Chapter 1

My phone had been ringing incessantly since I left the hospital parking lot. The sheer, unadulterated rage in my father-in-law’s voice had chilled me to the bone.

"Get home right now, Donna. Or I’m throwing your bastard son out onto the street."

I didn't even bother changing out of my scrubs. I broke every speed limit, ignoring the stop signs.

My sweet boy, Noah, was only three years old. Whatever twisted, manufactured drama the Graham family had concocted this time, I wasn't going to let them take it out on my little boy.

I slammed my car door and sprinted up the long, paved driveway of our sprawling suburban home.

"Noah!" I screamed, dropping my purse on the hardwood floor. "Where is he?"

The living room was dead silent. My husband, Garrett, stood by the fireplace. Beside him stood his father, Leonard.

"Where is my son?" I demanded, stepping forward.

"He's upstairs in his room," Leonard spat, his voice dripping with disgust. "Though I use the term 'son' loosely."

Before I could process his words, Leonard closed the distance between us. He raised his hand and violently threw a crumpled stack of papers directly into my face.

"Read it," Leonard commanded.

I looked down. The bold, black letters at the top of the page made my blood run cold. Paternity DNA Analysis Report.

My hands trembled as I picked it up. The result at the bottom was highlighted in a glaring yellow marker.

Probability of Relationship: 0%.

"What is this?" I gasped, looking up at them. "You secretly tested my baby?"

"I tested my supposed grandson," Leonard snarled. "Because I always knew a low-class, gold-digging tramp like you couldn't be trusted. And I was right. That boy has absolutely none of the Graham blood in his veins."

"That's impossible!" I shouted, the paper shaking in my hands. "Garrett is his father! There has never been anyone else!"

Garrett moved so incredibly fast I didn't even see him cross the large room.

His hand cracked across my face with the force of a whip.

My skull bounced against the polished wood.

My vision swam, black spots dancing in my eyes as a ringing sound filled my ears.

"Don't you dare lie to me!" Garrett roared, his voice shaking the walls.

He stood over me, his fists clenched tight at his sides. "Three years, Donna! You made me raise another man's bastard for three years! You let me feed him, clothe him, and love him, knowing the whole time you were spreading your legs for someone else!"

I scrambled to my feet, squaring my shoulders.

"I have never cheated on you," I stated. "Never. That test is a lie, or it's flawed. If you want the truth, Garrett, you take a test. A direct paternity test between you and Noah. Right now. We will go to a clinic, and you will see that he is your son."

Garrett hesitated. A flicker of doubt crossed his furious features.

"He doesn't need to take a test, Donna."

The sickly sweet, condescending voice came from the top of the grand staircase.

My mother-in-law, Erika, descended the steps.

She held her expensive smartphone in her manicured hand.

"We already have all the proof we need," Erika announced.

She pointed her phone at the massive flat-screen television mounted above the fireplace.

With a simple swipe of her finger, the screen flickered to life.

It was security camera footage. The timestamp in the corner flashed in bright white numbers. It was exactly nine months before Noah was born.

The weekend Garrett had been out of town on a business trip.

The grainy video showed the dimly lit hallway of a cheap, sleazy motel. A woman walked into the frame.

My breath caught in my throat.

She had my long, dark hair. She was wearing my favorite red trench coat. She turned her face toward the camera for a split second, laughing as a tall, faceless man wrapped his arms around her waist.

It was my face. My smile.

The man pulled a keycard from his pocket, swiped it, and dragged the woman into the motel room, kicking the door shut behind them.

The video looped, playing the damning sequence over and over again.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head violently. "No, that's not me! I was at work that entire weekend! You can check the hospital logs!"

"Hospital logs can be altered," Erika sneered, crossing her arms. "Video doesn't lie."

"It's a deepfake!" I screamed, my voice echoing in the silent room. Panic clawed at my throat as the realization hit me. "This is a setup! You manufactured this to get rid of me!"

They slowly surrounded me. Leonard, Erika, and Garrett. A wall of absolute, impenetrable malice.

Garrett looked at the television, then down at me. The last shred of love in his eyes vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated disgust.

"The proof is right here," Garrett spat, his words slicing through the air like a blade. "You dirty, flirty whore."