The headache was a dull throb behind her eyes when she woke up. The room was dim, the curtains drawn against the morning light.

Julian was sitting in the wingback chair by the window. He wasn't looking at her. He was staring at an unlit cigar in his hand, rolling it between his fingers.

On the nightstand, next to a glass of stale water, was a thick document.

Avery sat up slowly. Her body felt heavy, like lead. She glanced at the paper. Dissolution of Marriage.

"The lawyers drafted it last night," Julian said. He didn't turn his head. "The capital injection into Sterling Group will continue until the contract term ends. You won't lose your family business."

Avery reached out and touched the paper. It was cold. Everything in this house was cold.

She thought about the shredded report in the bathroom wastebasket. She thought about the rain.

"Scarlett is back for good," Julian continued, his voice devoid of emotion. "She needs a place in society. You've been squatting in her seat for three years."

Avery picked up the pen lying on top of the document.

Julian stood up then. He walked over to the bed, looming over her. "Read it. Don't come back later asking for more alimony."

Avery didn't read it. She flipped to the last page. She found the line marked Wife.

"Okay," she said.

She signed her name. Her handwriting was steady, elegant. Avery Sterling Vanderbilt.

Julian froze. He stared at her signature, the ink still wet. His jaw clenched, a muscle feathering under the skin. He had prepared for a war. He had expected her to scream, to cry, to leverage his grandmother, Lady Eleanor. He had an entire arsenal of counter-arguments ready.

Her immediate compliance didn't feel like a victory. It felt like she was cutting a string he wasn't ready to let go of. It felt like a slap in the face.

"Okay?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. "That's it? Just 'okay'?"

"It's what you want," Avery said. She put the cap back on the pen. "I'll move out as soon as possible."

Julian snatched the papers from the nightstand. He gripped them so hard the pages crinkled. A vein ticked in his jaw. He looked at her, searching for the crack in her mask, searching for the pain he wanted to inflict.

There was nothing. Just a hollow exhaustion.

"You aren't going anywhere," he snapped. "You promised Grandmother you'd attend the family gala next month. You will stay here and play the part of the happy wife until then."

"I understand," Avery said. She turned her back to him, pulling the duvet up. "I'll cooperate."

Julian stood there for a long moment, his chest heaving with an anger he couldn't name. Then he turned and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the crystal perfume bottles on the vanity rattled.

Avery waited until his footsteps faded. She slid out of bed and went to the bathroom. She emptied the wastebasket into the larger bin, watching the tiny paper strips disappear into the darkness.

Then she went to her jewelry box. Inside a hidden compartment lay an old, water-damaged photograph. It was a blurry shot of a teenage girl pulling a boy out of the surf. Her back was to the camera.

Everyone said it was Scarlett.

Avery took the photo to the fireplace in the master suite. She stared at it, and a sharp, blinding pain shot through her temples. It was the same pain she felt whenever she tried to remember that day. The ocean. The salt. The screaming.

She couldn't breathe. The photo felt like it was burning her fingers.

"Make it stop," she whispered.

She struck a match. She watched the flame curl the edges of the photo, turning the memory to ash not to hide the truth, but to silence the noise in her head.

Let it die, she thought. If he wants her to be the hero, let her be the hero.

Avery was buttering a piece of toast when the doorbell rang. The sound echoed through the cavernous dining room.

Julian was at the head of the table, reading a financial report. He didn't look up.

The butler opened the doors, and Scarlett breezed in. She was followed by three movers carrying Louis Vuitton trunks.

"Julian!" Scarlett exclaimed, her voice breathless. "I'm so sorry to intrude."

Julian lowered the paper. "What's going on?"

Scarlett bit her lip, looking up at him through her lashes. "My apartment... a pipe burst. It's flooded. I didn't know where else to go."

Avery took a bite of her toast. It tasted like cardboard.

"You can stay here," Julian said immediately.

Scarlett turned to Avery, a sweet, apologetic smile plastered on her face. "Avery, you don't mind, do you? It's just for a few days."

Avery didn't look at her. She kept her eyes on her plate. "It's Julian's house. Ask him."

Julian's jaw tightened. "Put her in the East Suite."

The knife in Avery's hand slipped, clattering against the china. The East Suite was her painting studio. It was the only room in the house that was truly hers.

"That's Avery's studio," the butler murmured hesitantly.

"She doesn't paint anymore," Julian said coldly, his eyes fixed on Avery, waiting for a reaction. Any reaction. "It has the best light in the house. Scarlett needs a cheerful environment. Clear it out."

Avery felt the bile rising in her throat. She pushed her plate away.

"You look pale, Avery," Scarlett noted, sitting down in the chair to Julian's right. "Still recovering from that little cold?"

"It's not a cold," Julian said, flipping a page of his report. "It's laziness. Which reminds me-I've put you on mandatory leave from the Sterling merger."

Avery's head snapped up. "That's my project. I've worked on it for six months."

"And you're running yourself into the ground," Julian countered, his voice brokering no argument. "I've brought in the K&L consulting team to oversee the finalization. They are the best in the world. They will ensure your family's legacy is secure while you... recover. Stop embarrassing me with your frailty."

Avery stared at him. He wasn't doing this to be kind. He was stripping her of her purpose. He was dismantling her life, piece by piece.

The smell of the bacon on the table suddenly became unbearable. Avery stood up, her hand flying to her mouth. She rushed out of the room, barely making it to the powder room down the hall before she retched.

She gripped the porcelain sink, her knuckles white. She dry-heaved, her stomach cramping violently.

She heard footsteps.

"Dramatic," a voice said from the doorway.

It was Scarlett. She was leaning against the frame, arms crossed.

"He thinks you're doing this for attention," Scarlett whispered. "He hates weak women."

Avery rinsed her mouth, spitting into the sink. She looked at Scarlett in the mirror. "Enjoy the studio, Scarlett. The lighting is terrible in the afternoon."

Scarlett's smile faltered for a second. "You think you're clever. But you're just a placeholder. You always were."

"And you're a liar," Avery said, turning to face her. "Tell me, Scarlett, how are you going to enjoy the Jacuzzi in that suite? You always seem so... terrified of the sound of rushing water. Strange for a hero who swam into a riptide."

Scarlett's face went rigid. Before she could respond, Julian walked into the hallway.

Scarlett immediately sagged, putting a hand to her chest. "I was just checking on her, Julian. She... she said some awful things."

Julian stepped between them. He placed a hand on Scarlett's back and glared at Avery.

"Don't take your failures out on her," he warned. "Go upstairs. I don't want to see you until dinner."

The dream was always the same.

Avery was strapped to a metal table. The lights were blinding. Julian stood over her, wearing surgical scrubs, a scalpel in his hand.

"It's a mistake," he said, his voice echoing. "It has to go."

Scarlett was laughing in the corner, holding a jar. "Give it to me, Avery. Give it to me."

Avery woke up with a gasp, sitting bolt upright. Her nightgown was soaked with sweat.

The door to her bedroom opened. Julian stood there, silhouetted by the hall light.

"You were screaming," he said. He walked into the room, carrying a glass of water.

Avery scrambled backward, pressing herself against the headboard. "Don't come near me."

Julian stopped. He frowned. "It's water, Avery."

"I don't want it." Her chest was heaving.

He set the glass down on the nightstand with a sharp clack. He leaned over her, bracing his hands on the mattress. "What is wrong with you? You're paranoid. You're hysterical."

"I'm fine," she whispered.

"You're not fine," Julian said. "I called Dr. Halloway. He's coming tomorrow morning to do a full workup. Blood tests, everything."

Avery's blood ran cold. A blood test would reveal the pregnancy instantly.

"No," she said too quickly. "I just need sleep. I don't need a doctor."

"It wasn't a request," Julian said, straightening up. "You're representing this family. If you're sick, we fix it."

He turned and walked out.

Avery waited until she heard his door close down the hall. She grabbed her phone. Her fingers fumbled as she dialed.

"Hello?" A deep, sleepy voice answered.

"Sebastian," Avery breathed. "I need help."

There was a pause. Then the voice became alert. "Avery? What's wrong? Is it Julian?"

"I need a fake medical report," she whispered. "For the flu. Or exhaustion. Anything."

"Why?"

"Please. Just... don't ask."

She hung up, terrified Julian might be listening.

Downstairs, in the study, Julian was emptying the shredder bin. The maid had forgotten to do it, and he needed to destroy the merger documents he had been reviewing.

He pulled out the plastic bag full of paper strips. Something caught his eye. A cluster of strips that hadn't fallen properly, clinging to the blades. They were a different texture than his bond paper. Thinner. Medical grade.

He frowned. He reached in and pulled out a handful of confetti. He spread it on the desk.

It was a puzzle. A maddening, impossible puzzle. But one piece stood out.

...itive.

And another.

HCG.

Julian felt the air leave his lungs. He stared at the fragments.

Positive.

She was pregnant.

His first emotion wasn't joy. It was a dark, twisting fury. She knew. She had known, and she had shredded it. She was hiding it.

Why?

Because she didn't want it? Because she was planning to get rid of it?

He swept the papers off the desk. They fluttered to the floor like snow.