Chapter 1

Audrey's POV

The sterile white walls of the Mayo Clinic seemed colder than usual today. Or perhaps the chill was within me. I sat in Dr. Evans' office, my thumb hovering over the screen of my phone. The headline on Page Six was a jagged glass shard in my heart: "Hollywood Starlet Laurel Rose Makes Surprise Return; Greeted by NYC's Most Eligible Bachelor."

"Most eligible bachelor," I whispered, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. The world had no idea that Blake Parker—New York's golden boy and the ruthless CEO of the Parker Group—had been bound to me in marriage for three years. I was the secret wife, the shadow in his public success. The photos showed him at the airport, wearing a smile I hadn't seen in years.

Three months. That was the expiration date Dr. Evans had placed on my life. And now, this.

"Mrs. Parker?" Dr. Evans' voice was gentle. She only used my married name when we were behind closed doors. To the public, I was Audrey Sinclair, the "country girl" foundling of the Sinclair fortune. My marriage was a ghost story.

I looked up, already sensing the weight of her words.

"I'm sorry, Audrey. Given your condition and how much your body has weakened... we couldn't save the pregnancy."

My hand instinctively moved to my stomach. It felt impossibly empty. "So, it’s over?"

"Your health is the priority now," she said, choosing her words with clinical care. "We need to proceed with the procedure immediately to prevent further complications."

I nodded, surprised by my own stillness. Perhaps after three years of loving a man who viewed me as a mere obligation, I had finally run out of tears.

"Can we do it now?" I asked. "And please... I don't want anything to dull the clarity of this moment. I need to remember exactly how this feels."

The walk to the surgical wing felt like a funeral procession. In the hallways, I heard the whispers of the staff.

"Did you see the news? Blake Parker and Laurel Rose... back together after three years. It’s like a fairy tale."

A fairy tale, I thought bitterly. What do you call the woman who sat by his hospital bed for months when he was in a coma? What do you call the wife who endured his family’s disdain just to keep his world from falling apart? Pathetic. That was the word they’d use if they knew the truth.

The procedure was a blur of cold instruments and a deep, aching void. I had called Blake five times that morning. Five chances for him to be the man I hoped he was. Five calls that went straight to a silent voicemail.

Thirty minutes later, the door to my recovery room swung open. Blake stood there, impeccable in his charcoal suit, his face a mask of controlled fury.

"Audrey Sinclair! How dare you make a medical decision of this magnitude without informing me?"

"I tried calling you," I said, my voice sounding as though it came from a great distance.

"Liar. My phone has been with me all morning. There isn't a single missed call from you."

"Check your history, Blake."

He pulled out his phone, swiping through it with a sneer before tossing it onto the foot of my bed. "Nothing. Are you so desperate for attention that you’d fabricate a crisis?"

I stared at the empty log. I knew Laurel was clever, but I hadn't realized she had already regained total control over his life.

"Maybe it's for the best," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "This marriage was built on a foundation of silence. Why should our ending be any different?"

Blake’s eyes darkened, stepping closer until his shadow enveloped me. "You think you can just—"

"Oh... Blake... my head..."

The soft moan from the doorway cut through his anger. Laurel Rose stood there, draped in a delicate white dress that made her look like a fragile porcelain doll. She swayed slightly, her hand pressed to her temple.

"Blake, darling... I feel so dizzy. I think the jet lag is catching up to me."

In an instant, the man who had been ready to tear me apart transformed. The fury in Blake’s eyes vanished, replaced by a raw, frantic concern. He rushed to her side, catching her before she could fall.

"Laurel? What’s wrong? Should I call a specialist?"

"Just... the stress of the day," she whispered, clinging to his arm.

I watched from the bed, a ghost in my own life. Blake supported her waist with a gentleness he had never offered me. He guided her out of the room, his argument with me forgotten as if I had never existed.

Through the window of my room, I watched them disappear down the corridor. The perfect couple. The starlet and the billionaire.

I placed a hand over my abdomen, feeling the cold reality of my situation. My time was running out, and the man I had given everything to didn't even know I was dying.

I checked out of the clinic alone. The Sinclair mansion felt like a tomb when I returned. I barely made it to the bathroom before a wave of nausea and weakness overcame me. My vision blurred, the world tilting on its axis as the physical toll of the day finally claimed its due. As I collapsed onto the floor, my last thought was of the empty call log—and the realization that I truly had nothing left to hold onto.