The Sterling family estate in the Hamptons was a fortress of old money. Stone walls, iron gates, and a driveway long enough to land a plane on. Seraphina stepped out of the Uber at the gate. She refused to let the driver take her to the door. She wanted the walk. She needed the air.

She was wearing a black dress. It was floor-length, long-sleeved, and loose around the waist. It was elegant, but severe.

Julian was waiting on the front steps. He looked impeccable in a tuxedo, but his eyes were darting around nervously. When he saw her, he frowned.

You look like you are going to a funeral, he said as she approached.

I am, Seraphina said. She didn't stop walking. I am mourning our marriage.

Julian flinched. He fell into step beside her. He reached for her arm to guide her up the stairs. His hand was warm.

Don't touch me, she hissed.

Grandmother is watching from the window, he muttered through a fake smile. Smile, Sera.

Seraphina forced the corners of her mouth up. It felt like cracking plaster. She let him link his arm with hers. The contact made her skin crawl.

They entered the grand dining room. A chandelier the size of a small car hung over the table. Grandmother Sterling sat at the head, looking like a queen on a throne.

Seraphina, she said. You look... pale.

I have been under the weather, Grandmother, Seraphina said, taking her seat.

The old woman's eyes dropped instantly to Seraphina's stomach. Any good news? she asked bluntly.

Seraphina felt her stomach lurch. She reached for her water glass. No, Grandmother. Just a stomach bug.

Julian jumped in. The quarterly earnings are up twelve percent, Grandmother. The tech sector acquisition is moving forward.

He talked about business for an hour. Seraphina pushed the food around her plate. The smell of the roast lamb was making her dizzy.

Halfway through dessert, Julian's phone, which was sitting face up on the table, lit up.

It wasn't a text. It was a video message notification. The preview thumbnail was large. It showed Harper, looking devastated, holding a bouquet of dead, withered roses. Tears were streaming down her face.

Julian's hand shot out and flipped the phone over. The loud clack echoed in the room.

Grandmother Sterling raised an eyebrow. Trouble at the office?

Something like that, Julian said. His jaw was tight.

Seraphina took a sip of water. She felt a cold, calm detachment. The video was clearly staged. Who films themselves crying with dead flowers unless they want an audience?

After dinner, Julian pulled Seraphina into his father's old study. He closed the heavy door and locked it.

You were good out there, he said. He sounded relieved. He walked to the desk and picked up a folder.

I added something to the settlement, he said. To thank you. The villa in Miami. It's worth six million.

Seraphina didn't look at the folder.

I told you, she said. I don't want it.

She opened her small clutch purse and pulled out a single sheet of paper. She placed it on the desk.

This is a waiver of assets, she said. I have already signed it. I am taking nothing. No alimony. No properties. No stocks.

Julian stared at her. He looked genuinely confused. Are you crazy? Without me, you have nothing. You are a Vanderbilt with no money. How will you survive?

Seraphina looked him in the eye. Without you, I am finally myself.

Julian opened his mouth to argue, but his phone began to ring. A shrill, demanding sound.

He looked at the screen. His face went white.

It's the nurse, he said. He answered on speaker.

Mr. Sterling! It's Harper! She passed out! She's coughing up blood! There's blood everywhere!

The color drained from Julian's face. Pure, unadulterated terror filled his eyes.

I'm coming! he shouted.

He dropped the phone into his pocket. He grabbed his car keys. He ran for the door. He didn't even look at the waiver Seraphina had put on the desk.

Wait here, he threw over his shoulder. We will talk when I get back.

He slammed the door.

Seraphina stood in the silence of the study. She looked at the waiver. She picked it up and placed it squarely in the center of the desk, under a heavy crystal paperweight.

She walked out of the house. She walked past the confused staff. She walked down the long driveway to the main road.

She called a car.

When she got in, she checked her phone. A text from Zoe.

Tomorrow morning. 9 AM. Don't be late again.

Seraphina typed back: I won't.

Miles away, in a hospital room, Harper West wiped her mouth with a tissue. She looked at the red stain. It was corn syrup and red food coloring.

The nurse stood in the corner, trembling. If the doctor finds out...

Harper looked at her. Her eyes were sharp and clear. There was no pain in them.

If Seraphina disappears, Harper said, no one will look close enough to find out anything.

City General Hospital. The smells were different here than at the private clinic. More bleach, more desperation.

Seraphina lay on the examination table in the VIP wing of the Obstetrics department. Zoe was looking at a file, her brow furrowed.

We have a problem, Zoe said.

Seraphina sat up, clutching her paper gown. What is it? Can't we do the procedure?

Zoe turned the clipboard around. You are Rh-negative, Sera. O-negative blood type.

I know that. So?

And your uterine lining is incredibly thin, Zoe continued. It's likely due to stress and... well, genetics.

Zoe took a deep breath. If we perform a surgical abortion now, with your blood type and the condition of your uterus, the risk of scarring is extremely high. You might develop antibodies that would attack future pregnancies.

She looked Seraphina in the eye. If you terminate this pregnancy, there is an eighty percent chance you will never be able to carry a child again. And the procedure itself... you could hemorrhage.

The room went silent. The hum of the air conditioner sounded like a roar.

Seraphina put her hand on her stomach. Never?

Zoe nodded. As your doctor, I advise against it. As your friend... I will support whatever you choose. But you need to know the cost.

Seraphina closed her eyes. She hated Julian. She hated what he had done. But the thought of never being a mother? The thought of this being her only chance?

Her phone buzzed on the side table. She glanced at it, expecting another threat from Julian. Instead, it was a low balance alert from her bank. Her account was overdrawn by twenty dollars. The monthly maintenance fee had hit.

She stared at the red numbers. $ -20.00.

She was completely broke. She had rejected the settlement. She had no job. She had a baby on the way that she couldn't afford to feed, let alone raise.

But then she remembered the email she had drafted weeks ago. The submission to Project: Ethereal. She had hesitated to send it because of Julian. Because he hated her music.

"I have talent," she whispered to herself. "I can write."

She looked at the ultrasound monitor. The screen was black and gray. There, in the center, was a tiny, pulsing flicker of white light.

The heartbeat.

It wasn't Julian's mistake. It was her miracle.

I'm keeping it, Seraphina whispered.

Zoe let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for ten minutes. Thank god.

But, Zoe warned, pulling out a prescription pad. You are high risk. Extremely high risk. You need absolute bed rest. No stress. No shouting. No emotional shocks.

Seraphina took the prescription. I'm leaving New York. I'll go to Europe. Or anywhere cheap. Anywhere far.

Good, Zoe said. Go now. Don't go back to the penthouse.

Seraphina put on her coat. She pulled her hat low. She grabbed her bag and walked out of the exam room toward the elevators.

She pressed the down button.

The elevator doors dinged and slid open.

A wall of noise hit her.

Flashbulbs popped like strobe lights. A dozen people with cameras and microphones spilled out of the elevator cars.

Harper West is on the 4th floor! someone shouted. Julian Sterling just parked his car!

Seraphina backed away, shielding her face. She was on the 3rd floor. They were heading up.

She ducked into the stairwell door just as the mob rushed past. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She was trapped. The press was swarming the building. If she went out the front, they would see her. If she stayed, Julian might see her.

She looked at the stairwell. Down was blocked by security guards managing the press. Up was the oncology ward where Harper was.

She checked her phone. Breaking News: Harper West condition critical. Julian Sterling arrives at City General.

She leaned against the concrete wall, feeling dizzy. The smell of dust and concrete filled her nose. She had to get out. She had to protect the baby.

She decided to wait. Wait for the storm to pass. But then the door above her opened. Footsteps echoed on the metal stairs.

One floor up. The Oncology VIP suite.

Harper West sat up in bed. She was checking her makeup in a compact mirror. She added a touch more pale powder to her cheeks.

The IV drip next to her was flowing steadily. It was saline and vitamins. Nothing else.

She scrolled through Twitter on her phone. PrayForHarper was the number one trending topic worldwide.

She clicked on a video. It was an interview she had given yesterday. I don't want to ruin anyone's marriage, she sobbed on screen. I just want to say goodbye to my best friend.

The comments were vicious.

Seraphina Sterling is a monster for keeping them apart.

If Harper dies, it's on Seraphina's hands.

Harper smiled. It was a small, tight smile that didn't reach her eyes.

The door opened. Her private nurse walked in.

Miss West, the nurse whispered. The doctor... he says your ulcer is healed. The scans are clean. He wants to discharge you.

Harper didn't scream. She didn't throw anything. She simply turned her head slowly to look at the nurse. Her eyes were dry and incredibly cold.

"Is that so?" Harper whispered. She picked up her phone and tapped the screen. She held it up. It was a draft email addressed to the Hospital Board of Directors.

"If I am discharged," Harper said, her voice soft and sweet, "I will tweet that this hospital neglected a dying woman because she wouldn't pay a bribe. I have twenty million followers. How long do you think your career will last?"

The nurse paled.

"I need to be sick for another month," Harper said. "Fix the charts. Or I fix your life."

She reached into her purse and pulled out a checkbook. She scribbled a number. A big number. She tore the check out and let it flutter to the floor at the nurse's feet.

"Consulting fee," Harper said.

The nurse bent down, shaking, and picked up the check.

Footsteps approached from the hallway. Heavy, hurried strides.

Harper threw herself back against the pillows. She let out a low moan, clutching her stomach.

Julian burst into the room. He saw Harper writhing in pain.

Harper! He rushed to her side. What happened?

I... I tried to get water, Harper gasped. My hands... so weak. I'm useless, Julian. I'm just a burden.

No, Julian said fiercely. He stroked her hair. You are fighting.

Harper buried her face in his chest. She inhaled the scent of his expensive cologne.

Julian, she whispered. Take me downstairs. To the garden. Please. I need fresh air. This room smells like death.

Julian hesitated. The press is downstairs, Harper.

I don't care, she said, looking up at him with wide, watery eyes. Let them see. I'm not ashamed of loving you. I want to see the sun one last time.

It was a line from a movie. Julian didn't know that. He just saw a dying woman's wish.

Okay, he said.

He lifted her into the wheelchair. He grabbed a blanket and tucked it around her legs.

Harper slipped her hand into her pocket and tapped out a text to the paparazzo she had hired. Coming down now. Elevator B.

Julian pushed the wheelchair into the hall. They waited for the elevator.

The doors opened. They stepped in. Julian pressed the button for the Lobby.

The descent was smooth.

When the doors opened on the ground floor, the lobby was chaos. Security was trying to hold back the line of reporters.

And right there, in the center of the lobby, trying to weave through the crowd toward the exit, was a woman in a black coat and a hat.

Seraphina.

Julian stopped the wheelchair.

Seraphina looked up. Her eyes met his.

For a second, the world stopped.

Then, a reporter shouted. Is that the wife?

The mob turned. The cameras swung around. Flashbulbs exploded like fireworks.