Chapter 2

I stopped fighting.

Wasting my breath on two soulless parasites was nothing but self-destruction.

I retreated into the bedroom and locked the door behind me.

Liam and Brenda banged on the door for a few minutes, muttering curses about me being "crazy" and "ungrateful," before the hallway finally went silent.

I leaned back against the solid wood door, shivering from the cold inside me, but my mind was sharper than it had ever been.

Liam was lying.

Brenda was covering for him.

Three hundred thousand dollars wasn't pocket change.

I pulled out my phone. I didn't search for how to deal with a cheating spouse. Instead, I typed: Best forensic divorce and asset protection attorneys.

Then I pulled up the itemized wire transfers.

The money hadn't left in one single chunk. It was sent in multiple sums ranging from ten to fifty thousand dollars, all compressed within a seventy-two-hour window.

The recipient was listed as an entity I didn't recognize:

Sacred Heart Luxury Postnatal Retreat.

It sounded elite. A private medical center.

I typed the name into my browser, and the official site loaded immediately.

Gilded reception areas, private garden suites, round-the-clock obstetricians, and newborn packages starting at twenty-five thousand a week.

It was an ultra-exclusive private maternity hospital.

My money—my daughter's tuition—had been funneled straight into this facility.

Why?

A sickening theory surfaced in my mind, knocking the wind out of my lungs.

I clicked on the "Medical Staff & Specialists" directory, scrolling through the smiling portraits.

Until a very familiar name and face stared right back at me.

Tiffany Vance.

Liam’s college junior. After med school, she had taken a job as an OB-GYN at this exact hospital.

I remembered Liam mentioning her once, bragging about how she had made head of her department at such a young age, calling her the most accomplished woman from their alumni circle.

In the photo, Tiffany looked polished and elegant in her pristine white coat.

My mind raced back to an alumni reunion five years ago. A drunken Liam had slurred to his buddy across the table:

Tiffany was crazy about me back in college. If I'd said yes to her back then, Evelyn wouldn't even be in the picture.

At the time, I brushed it off as stupid drunk talk. Now, remembering the smugness in his tone, I felt sick.

I closed the tab, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I needed hard proof.

Ironclad evidence that would pin them to the wall.

I found the customer service line for Sacred Heart, took a steadying breath, and dialed.

"Thank you for calling Sacred Heart Luxury Maternity. How may I assist you?"

I pitched my voice to sound strained, exhausted, and anxious.

"Hi... I’m calling on behalf of Liam Miller. His partner just gave birth there. His phone died, and he asked me to confirm whether the discharge paperwork for the baby has been fully completed? We’re trying to pick them up this afternoon."

There was a brief pause on the line.

"Ma'am, could you provide the mother’s full legal name and patient ID number?"

I hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Tiffany Vance. I don't have the patient ID on hand right now, but could you please look it up? We're on a tight schedule."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Without the patient ID or direct authorization, I cannot disclose patient records. Please have Mr. Miller call us directly."

The line went dead.

That road was blocked.

I didn't give up. Instead, I dialed Mark. He had spent a decade as an investigative journalist and knew people in every corner of the city, including private medical networks.

Two hours later, Mark called me back.

"I found it, Evelyn. Tiffany Vance delivered a healthy baby boy via natural birth three days ago at Sacred Heart. She was officially discharged at ten this morning. On the birth certificate registry forms... Liam Miller is listed as the father."

A baby boy.

His prized son.

While I was burning the candle at both ends, skipping meals and destroying my health to build a future for my daughter, every cent I made was being used to fund a VIP birth suite for another woman’s child.

I hung up. My hand shook so violently I could barely hold the phone.

Liam. My devoted husband.

He hadn't just stepped out on our marriage. He had fathered a bastard.

And he stole my daughter's future to pay for his filthy secret.

I walked into the master bathroom, cranked the faucet, and splashed freezing water over my face over and over again.

The woman in the mirror had pale skin and bloodshot eyes, but her gaze was dead set.

No. I can't break down now.

I have a daughter to protect.

That evening, the bedroom door clicked open. Liam walked in carrying a bowl of gourmet chicken soup.

Seeing that I was awake, he forced an apologetic, docile smile onto his face.

"Evelyn, honey, don't be mad anymore. It was my fault. I'll figure out a way to get the money back as soon as possible. Drink some soup first. I made it specially for you."

Looking at his cowardly, hypocritical face made my stomach churn.

I took the bowl and set it on the nightstand, my eyes locking onto his.

"When is the money coming back?"

"Soon, very soon. I'm already pressing him for it." He avoided my eyes, fidgeting.

"I called our bank this afternoon," I said softly.

I watched his entire posture freeze.

"I checked the destination account, Liam. It belongs to Sacred Heart Women’s Hospital."

I took a slow step toward him. "Tell me... which of your male cousins went to an elite private maternity hospital to give birth?"

Every drop of color drained from his face. His lips trembled, but not a single sound came out.

I took another step closer, pinning him with my stare.

"Or maybe there was no cousin at all. Did you use my three hundred thousand dollars to pay for Tiffany Vance and your newborn bastard?"

His pupils contracted into tiny pinpricks of pure terror.