"Roll up your sleeve, Flora. They need a pint right now."

My adoptive mother, Evelyn, blocked the hospital room door. Her eyes were red, her makeup smeared across her cheeks.

"I am not giving her my blood," I said, gripping my purse strap.

My adoptive father, Richard, stepped forward. "Amanda has a rare hematological disorder. The bank is completely empty. You are a perfect match."

"Did you ask her why she collapsed?" I asked, scanning their frantic faces. "Did she mention she was naked in my bed with Barry three hours ago?"

Evelyn waved her hand dismissively. "That was a misunderstanding. She was frightened. The stress triggered her condition."

"A misunderstanding?" I laughed sharply. "Are you blind?"

"Keep your voice down," Richard scolded, glancing down the sterile white hallway.

"She slept with my husband," I stated, making sure every word rang loud and clear. "And you want me to save her?"

"She has fifty percent of your DNA, Evelyn," I continued. "Why don't you donate?"

"My blood type isn't a match," Evelyn cried. "You know that. You are the universal donor. You are the only one who can do this right now."

"And if I say no?" I challenged.

"Then you are a murderer," Richard stated coldly.

Tears spilled over Evelyn’s cheeks. She grabbed my wrist, her nails digging into my skin. "She is our biological daughter! You are just a child we raised. You owe us this!"

The words slapped me. The final thread of my loyalty snapped.

I ripped my arm away. "I owe you nothing."

"Leave her alone, Evelyn."

Barry emerged from Amanda's room. He wore the same wrinkled jeans from this afternoon. He looked exhausted, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Barry," I muttered, my stomach twisting.

He stepped into my space, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "Flora, I know you hate me right now. But save her life. This is the last time I will ever beg you for anything."

"You have no right to ask me for favors," I said.

"If you don't do this, she might die," he pressed, stepping closer.

A sudden wave of nausea slammed into my chest. Bile rose in the back of my throat. I pressed a hand to my stomach, fighting a sharp, agonizing cramp.

My vision blurred for a fraction of a second. A pulling sensation gripped my lower abdomen. I swayed on my feet, grabbing the edge of the nurse's station counter to steady myself. The metallic smell of the hospital suddenly made me want to vomit.

"Don't touch me," I gasped, backing away from him.

"Flora, stop being so selfish," Richard snapped.

"You want blood?" I glared at the three of them, ignoring the pain radiating through my abdomen. "Find another donor. I'm done with this family."

I shoved past Barry and marched toward the elevators.

"You'll regret this!" Evelyn screamed after me.

I refused to look back.

***

I returned to the house I once shared with Barry. I dragged my suitcase from the closet and began throwing clothes inside. I needed to leave town. I needed to protect my baby.

My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. An unknown number flashed on the screen.

I answered it, resting the device against my ear. "Hello?"

"Is this Flora Gaines?" a gruff voice asked.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"This is Officer Miller. I'm calling about your husband, Barry Gaines."

"We are separating," I replied flatly. "Call his phone."

"Ma'am, we are unable to do that. His car went off the coastal highway twenty minutes ago."

I stopped folding my sweater. "What?"

"The vehicle broke through the guardrail and plunged directly into the ocean," the officer explained, his tone strictly professional.

"Is he in the hospital?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"The current is too strong. The dive team found the wreckage, but the driver's seat was empty. We haven't recovered a body."

"Is there any chance he got out?" I asked.

"The driver's side window was smashed," Miller said. "But the water temperature is near freezing. The drop was over two hundred feet. Even if he escaped the vehicle, he wouldn't survive the swim to shore."

"I don't understand."

"We presume he didn't survive the impact, Mrs. Gaines. I am very sorry."

The line went dead.

The phone slipped from my fingers. It shattered against the hardwood floor.

I dropped to my knees. The room spun around me. My hand found the crumpled pregnancy report in my jacket pocket.

*We are having a baby.*

Tears blurred my vision. I sobbed, clutching the jagged paper to my chest. He betrayed me. He lied to me. And now he was gone forever.

I curled into a ball on the floor, weeping until my lungs burned.

***

Three days later, rain tapped against a sea of black umbrellas.

The memorial service was held on a damp, gray morning. Since there was no body, a closed, empty casket sat at the front of the cemetery plot.

Evelyn and Richard stood near the front row. Amanda sat in a wheelchair beside them, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

I stood at the very edge of the gathering, keeping my distance.

"You shouldn't be here," a voice hissed.

I turned. Evelyn glared at me from under her umbrella.

"I am still his wife," I replied, keeping my tone even.

"You don't get to mourn him," Evelyn whispered, stepping into my personal space.

"Step away from me, Evelyn."

"You drove him to his death," she hissed. "Amanda is in that chair because of you. Barry is in an empty grave because of you."

"Barry is in an empty grave because he couldn't keep his pants on," I shot back.

Evelyn raised her hand as if to slap me.

"Do it," I dared her. "Hit me in front of the priest."

She lowered her hand, her eyes burning with hatred. "You are dead to us, Flora."

Officer Miller approached us, interrupting the confrontation. He tipped his hat to my adoptive mother before turning to me.

"Mrs. Gaines, we officially called off the search this morning," Miller said.

"So he's really gone," I whispered.

"The coast guard found his jacket washed up on the shore. I'm sorry for your loss."

He handed me a clear plastic evidence bag. Inside sat Barry's silver watch. The glass face was cracked.

I took the bag, my fingers numb. "Thank you, Officer."

Miller walked away, and Evelyn scoffed in disgust before returning to Amanda's side.

The priest began his final prayer. The crowd bowed their heads.

I turned away from the grave. I refused to listen to another word. I needed to leave this place and start over.

I walked down the muddy path toward the cemetery gates. The fog rolled thick across the tombstones.

I paused to adjust my coat.

Through the mist, a figure stood near the wrought-iron entrance.

Tall. Broad shoulders. A dark trench coat.

He stood perfectly still, watching the funeral from afar, half-hidden by a massive oak tree.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

The posture. The tilt of his head. The way his hands rested in his pockets.

I took a step forward. My lungs seized.

The man turned his head slightly, revealing his profile.

I froze.

I dropped the plastic evidence bag.

Barry's watch hit the mud.

The man turned and walked into the fog.

"Barry!" I screamed.

"Barry!" I screamed, sprinting past the wrought-iron cemetery gates.

My flats slipped in the wet mud. I stumbled, righted myself, and ran straight into the thick gray fog.

"Barry, stop!"

I spun in circles. The street was entirely empty. No dark trench coat. No broad shoulders. The mist swallowed the landscape, turning the trees into blurry shadows.

"Where are you?" I yelled at a passing car.

The driver didn't even slow down.

I ran toward the corner store. An old man stood under the awning, smoking a cigarette.

"Did you see him?" I asked, grabbing the man's sleeve. "A tall man? Dark coat?"

The man pulled his arm away. "Nobody came this way, lady."

I checked the alleyways. I ran down the block until my lungs burned and my legs shook. Nothing. Had I imagined it? Had the grief finally cracked my mind?

***

I drove back to the silent house. I sat on the living room rug, my wet clothes soaking into the carpet. I picked up his unlocked phone. My thumb hovered over the hidden folder.

I tapped the video file sitting right next to Amanda's ballet photo.

The screen flickered. A brightly lit stage appeared. A girl spun in a white tutu with intricate silver embroidery across the bodice.

My stomach dropped. The air left my lungs.

That was my dress. The exact custom gown I wore to the Paris International Competition six years ago. Barry had bought it for me. He claimed he designed it himself to celebrate my talent.

The camera panned to the audience. Barry stood in the front row. He wasn't looking at the stage like a casual observer. His eyes were wide, soft, entirely devoted.

"Brava, Amanda," his recorded voice cheered over the music. "You're perfect."

I dropped the phone. It hit the floorboards with a sharp crack.

"He didn't love me," I whispered to the empty walls.

I stared at the paused frame of Amanda's face. She had the same dark hair. The same build. The same arch in her feet.

Because she vanished as a child, he searched for a replacement. He found someone who danced like her. Looked like her.

"A stand-in," I said aloud, a bitter laugh tearing from my throat. "I was a fucking prop."

He never loved my dancing. He loved that I reminded him of the girl he actually wanted. Every time he kissed me, every time he praised my performances, he was looking right through me. He was picturing her.

I needed answers right now. I grabbed the phone and opened his cloud backup. A recent location ping flashed on the screen from yesterday. The Grand Plaza Hotel.

I drove straight there. I parked my car near the loading dock, hiding behind a row of industrial dumpsters. The stench of garbage filled the air, but I barely noticed.

The heavy metal service door swung open.

Two figures stepped out into the damp alley.

Amanda leaned against a tall man, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. The man kissed the top of her head.

Barry.

He was alive. Not a single scratch on his face. He wore a crisp black shirt and slacks. No bandages. No casts.

"You faked it," I said, stepping out of the shadows.

Barry jumped back. Amanda shrieked and hid behind his shoulder.

"Flora," Barry said. His jaw tightened. He didn't look guilty. He looked annoyed.

"You faked your own death?" I shouted, marching toward them. "To be with her?"

"Keep your voice down," Barry hissed, scanning the empty street. "You weren't supposed to find out."

"I planned your funeral this morning!" I screamed. "I stood by an empty grave while my parents told me I murdered you!"

Amanda peeked out. "Barry, make her leave. She's going to ruin the plan."

"Shut up, Amanda," I snapped. I lunged forward and grabbed Barry's collar. "You used me for years. You dressed me up like her. You made me wear that silver tutu!"

He yanked my hands off his shirt. "You were convenient, Flora. That's it."

"Convenient?" I repeated, my voice cracking.

"I loved her first," Barry stated coldly. "When she disappeared, I needed someone to fill the void. You fit the description. Now she's back. I don't need you anymore."

"So you stage a car crash? You let my parents blame me?"

"It was the easiest way out of the marriage," he said. "Now let it go and walk away."

"I am calling the police," I pulled my phone from my pocket. "I am telling everyone."

Barry's eyes darkened. "No, you aren't."

He shoved me backward. Hard.

My foot caught on the edge of a broken concrete block. I lost my balance.

I fell backward. My stomach slammed directly into the sharp edge of the curb.

A tearing agony ripped through my lower abdomen.

"Flora!" Barry yelled, taking a half-step forward.

"Don't touch me!" I shrieked. I curled into a tight ball. Warm liquid soaked rapidly through my jeans.

"Barry, we have to go," Amanda pleaded, frantically tugging his arm. "If the police see you, you'll go to jail for fraud. Leave her!"

He stared at the blood pooling on the asphalt beneath me. He looked at Amanda, then back at me.

"Let's go," he muttered.

They sprinted down the alley, disappearing around the corner.

I lay on the cold ground, clutching my stomach.

"My baby," I sobbed to the empty pavement. "Please, no. Someone help me."

The edges of my vision faded to black.

***

The steady beep of a heart monitor forced my eyes open.

White walls. A sterile chemical smell. I touched my flat stomach. The agonizing emptiness in my womb confirmed the worst. My child was gone.

"Tears won't bring the kid back."

I whipped my head toward the window.

A man leaned against the sill. He wore a tailored black suit. His jawline was sharp, his dark eyes entirely unreadable.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice hoarse and broken.

"Carton," he replied smoothly.

Carton. The ruthless heir to the global conglomerate that had been trying to crush Barry's family business for the last decade.

"Get out of my room," I croaked, pointing at the door.

He didn't move an inch. "I saw what happened in the alley, Flora."

I gripped the thin hospital bedsheets. "Did you call the ambulance?"

"I did," he confirmed. He walked to the foot of my bed, his gaze piercing mine. "Your husband faked his death, stole your life, and left you to bleed out in the dirt."

"I don't need your pity," I spat, fresh tears burning my eyes.

"I'm not offering pity," Carton said, his tone flat and businesslike. "I'm offering a partnership."

"A partnership?" I scoffed. "With my husband's worst enemy?"

"Why would you help me?" I demanded, wiping a tear from my cheek. "You don't know me."

"I know Barry Gaines," Carton replied, his voice dropping an octave. "I know he is a coward. I know he thinks he can play God with people's lives and face zero consequences."

"He took my child," I whispered, the reality crashing over me again. "He left me there to die."

"And he will pay for that," Carton said. "But only if you stop crying and start fighting."

"I have nothing left," I argued. "My adoptive parents hate me. My husband abandoned me. I'm entirely alone."

"Good," Carton said, a dark smile playing on his lips. "That makes you dangerous."

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek black business card. He tossed it onto my lap.

"Flora," he said softly, "since they destroyed you with their own hands, I can help you take back everything they own, piece by piece."

I stared at the card, the monitor picking up the sudden race of my heartbeat. Could I really trust the devil to help me destroy my demons?