Everyone said I was born a jinx.

On the day I was born, my family went bankrupt, and my father walked out on us.

That was why my relatives always looked down on me.

But everything changed when I met Evan.

When I lost my baby in a horrible car crash three years ago, Evan stayed by my hospital bed for days, holding my hand and weeping.

He built a tech company from scratch just to give me the perfect life, warning anyone who dared to mock my background that they would pay the price.

He bought me diamond necklaces, kissed my forehead every morning, and never missed a single anniversary.

I had never been treated so well before, and I fell completely for him.

I thought I was the luckiest woman alive.

Until he mysteriously disappeared for three days.

I rushed to the police station, frantic, to file a missing person report.

The officer asked for my husband's name, and just as I spoke, a woman next to me holding a toddler answered in unison.

"Evan Carter," we both said.

The woman sneered, slamming a wedding photo onto the desk.

"What a joke. He just celebrated our five-year anniversary in our house," she said.

"That's my husband," I gritted out. "We've been married for seven years."

"Really?" she smirked, stepping closer. "Then why did he tell me you died in a car crash three years ago?"

***

The cheap blue pen cracked between my trembling fingers, splattering ink across the missing-person report.

I stared at the dark stain blooming across the paper. It looked too much like the wreckage my life had become over the last seventy-two hours. My perfect, predictable existence had vanished the moment Evan walked out the door.

"Name of the missing person?" the desk sergeant asked. He didn't look up from his monitor. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

"Evan Carter," I replied. My throat felt lined with broken glass. "He's been gone for three days. His phone goes straight to voicemail. None of his coworkers have seen him, and his car isn't at his office."

"Relation to the missing person?"

"Husband." I pressed both palms to the cold counter, trying to stop the tremor in my hands. "We've been married for seven years."

"Fill out the physical description section," the officer instructed, tapping a stack of forms. "Height, weight, identifying marks."

I reached for a tissue to wipe ink from my fingers just as the woman at the next counter said the name that froze my blood.

"I need to report my husband missing," the blonde woman said. She shifted a toddler higher on her hip and hitched a pink diaper bag over her shoulder. "His name is Evan Carter."

My head snapped toward her. "What did you just say?"

She blinked, clutching the little girl closer. The little girl looked about three, bundled in a pink jacket and gnawing on a plastic toy block.

"I'm talking to the officer," she muttered, turning her back to me.

I left my place at the counter and closed the distance between us. "You just said Evan Carter. Born August twelfth, scar above his left eyebrow from a childhood bike accident, works in software sales?"

The woman bristled, her eyes narrowing. "How do you know his birthday?"

"Because he isn't your husband." I shoved a hand into my purse, my pulse battering my ribs. I yanked out the folded, stamped document I'd brought to prove who I was. I slapped the marriage certificate onto the scratched wooden counter between us. "I'm his wife. We've been legally married for seven years."

The desk sergeant finally looked up, his jaw going slack. He glanced between us but stayed silent, leaning back in his chair.

Nina stared at the paper. A harsh, metallic laugh scraped out of her throat. "Are you insane? Evan and I got married four years ago."

"You're lying," I said, my voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "I know where he was four years ago. We were living in a cramped studio apartment. I sold my mother's antique ruby necklace to hand him fifty thousand dollars for his startup. I scrubbed the floors so he could buy servers. I helped build his life from the ground up."

"Oh, you built his life?" She shifted the toddler to her other side. The little girl whined, rubbing her eyes. Nina ignored her, pulling a smartphone from her back pocket. Her thumb swiped rapidly across the screen. "Look at this, you lunatic."

She shoved the glowing screen toward my face.

A video played. Evan stood on a sunlit beach, wearing a linen suit, smiling down at this exact woman in a white lace dress. He slipped a plain gold band onto her finger. The date stamp at the bottom read four years ago.

"I take thee, Nina, to be my lawfully wedded wife," Evan's voice echoed from the tiny speaker.

My stomach lurched at the sound of his voice. I shoved her hand away, knocking the phone back toward her chest. "That's fake. A prop. A joke."

"Is this a joke too?" She swiped again. A banking app appeared. A joint account. Evan Carter and Nina Lewis. The balance was over eighty thousand dollars.

"Back off, lady," a gruff voice barked.

A heavy, grease-stained hand clamped onto my forearm, yanking me away from the counter.

"Let go of me!" I jerked my arm free.

The release sent me stumbling backward. A bright red welt flared across the back of my hand where his calloused fingers had dug in. I rubbed the stinging flesh, glaring at the towering man stepping in front of Nina. He wore a faded blue jumpsuit with a sewn-on patch reading Marcus.

"Keep your crazy to yourself," Marcus growled. He crossed his thick arms over his chest, a living wall between me and the other woman. "Nina is his wife. You're just some obsessed stalker trying to ruin her life."

"I'm his legal wife," I said. I pointed a shaking finger at the marriage certificate resting on the scratched wood between us. "Look at the seal. Look at the date. Seven years."

Marcus scoffed. He snatched the document from the counter. His greasy thumb dragged over the embossed state seal.

"Hey! Put that down!" I lunged forward.

He held it out of my reach, sweeping his dark eyes over the text. A cruel sneer curled his upper lip.

"Nice try," Marcus said. His thick fingers pinched the top corner of the paper. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he tore a jagged triangle from the document.

The rip cracked through the quiet lobby.

He dropped the pieces onto the floor. "You can buy high-grade fakes like this online for fifty bucks. My sister isn't falling for your scam."

"That's a government document," I said, my voice lowering an octave. "You just destroyed legal proof."

"I destroyed garbage," Marcus shot back.

Nina stepped out from behind her brother. She bounced the toddler on her hip. The little girl, Lily, giggled and buried her face in Nina's neck.

"Marcus, don't waste your breath on her," Nina said. She stroked the little girl's hair, fixing me with a triumphant glare. "Evan and I celebrated our two-year anniversary three years ago. We took a trip to Seattle. He bought me this diamond tennis bracelet to celebrate Lily being born."

She held up her wrist. The diamonds caught the harsh fluorescent lights of the police station.

Seattle. Three years ago.

A sharp, twisting pain punched through my stomach. My fingers curled into the fabric of my blouse. I twisted the material tight against my abdomen to keep myself upright.

Three years ago, a drunk driver had slammed into the passenger side of my sedan. I woke up in the ICU hooked to machines. The doctor stood at the foot of my bed and told me my baby had no heartbeat.

I called Evan from the hospital phone, sobbing into the receiver. He told me he was stuck in Seattle, pitching to crucial investors. He claimed he couldn't get a flight back for two days.

He wasn't pitching to investors. He was buying diamonds for another woman. He was celebrating the birth of her child while ours was sent to the hospital morgue.

"You were in Seattle," I whispered. The metallic taste of blood coated my tongue. I'd bitten the inside of my cheek hard enough to break the skin.

"It was a beautiful trip," Nina smirked. "He took me to a five-star restaurant by the water. We drank champagne all night."

"He told me he was working," I said.

"He tells you whatever you want to hear to keep you quiet," Nina replied.

"You're lying," Nina added, staring at the scattered papers on the floor. "Evan owns his company. He built it himself."

"He built it on my dime," I fired back. "Ask him about the fifty thousand dollar wire transfer from my personal savings account five years ago. Ask him about the lease for his office space. My name is on the guarantor line."

"Shut up," Marcus growled. "You're just throwing out crazy stories to confuse her."

"Call his accountant," I challenged. "Call David. See whose name is on the tax returns."

Nina bit her lower lip. A flicker of doubt crossed her eyes before she masked it with a scowl. "Evan told me he had an obsessive ex-girlfriend who couldn't let go. That has to be you."

"I'm not an ex anything," I said. "I'm his wife."

I reached into my leather tote bag. My fingers bypassed the tissues and keys, closing around the thick manila envelope I'd brought as backup. I pulled out the certified original copy of our marriage license, complete with the raised notary stamp and the attached county clerk verification.

I stepped right up to Marcus. I slammed the thick stack of papers directly against his chest.

"Read the clerk's signature, you idiot," I snarled, letting the papers fall from his chest to the floor. "Call the county records office. It's public information. I paid for his first server. I paid for his car. I lost his child while he was playing house with her."

Nina flinched. The smug smile vanished from her face. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the truth," I said, stepping closer to her. "He used my money to fund the life he is living with you."

Marcus opened his mouth to shout, his fists clenching at his sides. He took a threatening step forward.

"Enough!" the desk sergeant shouted.

He pushed himself out of his rolling chair and marched around the counter. "Both of you, quiet down before I lock you in holding cells for disturbing the peace."

The officer held a freshly printed sheet of paper in his hand. He stopped between us, his shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor.

"I ran the financials on Evan Carter," the officer said, his tone flat and professional. He looked at me, then at Nina. "Neither of you needs to file a missing-person report."

"What do you mean?" Nina asked. She lowered Lily to the floor. "He's been gone for three days. His phone is off."

"He's not missing," the officer replied.

He lifted the paper, pointing a thick finger at a line highlighted in bright red ink.

"An hour ago, Evan's credit card ending in eight-eight-zero-one was charged for a deposit," the officer stated. He tapped the red line twice. "At a motel on the south side of town."

I stared at the numbers. Eight-eight-zero-one. The joint emergency card we kept in the safe at home. He'd taken it.

"A motel?" Marcus asked, his brow furrowing. "Why would he be at a motel?"

The officer ignored the question. "He's alive and spending money locally. This is a civil matter now, ladies. Not a police issue."

Before the officer could pull the paper back, I reached out and snatched the printed statement right out of his hand.

Twenty minutes later, I shoved my shoulder against the splintering wood of Room 302. The door banged open, hitting the drywall with a loud crack.

A harsh wave of cheap floral perfume hit my face.

"Evan!" I shouted, stepping over the threshold.

Silence answered. The room was empty. The bedsheets were stripped, the closet doors hung wide open, and not one piece of luggage remained.

"He's not here," Marcus said. He filled the doorway with his massive frame, glaring at the vacant space.

Nina pushed past her brother, clutching Lily to her chest. "Evan? Honey, are you in the bathroom?"

She rushed toward the open bathroom door, her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum.

"Nobody is in there," I said, scanning the bare dressers.

I marched toward the bed. My shoe connected with a glass vodka bottle. It spun across the stained carpet and clinked against the metal leg of the nightstand.

I dropped to my knees, sweeping my hand under the cheap furniture. My fingers brushed against stiff paper.

I pulled it out. A torn boarding pass.

"Flight to Mexico City," I read aloud, standing up. I shoved the torn paper toward Nina's face as she emerged from the bathroom. "Is this where you two planned to run off with my money?"

Nina slapped my hand away. "I don't know anything about Mexico. He told me he was going to a tech conference in Chicago."

"Chicago is in the opposite direction," I said. "And Evan hates the cold."

"You don't know him," Nina sneered. She adjusted the toddler on her hip. "You just stalk his credit cards."

"I pay his credit cards," I corrected her.

Marcus walked past me, his heavy shoes thudding against the floorboards. He crouched near the bathroom door, reaching under the edge of the sink.

He stood up, holding a small, velvet-covered box.

"What is that?" Nina asked, taking a step inside.

Marcus flipped the lid open. "Empty."

He turned it over, reading the gold foil stamped on the bottom. "Cartier."

I marched over and snatched it from his rough palm. I traced the logo with my thumb.

"That matches the fifteen thousand dollar charge on his platinum card," I said, staring directly at Nina. "The one from last Tuesday. I told you about it at the station."

Marcus spun toward his sister. His jaw tightened. "Did he give you a ring, Nina?"

"No," she stammered, shrinking back against the doorframe. "I swear, Marcus. I've never seen that box before."

"Do not lie to me," Marcus growled. He closed the distance between them, pointing a thick finger at her face. "You told me he was broke this month. You asked me to cover your rent."

"He was broke!" Nina cried. She bounced a fussy Lily, trying to soothe the whining child. "He said the startup was bleeding cash. He hasn't given me a dime in three weeks."

I laughed. The harsh, bitter sound echoed off the cheap motel walls. "Bleeding cash? He just cleared half a million in Series A funding. I signed the release forms myself."

Marcus stared at his sister. The unshakeable loyalty in his dark eyes finally fractured. He shifted his weight, crossing his muscular arms slowly.

"He told me he was working late every night this week," I said, stepping closer to Nina. "What did he tell you?"

"He was home every night," Nina fired back, her chin raised. "He cooked dinner for Lily and me."

"Bullshit," I said. "I have the security footage from our driveway. He pulled in at midnight on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday."

Nina opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She glanced at Marcus, seeking backup, but he was staring at the empty ring box on the bed.

"If he was home with you," I pressed, "then who was he buying a fifteen-thousand-dollar ring for? Because it clearly isn't on your finger."

Nina hid her left hand behind Lily's back. "He was probably saving it for my birthday."

"Your birthday is in October," Marcus interrupted.

Nina snapped her head toward him. "Whose side are you on