Chapter 1

At two in the morning, Cordelia Borgia was bent over the toilet, retching until the room spun.

Her stomach wouldn’t stop twisting.

She forced herself upright and stumbled into the living room to look for antacids. She’d just reached her daughter’s bedroom door when she heard voices inside.

“Ms. Johnson, she ate it !”

Yara’s little-girl voice bubbled with excitement. “I put expired milk and a laxative in the frosting. I told her I made it myself, and she didn’t suspect a thing!”

Cordelia went still.

Through the crack in the door, she saw her daughter holding up a tablet, grinning into a FaceTime call.

“That’s what she gets for not letting me go to the amusement park and making me practice piano instead. Serves her right!”

Yara leaned closer to the screen, eager to impress. “And she’s so dumb. I’ve pranked her so many times already. That design draft and the dress last time? I did that on purpose, and she didn’t notice at all!”

A woman’s voice came through the speaker, soft and gentle. “Yara, you did great. But you can’t let your dad find out, okay?”

“I know, I know. It’s our little secret!”

Cordelia pressed back against the wall. Nausea surged again, burning up her throat.

Ever since Bianca Johnson came back, Yara had barely spoken to her properly. Cordelia had told herself it was a phase. She had never imagined this wasn’t even the first time.

Last month, Yara Foster had hidden one of her design drafts, leaving Cordelia tearing apart the apartment all morning. She’d missed a client meeting and gotten chewed out by her boss.

Two weeks ago, Yara had splashed paint all over the dress Cordelia bought for the company holiday party. She’d claimed her hand slipped.

Cordelia had believed that, too.

It had never crossed her mind to doubt her own daughter.

Only now did she understand that those weren’t accidents at all. Behind every one of them was Bianca’s voice—nudging, praising, guiding.

And the daughter Cordelia had nearly died bringing into this world had become her accomplice.

Cordelia didn’t know how she made it back to her bedroom.

She lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her chest felt packed with a dirty, soaked sponge—heavy, airless, suffocating.

Bianca was Nathan’s first love.

Seven years ago, Nathan Foster was in a car accident that damaged his spine and left him paralyzed. Bianca vanished overseas without a word.

During the worst year of his life, Cordelia quit her job and stayed by his side, day after day.

She learned massage and physical therapy and worked with him every day. She studied treatment plans and rehab—anything that might help—as he slowly learned to stand again.

Over time, Nathan opened his heart and let her in.

Eventually, they married, and life became quiet and steady—until it wasn’t.

Three months ago, Bianca came back and claimed she was terminal, with only six months to live.

After that, everything changed.

Bianca said she wanted to live close to him, so Nathan bought the condo next door and gave it to her.

Bianca said she wanted to see the world, so Nathan took her to Novaria.

Bianca said she liked the heirloom ring on his finger, and Nathan slid it off without hesitation and handed it over.

Even Yara drifted to Bianca’s side, farther and farther from her own mother.

Cordelia bit her lip until she tasted iron.

With shaking fingers, she grabbed her phone and called Nathan.

It rang for a long time before someone finally answered.

“Hello?” Bianca.

Cordelia’s breath snagged.

“Cordelia, are you looking for Nathan?” Bianca’s voice was warm and soft, almost friendly. “He’s in the shower. You can tell me—it’s the same thing.”

Cordelia’s lips trembled. She didn’t say a word. She hung up.

All night, she curled on the bed, shuttling between the bathroom and the mattress. Vomiting. Diarrhea. Again and again, until she was wrung dry and her stomach burned.

Near dawn, she heard an engine downstairs.

Nathan was home.

He opened the bedroom door and paused when he saw her sitting up. Normally, she’d already be downstairs making breakfast. “You look awful. What’s wrong?”

Cordelia didn’t look at him.

“Where were you last night?”

Nathan walked in, his stride long and casual. “At Bianca’s. She wasn’t feeling well, so I stayed with her.”

“She wasn’t feeling well, and you stayed the whole night.” Cordelia’s voice came out hoarse. “What about me? When I needed you, where were you?”

Nathan hesitated, just for a beat. “You’re fine now, aren’t you?”

Cordelia stared ahead, suddenly unsure how to answer. The words lodged in her throat like something too sharp to swallow.

She didn’t know how long it took before she heard herself say it. “Nathan, let’s get a divorce.”

Something flickered in his cool eyes. “Just because I didn’t come home last night?”

It was almost laughable—like something this small could really break a marriage.

But Cordelia only smiled, faint and tired. “Yes. Exactly because of that.”

Nathan’s face darkened. “Bianca only has three months left. I thought you’d understand.”

There it was again. Three months left.

So the whole world had to move aside for her.

So their daughter could be encouraged to hurt her own mother.

So her husband could spend the entire night at another woman’s side.

And Cordelia didn’t even have the right to be angry.

“What if she doesn’t die?” Cordelia shot back. “Are you going to treat her like this for the rest of your life?”

Nathan went still.

“If three months from now she’s still alive,” Cordelia said, locking her gaze on his, “how long are you planning to stay with her then? A year? Two? The rest of your life?”

“Cordelia!” Clouds gathered in Nathan’s eyes. “She’s a patient. Do you really have to be this cruel?”

“So what if she’s sick?” Cordelia’s breathing quickened, each inhale scraping. “Being sick gives her the right to tear apart someone else’s family?”

“She’s your childhood sweetheart, not mine,” Cordelia said, her voice shaking despite her effort to keep it steady. “Why am I the one who has to endure all this?”

Nathan’s gaze went flat, cold. Cordelia recognized it immediately—the warning sign before he lost his temper.

Time dragged. The tension thickened until it felt like it had weight.

“You’re worked up right now,” he said at last. “When you’ve calmed down, we’ll talk.”

He turned to leave.

Cordelia’s lungs tightened.

She was worked up. But she hadn’t always been like this.

He had.

Every time she confronted him, he met her with silence. She’d once told herself he was reserved, that he didn’t know how to say what he felt.

Later, she learned the truth. It wasn’t that he couldn’t. It was that he didn’t want to—with her.

Cordelia closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, everything looked brutally clear.

“Nathan.” She went to the desk, opened a drawer, took out a document, and set it in front of him. “There’s nothing left to talk about.”

Nathan turned back, brow furrowing as he looked down at the papers.

“I’ve already signed,” Cordelia said evenly. “I don’t want custody. Yara is yours. She doesn’t need me anyway. Ms. Johnson will take care of her.”

A storm gathered behind Nathan’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak—

His phone rang.

He barely glanced at the screen before answering.

The room went so quiet Cordelia could hear the faint rush of air from the vent. On the other end, Bianca’s breathing came in harsh, shaky pulls.

“Nathan,” Bianca whispered, “I feel terrible. I think I’m dying！”