Genevieve POV

The gala continued behind the glass doors, a muted fishbowl of wealth and deceit. I could see them-the clinking glasses, the forced smiles-but I no longer felt like I belonged to the same species.

I paused for a moment, watching Ignatz through the pane. He was laughing at something a business partner said. It was the same laugh he used when I handed him the business plan for Foley Tech's expansion five years ago.

The memory clawed its way to the surface.

"This is brilliant, Gen," he had said then, holding my binder with a look of awe. "But... if we put your name on it, people will think it's just nepotism. Let me present it. For us."

I had nodded, eager to help him rise. Eager to be the wind beneath his wings.

Tonight, on the massive LED screens around the ballroom, they were displaying the blueprints for the "Eden Project"-a sustainable housing initiative.

"Designed by the visionary Everleigh and Ignatz Turner," the screen read.

I had drawn those lines. I had calculated the load-bearing walls at 3:00 AM while Ignatz slept. I had solved the ventilation issue while Everleigh was at a spa in Bali.

He hadn't just stolen it. He had surgically removed my contribution and grafted it onto her, just like he gave her my dignity.

Ignatz stepped away from the crowd and walked toward the terrace doors where I stood. He looked flushed, happy. He pushed the door open, letting out a blast of warm air and jazz music.

"You brought the keys?" he asked, not looking at me, checking his watch.

"I gave them to your assistant," I said.

He nodded, distracted. "Good. Listen, Gen. About earlier... I know you're upset. But once Everleigh's movie wraps, things will settle down. I was thinking... I can buy you a condo uptown. You wouldn't have to work. You could just be... available."

He was offering to make me his mistress. A kept woman. A dirty little secret.

"Available," I repeated, the word tasting like ash.

"Yeah. You know I care about you. I just can't have you in the spotlight right now."

He reached for my pocket and pulled out a velvet box. He turned back to the room, preparing to go back on stage to put the ring on Everleigh's finger.

"I won't sacrifice anymore, Ignatz," I said.

He barely heard me. "What? Look, go home. Get some sleep. You look terrible."

He went back inside. Meredith intercepted him, shooting a glare at me through the glass before yanking the velvet curtains shut.

I was dismissed.

"My time is short," I whispered. I could feel the cramping returning, a physical reminder of the loss he refused to acknowledge.

I returned to the apartment for the last time.

It was freezing. I didn't turn on the heat.

I gathered everything Ignatz had ever given me. The cheap silver bracelet from our first year. The dried roses from a Valentine's Day three years ago. The framed photo of us where he was looking at the camera and I was looking at him.

I threw them into the metal trash can in the kitchen.

I struck a match.

The fire caught quickly on the dry petals. I watched the flames curl the edges of the photo. I watched his smiling face melt and bubble until it was nothing but black, twisted plastic.

I sat at the wobbly table and opened my leather-bound diary. I picked up a pen.

Entry 1,825.

I loved a man who didn't exist. I built a castle on quicksand. Today, he asked me to be his dirty secret. Today, he celebrated while our baby is gone.

I wrote until my hand cramped. I poured five years of silence onto the pages.

My child, I wrote at the end. Mommy is sorry. Mommy loved the wrong person. I couldn't protect you from his ambition.

I closed the book. I left it on the center of the table.

Underneath my pillow, I placed the crumpled ultrasound photo and the discharge papers from the hospital. The diagnosis: Spontaneous abortion due to extreme physical stress and trauma.

I pulled out my phone one last time. I sent two encrypted messages. One to my father, Arlington. One to Kaleb, my father's protégé and the only man in that world who had ever looked at me with kindness.

Goodbye.

I left the phone on the counter.

I picked up my single suitcase. I walked out of the apartment, leaving the door unlocked.

The snow had deepened. I walked toward the train station, my footsteps heavy but steady. Behind me, the city celebrated the engagement of the year. Ahead of me, there was only the dark, cold unknown.

And for the first time in five years, I could breathe.

Kaleb POV

The engagement party was a suffocating parade of sycophants, a glitzy vacuum where oxygen was scarce and sincerity non-existent. I hated it. I hated how Ignatz preened like a prize peacock. I hated how Meredith looked at everyone like they were dirt on her shoe.

But mostly, I hated that Genevieve wasn't here.

I found Meredith near the chocolate fountain.

"Where is she?" I asked, dispensing with pleasantries.

Meredith sipped her champagne, her eyes glittering with malice. "Who? Oh, Genevieve? She went back to her old apartment. Or maybe she ran off to the countryside. Who knows with her? She's unstable."

"Unstable?" I narrowed my eyes. "She's the most grounded person I know."

"She's a liability," Meredith snapped. "Ignatz is better off without her dragging him down."

Ignatz walked by, laughing with a group of investors.

"Ignatz," I called out, stepping into his path. "Where is Gen?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "She went home, Kaleb. She's fine. She's just... taking some time."

Taking some time. The phrase rang false. It was a corporate euphemism, not something Genevieve would do. I had a bad feeling in my gut, a cold knot that tightened with every second.

"I'm going to check on her," I said.

"Don't bother," Ignatz said, turning back to his admirers. "She wants to be alone."

I ignored him. I grabbed my coat and strode out into the night.

I drove to the address I had on file-a rundown building in a part of the city Genevieve Foley should never have set foot in.

The front door of the apartment building was broken, hanging off one hinge. The hallway smelled of mildew and neglect. I reached her door. It was unlocked.

"Gen?" I pushed the door open.

The smell of smoke hit me first-acrid and sharp.

I flipped the light switch. The bulb flickered and buzzed like a dying insect.

The apartment was a wreck. It resembled a prison cell more than a home. There was a metal trash can in the middle of the kitchen with fresh ashes in it.

"Genevieve!" I shouted, checking the tiny bathroom, the closet.

Empty.

I walked to the bedroom. A bare mattress lay on the floor. No sheets. No warmth.

On the pillow, something white caught my eye.

I walked over and picked it up. It was a glossy photo. An ultrasound.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat. I picked up the paper underneath it. A hospital discharge form. Dated two days ago.

Patient: Genevieve Ball.

Diagnosis: Miscarriage.

Notes: Signs of severe malnutrition and blunt force trauma.

I felt the bile rise in my throat.

Ignatz didn't know. He was drinking champagne while she was losing his child.

I took out my phone and snapped photos of everything. The peeling paint. The mattress. The ashes. The damning medical papers.

I walked back to the living room table. A leather diary sat there, solitary and accusing.

I picked it up. I shouldn't read it. It was private. But she was gone, and I needed to find her.

I opened it to the last page.

Mommy is sorry. Mommy loved the wrong person.

My hands shook.

I ran out of the apartment, the diary clutched to my chest like a lifeline. I drove back to the venue like a madman, breaking every speed limit, fueled by a cold, white-hot rage.

I burst into the ballroom. Ignatz was cutting the cake with Everleigh.

I marched up to them.

"Kaleb?" Meredith stepped in my path, her smile faltering. "What are you doing? You look disheveled."

"She's gone," I said, my voice loud enough to slice through the music.

Ignatz looked up, the knife frozen in his hand. "Who?"

"Genevieve," I said. "And you have no idea what you've done."

I flicked the ultrasound photo onto the pristine white frosting of the multi-tiered cake.

"Congratulations, Ignatz," I said, my voice shaking. "You're celebrating while she was mourning your dead child."

Ignatz POV

The music stopped. Or maybe my ears just stopped working, the world narrowing down to a single point.

I stared at the small, black-and-white photo resting on the ruined cake. It was a grainy image of a fetus.

"What is this?" I asked. My voice sounded small, distant, like it was coming from underwater.

"It was on her pillow," Kaleb said. He looked like he wanted to kill me. "Along with discharge papers for a miscarriage. Two days ago."

Miscarriage.

The word hit me like a physical blow to the gut. I remembered her outside the apartment building. You killed it. I had thought she was being dramatic. I thought she was lying to hurt me because I chose Everleigh.

"No," I whispered. "That's impossible. She... she would have told me."

"She tried!" Kaleb yelled. "She tried to tell you, and you asked her to take the fall for a felony!"

The guests were whispering, a hive of bees disturbed. Phones were out, recording.

Meredith rushed forward, snatching the photo off the cake as if it were radioactive. "This is fake! She's doing this for attention! She's jealous of Everleigh!"

"It's not fake, Meredith," Kaleb spat. "I saw the apartment. It's a hellhole. You let her live there?"

"She chose it!" Meredith shrieked, her composure cracking. "She wanted to be independent!"

Everleigh stood up, her face pale. But it wasn't sadness. It was fear.

"Ignatz," she whimpered, grabbing my arm with a grip that bruised. "Don't listen to him. Genevieve is a liar. She's trying to ruin our night. She's probably not even gone. She's probably hiding, laughing at us."

"She's gone, Everleigh," Kaleb said coldly. "Her phone is left behind. Her clothes are gone. She burned everything."

I looked at Everleigh, really looked at her. "Did you know?"

"Know what?" she blinked rapidly.

"That she was pregnant."

"No! How could I?" She squeezed my arm harder. "Baby, please. I'm feeling faint. This is too much stress. Our baby..."

She put a protective hand on her stomach.

"Our baby," I repeated.

Suddenly, a man stepped forward from the crowd. It was Dr. Evans, the family physician. He looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot, wrestling with a silent dilemma.

"Mr. Turner," he said softly, stepping into the circle of light. "I... I feel I must intervene."

"Not now," Meredith snapped.

"No," Dr. Evans said firmly, finding his spine. "Now. Because this has gone too far." He looked at Everleigh with professional pity. "Ms. Everleigh cannot be pregnant, Ignatz."

Everleigh froze. Her grip on my arm turned into a claw.

"Shut up!" she hissed.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my head spinning.

"I treated Ms. Everleigh three years ago," the doctor said, his voice carrying in the silence. "After her... procedure. She had a total hysterectomy due to complications. It is biologically impossible for her to carry a child."

The room went silent. Dead silent.

I looked down at Everleigh. She wasn't crying anymore. Her face was a mask of pure, unadulterated panic.

"You... you said you were pregnant," I stammered. "That's why we rushed the engagement. That's why I asked Gen to..."

To take the blame. To protect the mother of my child.

"He's lying!" Everleigh screamed, her voice cracking. "He's paid off by Genevieve!"

She lunged at the doctor, her nails raking through the air.

"Everleigh, stop!" I grabbed her.

She spun on me, her face twisting into something ugly and unrecognizable. "Let me go! You idiot! You believed everything! You're so stupid!"

She shoved me. Hard.

I stumbled back, my heel catching on the podium. I fell, my head cracking against the sharp corner of the stage.

Pain exploded in my skull. Warm blood trickled down my neck.

Through the haze, I saw Meredith standing there, mouth open, doing nothing. I saw Everleigh screaming like a banshee.

And I saw Kaleb, holding a leather diary, looking at me with absolute disgust.

"Gen," I whispered, the darkness closing in.

I had sacrificed the real mother of my child for a woman who couldn't even have one.

I closed my eyes, and the only thing I could see was Genevieve's face in the snow, asking me, Is this your love?