Chapter 1

I stood in the center of the suffocatingly lavish study of Kensington Manor. I looked dead-eyed across the mahogany desk at my mother-in-law, Lady Tiara.

"I’m done, Tiara," I stated. "Keep your money. I want a divorce."

"Bear with it, Ruby," she sighed, waving her diamond-adorned hand dismissively. "This is the ninety-ninth time you’ve threatened to leave over his little affairs. It is getting exhausting."

She set her teacup down with a sharp clink.

"Have you forgotten our arrangement?" she asked. "I paid you handsomely to love my son. To keep him grounded. What about your mother, Ruby? If you leave, who exactly pays for her life support?"

She smiled. She thought I was still the desperate, penniless girl she had bought five years ago. I was twenty-two, drowning in crippling medical debt, watching machines breathe for my dying mother. Then, Lady Tiara had stepped into the sterile ICU waiting room like a queen.

She offered me a lifeline, but it came with a heavy, suffocating chain.

Lewis Kensington. The city’s most notorious billionaire playboy. He was reckless, arrogant, and a permanent fixture on the front page of every tabloid, usually with a different supermodel on his arm. Tiara was desperate to clean up his image before the board of directors ousted him from the family empire. She needed a quiet, respectable wife to play the part.

I sold my freedom to save my mother's life. I agreed to the sham marriage.

The real tragedy was that somewhere along the line, I had stupidly, foolishly fallen in love with my own fake husband. I had given him a son. I had tried to build a real home.

But Lewis never stopped being the playboy, and his heart never stopped belonging to his friend, Chloe.

I swallowed the bitter memory. I simply reached into my designer bag, pulled out a folded bank statement, and slid it across the polished wood.

"My mother's medical bills are paid in full," I said, watching the color drain from her face. "Every single penny. The contract tying me to Lewis is null and void. I am finally free."

I turned on my heel, ready to march upstairs and pack my bags.

Before I could take three steps, the heavy mahogany doors burst open.

Maria, our head nanny, collapsed onto the rug.

"Madam!" she screamed, her voice tearing through the quiet study. "It’s Kevin!"

My blood ran cold. "What about him? What happened?"

"The back gates!" Maria sobbed, pressing her hands to her face. "They were left wide open in the storm! He’s gone, Madam! We can't find him anywhere!"

Panic, raw and blinding, seized my chest. I sprinted out of the study and threw myself into the freezing, torrential rain.

"Kevin!" I screamed into the darkness.

The storm swallowed my voice. I tore through the massive estate, my expensive shoes sinking deep into the freezing mud.

I searched the gardens, the hedges, the playground. Nothing. My four-year-old son was gone.

Terrified and shivering, I pulled out my phone. My fingers were slick with rain as I dialed my husband's number.

Pick up. Please, Lewis, pick up.

On the fifth ring, the line connected.

"What is it, Ruby?" Lewis answered. His tone was clipped and annoyed. In the background, I could hear the soft clinking of crystal glasses and a live jazz band.

"Lewis, it's Kevin," I choked out, tears mixing with the rain on my face. "He's missing. The back gates were open. You have to come home right now. Call your private security team. Please, Lewis!"

A heavy, irritated sigh echoed through the speaker.

"Are you seriously pulling this stunt again, Ruby?" Lewis scoffed coldly.

"What? No! Lewis, I'm serious—"

"My mother just texted me," he interrupted, his voice dripping with arrogant venom. "You just threatened her with a divorce, and now you’re faking a kidnapping? You are pathetic."

"He is four years old! He is out in the storm!" I screamed.

"Kevin is probably hiding in the west wing," Lewis snapped. "Stop using my son to ruin my dinner with Chloe."

"Lewis, I swear to God—"

Click.

He hung up on me.

I stood frozen in the grand hallway, the rain dripping from my soaked clothes onto the marble floor. The realization hit me like a physical blow to the stomach.

The man I had actually fallen for, the man I had tried to build a family with, cared more about his mistress than his own flesh and blood.

I wiped my face, my sorrow instantly hardening into absolute, lethal rage.

I opened my phone dialer, ready to call the police myself.

Before I could press the first digit, my phone buzzed in my palm.

An anonymous text message.

I opened it. My breath hitched in my throat.

It was a photo. Kevin’s favorite stuffed bear, completely covered in mud.

In the background, out of focus but unmistakable, were the violent, rushing waters of the river that bordered the edge of the estate.

Beneath the photo was a single line of text.

Stop looking, or he falls in.