Chapter 1

My husband, Ethan Vance, loved me to the bone. To marry me, he once swore a solemn oath.

"If I ever betray Rowan, let me lose everything and end up with nothing."

After we married, he indeed put me first in everything.

During my third trimester, when I suffered from severe insomnia, he even hired a professional sleep therapist just for me.

I told everyone that this was what true love looked like.

But my doctor recently told me otherwise.

"Ma'am, the level of sleeping pills in your system is dangerously high. If you keep taking them, it could be life-threatening."

I froze in shock. I had never bought or taken sleeping pills in my life.

With trembling hands, I opened the security camera playback at home.

Only then did I realize that the so-called "sleep therapist" was a complete fraud.

Every night, she used her sweet, gentle voice to coax me into drinking milk laced with sleeping pills, and the moment I fell asleep, she crawled into my husband's bed.

Watching the two of them tangled together on the screen, I threw up everything in my stomach.

Ethan had probably told so many lies that he forgot his own oath.

Since that's the case, I'll make sure his promise comes true.

I had just finished a full body checkup at the private clinic owned by my best friend, Chloe.

After walking home like a ghost, my phone vibrated twice.

It was Chloe sending me two blood test reports.

"No gynecological issues."

"But the level of benzodiazepines in your blood is dangerously high."

"Fortunately, the dosage was carefully controlled, so you and the baby aren't affected."

My mind went blank. I didn't feel lucky at all.

*Carefully controlled so there was no damage.*

But what if they hadn't controlled it well?

Would my baby and I both be dead by now?

The phone slipped from my palm, hitting the carpet with a dull thud.

I slowly looked down at my hands.

Just last month, these hands were so swollen from the late stage of my pregnancy that I couldn't even hold a glass.

Back then, I couldn't sleep at all, tossing and turning all night. Ethan would hold me tightly, looking at me with pure heartache. "Rowan, I spent weeks looking for a top-tier sleep therapist. It breaks my heart to see you like this. Let's just let her try, okay?"

He told me Delilah Thorne was a certified sleep specialist who had studied abroad. He said she was gentle, patient, and highly professional.

And Delilah was indeed gentle.

Every night, she would come to my bedroom right on time. She would light aromatherapy candles, play soft music, gently massage my temples, and whisper, "Mrs. Vance, drink this warm milk. You'll fall asleep soon."

I drank that milk every single night for two months.

From my eighth month of pregnancy, through labor, and into my postpartum recovery.

I thought it was my husband's sweet devotion—the warmest light in my difficult pregnancy.

It turned out to be poison.

How could he trust an outsider so easily? How could he be so cold-blooded and ruthless?

What if the baby had been born with birth defects?

What if she had a more sinister motive and secretly changed the medication?

Dark thoughts choked my heart like strangling vines.

Cold sweat broke out all over my body. I had to lean against the wall to slowly slide down.

My stomach suddenly churned violently.

The champagne, the cake, and the exquisite food from tonight's banquet all rushed up to my throat.

I leaned over the trash can and threw up until tears streamed down my face.

On my phone, the security footage was still playing. Delilah's voice drifted out: "Mrs. Vance? Are you asleep?"

On the screen, I was sleeping on my side with my heavily pregnant belly.

Delilah was holding the cup of milk, of which I had only taken a few sips.

Once she made sure I was fast asleep, the gentle smile faded from her face.

She pulled out her phone and sent a Snapchat message. Less than five minutes later, Ethan pushed the door open and walked in.

He was wearing the silk pajamas I had bought for him, and he let Delilah throw herself into his arms.

He smiled, wrapped his hands around her waist, and kissed her deeply.

It felt like acid was pouring directly into my heart, leaving a burning, agonizing ache.

Ethan had installed this camera early in my pregnancy. He said he was worried about me being home alone and wanted to be able to check on me from his office at any time.

At the time, I had teased him for being overly dramatic and never once opened the app myself.

This was the first time.

And it was the first time I realized how crystal clear the footage was.

So clear that I could see Ethan reaching out to unbutton Delilah's shirt.

I could see Delilah whispering something in his ear with a smirk.

I could see Ethan glancing sideways at me, sleeping soundly on the bed, a careless, indifferent smile curling his lips.

That smile was like a sharp knife, stabbing precisely into my heart.

Three years of marriage.

Ethan always came home on time and never went to after-work drinking parties.

He never missed a single prenatal checkup.

He took perfect care of my parents during the holidays.

Everyone in our circle praised him, saying Ethan Vance was a rare, perfect husband.

I had almost believed it myself.