Megan slipped from her stepfather’s room at two in the morning, clutching her disheveled clothes to her chest, her eyes red-rimmed and raw.

Her mother stood just outside the door. Their gazes met. Megan drew a sharp breath, the word *Mom* catching in her throat, refusing to form.

She couldn’t understand it. To secure her place as Mrs. Jordan, how could her own mother have delivered her daughter—again and again—into that monster’s hands?

Grace instinctively reached for her, but Megan flinched away. “Megan, don’t blame me,” Grace pleaded, her voice tight. “Those rumors you started—about forcing a girl to get an abortion—they hurt his stocks. He was furious. That’s why…”

Hearing the excuse, Megan’s control shattered. “You’re my mother!” she cried, the words tearing loose. “How could you drug me again? How could you do this to me?”

“I’m calling the police. I’m going to the police!”

She turned and ran for the stairs.

But Grace’s hand shot out, fingers clamping like a vise around Megan’s wrist. Then, in a sudden, shocking movement, Grace dropped to her knees. “Megan, I’m begging you, you can’t!” she sobbed, her grip unyielding. “If you go to the police, we’re finished. And besides… he’d never let you get that far.”

Megan froze, the fight draining out of her.

Staring down at her mother’s contorted face, a memory surfaced—the year her parents divorced. The court had granted custody to her father. Until Abigail planted a box of condoms in Megan’s schoolbag. That one act altered the course of her life.

For the first few years, Grace had held Jordan’s favor. But as her youth faded, his attention shifted to her young daughter.

The first time Grace drugged her, Megan woke covered in bruises, a sharp, tearing pain low in her belly.

Her first instinct had been to tell Aaron. But Grace knelt beside her, threatening to take her own life if Megan said a word.

*He listens to his uncle*, Grace had hissed. *And he doesn’t love you anymore. He won’t help you.*

History proved her right.

Megan gathered evidence, only for Grace to find and shred it before she could act.

She tried to run. Jordan sent a van after her. She still remembered the hungry, leering gazes of the men inside. Battered and broken, she fled to the one place that had ever felt like safety.

Aaron’s house. She hoped for concern, for comfort. Instead, she met cold indifference.

And now, once again, she had run. She stood outside his door, clutching the necklace drive, that last fragile shred of hope in her heart as she dialed his number.

First call: no answer.

Second call: still nothing—no reply to her text either.

...

By the ninth call, he finally picked up. A sob of relief caught in Megan’s throat.

But from the other end came soft, panting breaths—two women—the sound of kisses, the slick, wet noise of skin on skin. Aaron’s voice cut through, irritated. “What is it now, Megan? Do you have any sense of timing at all?”

The sudden harshness startled her. She sniffed, a strange numbness settling over her. “It’s nothing. Sorry.”

She hung up in a panic. As she pulled the phone from her ear, she thought she heard his voice soften, a faint “Hello? Megan?” But her chest felt like a stone was crushing it. She couldn’t breathe; her legs gave way, and she slid down the doorframe to the floor.

The housekeeper found her in time, helped her inside, and made her a cup of ginger tea.

That sudden, unexpected kindness broke through Megan’s defenses. She crawled under the covers and wept until she gasped for air, finally crying herself into a fitful sleep.

She didn’t know how long she’d slept when a sudden chill between her legs jolted her awake.

She sat bolt upright. Aaron stood there, a silk handkerchief in his hand, meticulously wiping his fingers.

His expression was dark, a sneer twisting his lips. “Couldn’t wait for me?”

A cold dread shot through Megan—the memory of Jordan’s violation flooding back.

He tossed the handkerchief carelessly onto the floor, grabbed her calf, and knelt between her legs.

All sleepiness vanished. Megan instinctively covered her abdomen, her voice strained. “Not tonight. I’m not feeling well.”

Her violent recoil, the way she tried to shrink into the mattress, gave him pause. He let out a short, derisive laugh. “Why not? Is your body some precious commodity now? Do I need your permission?”

She kept struggling, trying to pry his hand from her leg, but his grip was iron.

“What’s wrong with you?” he snapped, his patience fraying. “Did someone else have you?”

Before she could answer, his voice turned icy. “What, my money isn’t enough anymore? Eager to find your next mark already? You forget we still have a month left on our little agreement. Stop this, Megan. No one else would want you.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. A bitter laugh escaped her. “You’d be disgusted if someone else touched me?”

A strange flicker passed through his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve always been disgusted by you. Or have you forgotten how you looked at me back then?”

Megan went still. The memories of her escape crashed over her again.

That night she’d fled from Jordan, stumbling out of that van and back to him. Aaron’s first words had been, “Megan, is climbing the social ladder all you care about? An old man past his prime couldn’t satisfy you? How greedy can you be?”

He’d said it, pushed her away, and left.

And now, this Aaron did the same. He let her go, turning to leave. At the door, he paused, his voice flat. “I only came back to tell you. Abigail is moving in tomorrow. She’s pregnant. You’ll take care of her.”

Megan’s reaction was almost instantaneous. Suppressing the sharp pang in her chest, she gritted her teeth and called after him.

“You made the other girl get rid of her baby. Why is Abigail allowed to keep hers?”

She knew Aaron never bothered with protection—scattering his seed without a thought. It was always left to her to step in, pay them off, and clean up the mess.

Aaron paused mid-step as if considering. His eyes darkened, hard as flint.

He was looking forward to this child. “I find her interesting. I imagine our child will be, too.”

But with Megan, it was always a morning-after pill. Every single time. The only reason she’d ever gotten pregnant was one missed dose.

His words drove straight into her chest. Her breath caught. Finally, she lowered her gaze.

“Fine. But our agreement has one more month. When it’s over, I’m leaving.”

Silence hung in the air.

Just as she glanced toward the doorway, the door slammed shut with a violent *bang*. In the darkness, she stared at the ceiling, awake the entire night.

The next morning, Megan dragged her suitcase from the corner. Aaron had told her to move to the guest room, leaving this one for Abigail to rest and recover.

She did as she was told. As she finished packing, it struck her just how much Aaron had bought for her over the years—clothes, jewelry, more than she could ever wear before they went out of style.

She didn’t touch any of it, planning to leave everything for Abigail. She knew she couldn’t take it with her anyway.

Opening a drawer to retrieve her own things, she froze at the sight of a dusty gift box. Inside was the silver baby bangle—the gift Aaron had brought home, brimming with excitement, for their daughter on the day she’d miscarried.

He hadn’t expected to come home to the news that his daughter was gone. He’d thrown the bangle in the trash. Megan had fished it out.

An image flashed in her mind: a little girl, barefoot on the floor, the bangle’s tiny bell chiming in the breeze. A sudden ache tightened her nose.

The sound of the door opening jerked her back. Before she could see who it was, the bangle was ripped from her hand.

“Sis, what’s this? Is it for my baby?” Abigail stood suddenly before her, shaking the little bell on the bracelet.

The jingle snapped something inside Megan. She lunged for it, nearly tripping over her suitcase.

“Megan.” Aaron’s voice came from behind her, thick with disapproval. “What are you doing? Trying to stage a scene where Abigail pushes you?”

She stared for a moment, then pushed herself up from the floor with a bitter laugh. “Did it work?”

“You,” Aaron’s face paled, “are insane.”

His gaze caught on the bangle in Abigail’s hand. A flicker of—recognition? regret?—passed through his eyes before it vanished. His eyes swept over Megan’s packed luggage. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a sugary voice.

“Aaron, I love this little bracelet. But Sis doesn’t seem too happy about giving it to me.” Abigail stroked her belly. “Our little one will adore it, I’m sure.”

Megan’s hands, hanging at her sides, clenched into fists. Her nails dug into her palms. Finally, as if making peace with herself, she lowered her voice. “Everything else in this room is yours. But I need this.”

Aaron held her gaze a fraction too long. He said nothing.

“But what use do you have for it, Sis? It’s for a baby. You don’t have a child. It’s better left for Aaron’s and my baby.” Abigail giggled, shaking Aaron’s arm playfully before turning a mock-curious gaze on Megan. “Unless… you *do* have a child?”

“No.” Megan’s denial was swift.

She looked away, missing the sudden, faint spark of hope that ignited in Aaron’s eyes.

His expression hardened, final as a judge’s gavel. “Then it goes to Abigail! Anything in this room she wants, she takes.”

Megan froze, her heart sinking like a stone.

Before she could protest further, emboldened by Aaron’s decree, Abigail’s eyes landed on the flash drive in the open suitcase—the drive containing all the evidence Megan had gathered against the man who had assaulted her.

“Sis, what’s this? Study materials? I’m applying for grad school too, same major as you. Could I borrow it?”

In that moment, Megan was swamped with regret. She never should have left something so crucial where Abigail could see it.

Panic seized her. She snatched for it. “Keep the bangle. Take it. But not this.”

“Why not?” Aaron’s cold gaze sliced toward her, his face darker than before. “I said everything in this room belongs to Abigail.”

He pried the flash drive from Megan’s grip, his own fingers like iron. Then, right in front of her, he handed it to Abigail.

“If you want it, take it.” He took Abigail’s hand, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Megan another second, and turned to leave.

“Aaron!”

Megan’s sharp cry stopped him. She lunged forward to grab it back. She couldn’t let this evidence slip away again.

But his next words hit her like a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs.

“Enough! What’s your problem?! Hurry up and move your things so the maid can clean! Abigail’s and my luggage needs to go in here!”

“You’re… moving in here?” The disbelief was raw in her voice.

He’d barely set foot in this villa since she’d started living here. The few times he had, he never stayed the night.

Before Aaron could answer, Abigail stroked her belly with a sweet smile. “You didn’t know, Sis? Aaron and I are getting married. What’s strange about a married couple living together?”

With that, the two of them left the room, laughing intimately.

Megan was left standing alone, trembling from head to toe. Aaron was getting married. All those years they were together, he had never once promised her that. He’d never even hinted at it.

At first, she’d thought it was about their different social standings. Aaron had told her to wait. So she waited. And waited.

In the end, it was never about status. It was simply that he hadn’t loved her enough.