Chapter 1

The day I lost my baby in a brutal hemorrhage, Dante Ashbourne was in the hospital room next door, celebrating the birth of his lover’s child.

He was all smiles, gushing over the newborn and promising her the most extravagant wedding in a month.

Meanwhile, I was curled up in agony, blood soaking through hospital sheets—grieving not just my miscarriage, but three years of lies.

Three years of a secret marriage to a man who promised me everything—if only I could give him a child.

Three years of humiliation, treated like a barren hen while his family whispered behind my back, calling me worthless.

And now? I was discarded like garbage.

Only then did the truth hit me.

The marriage certificate he'd shown me?!

Fake.

The promises? Lies.

He never planned to make me his wife.

He never loved me.

That baby wasn’t his.

Months before I got pregnant, I had already seen the test results.

It wasn’t me.

I was fertile. He wasn’t.

Dante was diagnosed with azoospermia. He couldn’t produce a single sperm.

He was biologically incapable of fathering any child.

So, while he was off on "business trips" to be with Dalia Monroe, I took matters into my own hands.

Every night he left me behind to crawl into her bed, I was slipping into his younger brother’s.

I had just come out of emergency surgery when I was wheeled back into my hospital room, barely conscious, blood still seeping from me.

That’s when I heard it—laughter and cheers echoing through the walls.

“Dalia, this is amazing. We finally have our own baby!”

It was Dante’s voice, overflowing with joy.

“When will you marry me?” Dalia asked softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Right now,” he said without hesitation. “I promise you, once you’ve recovered, I’ll give you the grandest wedding imaginable. You’ll become Mrs. Ashbourne in every sense.”

“What about Mireya Quinn?” she asked quietly.

Dante chuckled, his voice thick with disdain. “She’s nothing. I only married her to continue with the family name. But now that I have you, she’s out. I’ll kick her out of the Ashbourne family without a second thought.”

“And me?” Dalia pressed. “Am I just another woman you’re using?”

“Of course not, baby. You’re the woman I treasure. You’re the one I’ll protect for life.”

Those words stabbed through me like ice.

Tears spilled from my eyes as I lay there, helpless.

He used to say the same things to me. He once called me his everything. All I had to do was give him a child, and he would make me his wife in the eyes of the world.

But I tried. For three years, I tried.

And when I couldn’t get pregnant, his touches faded. His family turned cold. He turned colder.

He wasn’t until much later I discovered the truth: he was the problem. Not me.

I was still reeling from that memory when the door flew open.

There he was—Dante Ashbourne.

The man I had loved for far too long.

He didn’t even flinch at the sight of me lying pale and weak in the hospital bed. No concern. No remorse.

Just irritation.

“Mireya, stop this pathetic act,” he snapped. “I don’t have time for your drama. Dalia just gave birth to my child. She’s the only one who deserves to be Madam Ashbourne now.”

He didn’t ask about the miscarriage. Didn’t care about the accident. Didn’t even glance at the IVs or the blood-stained bandages.

All he saw was Dalia.

And all I felt was the final crack of heart shattering.

“This is what happens when you don’t take care of yourself during pregnancy,” he added coldly. “Let this be a lesson to you.”

A lesson?

I nearly died in that car crash.

And why was I even out that day?

Because I was worried he hadn’t eaten.

Because I had spent the morning making his favorite meal and bringing it to his office, wobbling around with my swollen belly while the young girls at his company mocked me behind my back—saying I looked like his mother.

He never defended me.

But I didn’t care. Back then, I was just happy to love him. To be his wife, even if it was in the shadows.

I never imagined he would turn around and blame me for the accident that killed our child.

Then he said something that nearly made me laugh from the absurdity.

“Dalia’s too weak to take care of herself after giving birth. Her family’s not here, so help her through the recovery. Make sure she’s comfortable.”

And just like that, he turned to leave—no room for protest, no thought for the woman who had just lost everything.

I stared at the door long after it closed.

This was the marriage I had bled for.

She had a smooth, perfect delivery. I had a miscarriage and a gaping hole in my heart.

And now I was expected to be her nanny?

A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

No more.

This was the day everything ended. And maybe... just maybe, it was also the day something new began.