Chapter 2

Jillian POV

Late that night, the nursery door was left slightly ajar.

Brendan sat on the floor, patiently assembling a wooden train track for Jaxon. The little boy had already fallen asleep, his wool blanket slipping below his shoulders. Brendan tucked the blanket around him, keeping his voice to a low whisper:

"You will never have to leave this home, Jaxon. No one will ever throw you away again."

"I will give you everything I have."

In our two years of marriage, I had never experienced this kind of absolute tenderness from Brendan. In his eyes, I was merely a docile, quiet, undemanding wife who managed his household. To protect his first love's child, he was willing to ruthlessly erase our own flesh and blood.

When Brendan was seven, his biological mother left him on the steps of the Potts family mansion, took a five-million-dollar buyout, and flew to Europe. He waited in the rain for eleven hours, clutching a plastic toy car. Ever since then, his greatest fear was "being abandoned."

Aurora was the only person who had never asked him for money. So when she brought Jaxon to him, Brendan felt like he could finally pull a child out of his own childhood nightmare.

Standing in the shadows of the hallway, I watched him slip that old toy car back into his pocket and found it utterly ridiculous. He was terrified of being abandoned, so he abandoned the child in my womb first; he used money to buy out other people's feelings, yet expected me to be eternally grateful to him.

I turned and walked back to the guest room, sat down at the small desk, and dialed Jackie Wiggins. She was my closest confidante and a seasoned commercial real estate broker in Midtown Manhattan.

"Jackie," I kept my voice low, "the deed to the Manhattan penthouse has officially been transferred to my name. I need you to run an off-market cash valuation for me immediately."

Jackie was highly professional; she didn't ask a single unnecessary personal question.

"I can get you three vetted international buyers by Friday," she said firmly. "Are you sure you want to liquidate this fast?"

"Yes. I need cash."

"Keep your cool, Jillian. Do not let him sense a single thing until the funds are safely sitting in your private Swiss account."

"I know what I'm doing."

After hanging up, I looked at my reflection in the dark windowpane. In four weeks, my pregnancy would start showing. My departure had to be swift, precise, and completely silent.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

I opened it. Brendan stood there, handing me a sleek black titanium credit card.

"This card is directly tied to my personal line of credit. There's no limit. Buy whatever clothes, jewelry, or art you want for the guest room."

"Thank you, Mr. Potts," I said, my hands resting casually by the pockets of my robe, my tone flat.

Hearing the formal, distant title, Brendan's brow instantly furrowed.

"Don't call me that," he said, taking a half-step forward, his voice low. "You are my wife, Jillian. Call me Brendan."

"Thank you, Brendan." I offered a submissive, hollow smile.

Brendan exhaled slowly. Seeing me yield so easily, his expression visibly relaxed. He placed the titanium card on the hallway side table, turned around, and walked back to the master suite.

I picked up the black card and glanced at the activation slip. The emergency contact number listed was Aurora Nelson.

I stared at the number for two seconds, let out a scoff, and tossed the card into the depths of my drawer. A limitless black card with his first love listed as the emergency contact—he gave me enough money, gave me enough humiliation, and still expected me to guard his gilded cage. He really had this whole game figured out.

My phone lit up. Jackie was calling.

"I've got a buyer inquiring on the off-market listing. I'll give you a firm update tomorrow."

"The sooner the better."

Just as I hung up, Brendan's footsteps paused outside the door.

"Who were you on the phone with?"