ms. Jenkins.” His voice was flat, devoid of pity. “And your uterus… it’s severely damaged. We had to perform a hysterectomy.” No more children. Ever. The words echoed in the sterile room. My father. He was in a private nursing home, his care costing a fortune Ethan paid. My only connection to the outside world was through brief, monitored calls with him. When they told him about me, about the hysterectomy, about how his illness was the chain that bound me here… He couldn’t bear it. The nursing home called. “Mr. Jenkins… he jumped from the roof.” My father. Gone. Because of me. Because of them. The grief was a physical weight, crushing my chest. I had paid their price. My body, my babies, my father. It was enough. I had to leave.