Prologue:
I was three months pregnant when I went in for a prenatal checkup.
My husband was considerate enough to accompany me, immediately posting our ultrasound picture on social media.
The caption read: “My little princess, Daddy loves you!”
Relatives and friends saw it and quickly sent their blessings.
The next day, in the hospital hallway, I caught sight of him holding Olivia Reed tightly in his arms.
Through her tears, Olivia sobbed, “Your wife is pregnant, so what about the baby in my belly?”
Daniel Scott gently wiped away her tears.
“Silly girl, she’s having a daughter. The Scott family doesn’t accept daughters. The family has already arranged a car accident.”
“You’re the one carrying the Scott heir. Once she miscarries, I’ll divorce her and marry you.”
I turned away and dialed a number I hadn’t called in three years.
Daniel, since you want me to miscarry, I’ll make sure your family goes bankrupt.
On the screen, that tiny life was just a blurry outline, but it meant the entire world to me.
The doctor’s gentle voice: “It’s a girl, very healthy.”
Daniel carefully saved the ultrasound picture to his phone, his lips unable to hide a smile.
Soon, the photo spread through the New York elite society’s social media circle.
“My little princess, Daddy loves you!” The image showed our tightly clasped hands and the blurry ultrasound.
Quickly, a stream of blessings poured in—from relatives, friends, and countless business partners.
“Congratulations, Daniel, a beautiful baby girl!”
“Your little princess will be as gorgeous as her mom!”
Daniel replied to each message, his face glowing with joy at becoming a father.
He leaned down, kissed my forehead, and whispered tenderly: “Rachel, thank you. She’s the proof of our love.”
I caressed my still-flat belly, drowning in the joy of becoming a mother, certain I had never been happier in my life.
Daniel, the only son of the Scott family, came from a powerful business empire, well-known among New York’s elite society.
And I? Just a girl from an ordinary background.
Our union had once been mocked as a “Prince and Cinderella” tale.
Everyone said I was lucky to marry so well—and even I believed it.
Daniel, handsome and attentive, had pampered me into becoming a true princess.
But I never imagined this fairy tale was nothing more than an elaborate lie he carefully wove.
The following day, I went alone to the hospital to collect a detailed report.
As I turned the corner of the OB-GYN department, a familiar tearful voice reached my ears.
“Daniel, your wife is pregnant. What about my baby?”
It was Olivia’s voice.
Daniel’s so-called “sister figure”—and my supposed best friend.
I froze in place, my body rigid, cold sweat running down my skin.
Then Daniel’s voice followed.
“Silly girl, she’s having a daughter. The Scott family doesn’t recognize daughters.”
“Don’t worry, the family has arranged a car accident. Clean and neat—it’ll look like an accident.”
“You’re the one carrying the Scott heir. Once she loses that ‘burden,’ I’ll divorce her and marry you.”
“By then, you’ll be the rightful wife of the Scott family.”
The hallway fell silent for a few seconds before Olivia’s sobs shifted into a smile.
“Really, Daniel? You’re not lying to me?”
“When have I ever lied to you?” Daniel’s voice dripped with a tenderness that could drown—but for me, it was an icy plunge into despair.
My world spun. Every sweet moment between us instantly twisted into the most nauseating of lies.
I clutched the cold wall just to keep myself from collapsing.
So that “little princess” post wasn’t love—it was my death sentence.
So all his tenderness and care had been nothing but a façade.
So he had already been with Olivia—and she was carrying his child.
And I, along with the daughter in my womb, was nothing more than an obstacle to their happiness.
An obstacle to be “accidentally” erased at any moment.
I didn’t storm out, didn’t scream, didn’t let those two see my despair.
Instead, I quietly turned, step by step, into the empty stairwell.
My trembling fingers found a number buried in my contacts for three long years.
The call was quickly answered. A low, magnetic male voice came through.
“Hello.”
Just one word, yet it carried such authority and pressure that it caught me like a net before I could fall apart.
“Mr. Blake, this is Rachel Carter.”
“Three years ago, you said if I gave the word, you could destroy the Scott family.”
“Does that still hold?”
The other end was silent for several seconds—long enough for me to think he might refuse.
“It holds.” Ethan Blake’s voice was steady, filled with a quiet reassurance.
“I’ll give you an address. Meet me tomorrow.”
When the call ended, I leaned against the wall, sliding down until I sat on the cold floor, my chest crushed by a weight so heavy I could barely breathe.
Only then did the full terror set in.
Had I not stumbled upon their conversation, soon my daughter and I would have vanished in a meticulously staged “accident.”
Daniel, my husband, would be holding Olivia and their son, moving into a life of happiness bought with my life.
I pulled out my phone and stared at his social media post—his profile picture still our wedding photo.
The blessings beneath it had already piled into the hundreds, each one a stinging slap across my face.
I stared at the words “My little princess, Daddy loves you!” and felt only bitter irony.
My “little princess,” in his plan, was nothing but a “burden.”
A child with a title but no worth, someone disposable at any moment.
I didn’t delete it, didn’t reply. I simply shoved the cold phone back into my pocket, my heart as frozen as the screen.
Standing up, I smoothed my clothes, drew a deep breath, and forced my storm of emotions back beneath the surface.
When I returned home, Daniel wasn’t back yet. The house was empty, filled only with the scent of what had once been “home.”
As usual, I changed my shoes, washed my hands, and stepped into the kitchen to prepare dinner.
The blade struck the cutting board with a dull, steady rhythm—
over and over, echoing my fractured heart.
I remembered our early days of marriage, when I couldn’t cook and ruined the kitchen on my first attempt.
Daniel had come up behind me, wrapping me in his arms, guiding my hands as he taught me how to chop.
His chin rested on my shoulder, warm breath brushing my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
“Rachel, I’ll cook from now on. I don’t want my princess harmed by smoke and grease.”
Words that once moved me to tears now filled me with nothing but disgust.
Each cut of the knife severed another thread of what had once been love.
The lock clicked. Daniel returned, carrying a delicate cake box, his familiar warm smile plastered on his face.
“Rachel, look what I brought you—your favorite strawberry mousse.”
He entered the kitchen, eyes flickering with a trace of suspicion as he watched me chopping.
He moved closer, trying to embrace me as he always had, but the touch I once found comforting now churned my stomach.
I sidestepped, pointing at the knife in my wet hand. “I’ve got water on me. Don’t want to get you wet.”
Daniel froze for a second, then quickly recovered, lips curving into a fond smile.
“I’ll put the cake away then. Be careful with the knife, don’t hurt yourself.”
He placed the cake in the fridge, then returned, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder.
His breath brushed against my neck, carrying a perfume scent that wasn’t mine.
It was Olivia’s favorite fragrance—“Diva Icon.”
My stomach lurched, bile rising, though I forced my voice to remain calm.
“Did you pick up the report from the hospital today? What did the doctor say?” He pressed closer, almost as if testing me.
“I did. Everything’s fine.” I kept my voice even, hiding any cracks.
“Good.” He kissed my cheek softly, his tone dripping with affection.
“Our daughter will grow up healthy and strong.”
I stayed silent, chopping faster, each slice cutting through his false tenderness.
Sensing my coldness, he tightened his hold, his voice probing: “Rachel, what’s wrong? Aren’t you happy?”
“No.” I turned off the faucet, faced him with an emotionless gaze.
“Just tired.”
He studied me closely, suspicion flickering in his eyes, before finally loosening his grip and cupping my face.
“Pregnancy is exhausting. Eat dinner and rest early. Tomorrow I’ll take you shopping for clothes—for you and the baby.”
His performance was flawless. If I hadn’t overheard the truth with my own ears, I might have fallen into his lies again, willingly stepping into his trap.
At dinner, I stared at the table full of dishes, feeling only nausea.
Daniel kept piling food onto my plate, playing the part of a perfect husband.
“Eat more. You’re eating for two now.”
“This fish soup is good for pregnant women. I had Mrs. Zhang make it especially—try some.”
Looking at his concerned face, I almost laughed.
Here was a man plotting to kill me and my child, yet urging me to eat more at the dinner table—such hypocrisy, such cruelty.
I set my chopsticks down, meeting his gaze with clear, unshaken eyes.
“Daniel.” I called his name like I would a stranger’s.
“Hm? What is it? Are you not feeling well?” He froze, then his face shifted to anxious concern, setting down his chopsticks and taking my hand.
“Do you love me?” I pulled my hand free, staring straight into his eyes, searching for the slightest flicker.
He paused, then smiled, reaching for my hand again—though it carried no warmth.
“Silly girl, of course I do. If I don’t love you, who else would I love?”
“Then…” I withdrew my hand once more, my gaze colder still.
“Do you love our child? Even if she’s a girl?”
Daniel’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, a flash of unease in his eyes. He hadn’t expected me to ask that.
