The woman my husband has always loved appeared in tears with hardly a scratch, and he didn't even hear my explanation before stabbing me twice: "You will never lay a hand on her again." I woke up in the hospital three days later and kept my silence. When he came to apologize with a bouquet of roses, the doctor pointed to my twins' medical records, and his expression changed forever.

Outside the private wing of Chicago General Hospital, Flynn Vance sat in the back of his black Maybach, his head buried in his hands.

The scent of blood still seemed to linger on the palms of his hands, even though he had scrubbed them with scalding water until his skin was raw. Every time he closed his eyes, he didn't see the pristine corporate boardrooms he ruled; he saw Mabel lying on the hardwood floor of their living room, gasping for air, her blue sweater turning dark crimson.

And then he saw the ultrasound photo. Two distinct, tiny silhouettes.

"Boss?" His driver, Arthur, spoke cautiously from the front seat. "Miss Cole has called seven times. She says she’s waiting at your penthouse. She says she’s frightened."

At the sound of Selina’s name, something inside Flynn snapped.

For five years, Selina had been his ghost—the tragic first love who had walked away, leaving him feeling perpetually incomplete. He had put her on a pedestal, convincing himself that her fragile, innocent nature was something he needed to protect at all costs. He had treated Mabel’s steady, quiet devotion as something ordinary, a background noise to his grand life.

"Drive to the penthouse," Flynn said, his voice dangerously low.

Twenty minutes later, Flynn pushed open the heavy mahogany doors of his Gold Coast penthouse.

Selina was lounge-chair lounging in the living room, wearing one of Mabel’s silk robes, sipping wine from a crystal glass. Her forearm was wrapped in a neat white bandage. The moment she saw Flynn step inside, she immediately wiped her mouth, dropped the glass onto the table, and forced tears into her eyes.

"Flynn!" she sobbed, running toward him with open arms. "Oh thank God you're back! I was so worried! The police haven't come here, have they? You told them it was an accident, right? You told them she attacked me first?"

Flynn stood perfectly still as she threw her arms around his waist. He looked down at her face—the face he had spent years longing for. For the first time in his life, the illusion fell away. He didn't see a helpless, delicate flower. He saw a calculating, needy predator.

"Mabel was eight weeks pregnant, Selina," Flynn said softly.

Selina froze. Her embrace slackened slightly, but she quickly recovered, looking up with wide, innocent eyes. "Pregnant? Oh... oh dear. Flynn, that's terrible... but... but you couldn't have known! She probably kept it from you on purpose to trap you! You know how manipulative she is—"

SLAP.

The sound echoed through the high-ceilinged penthouse like a pistol shot.

Selina stumbled back, clutching her reddened cheek, staring at Flynn in utter disbelief. "Flynn! You... you hit me?!"

"She never left the house that afternoon, Selina," Flynn said, his hands shaking as he pulled out his phone. He pressed play on a video file sent to his email five minutes ago by an anonymous sender—Julian’s legal team.

On the screen, high-definition footage showed Selina stepping out of an Uber outside the Vance residence. She walked behind a hedge, pulled a small utility blade from her purse, methodically dragged it across her left forearm, composed her face into an expression of sheer terror, and walked up the front steps.

Selina’s face drained of all color until she looked like a corpse. "Flynn... wait... I can explain—"

"You ruined my life," Flynn whispered, his voice rising into an agonizing roar. "I ruined my own life for you! I put my hands on my wife! I killed my own children because of your goddamn lies!"

He grabbed her by the lapels of the silk robe and dragged her toward the front door.

"Flynn, please! I love you! I did it because I loved you!" Selina shrieked, clawing at his arms. "She took you away from me! You belonged to me first!"

"Get out of my house," Flynn snarled, throwing her into the public hallway. He threw her purse out after her, scattering her cosmetics across the marble floor. "If I ever see your face again, Selina, I will kill you myself."

He slammed the door shut and backed away, collapsing onto his knees in the foyer. He pulled his knees to his chest and wept like a broken child, the empty silence of the penthouse suffocating him.

His phone buzzed on the floor beside him. It was a notification from the Chicago Police Department. An arrest warrant had just been issued in his name for felony aggravated assault, domestic battery, and reckless endangerment.