Chapter 2

"Jules," I whimpered, reaching out a trembling, blood-stained hand. My fingers brushed the hem of his trousers. "Please. It hurts. Save our baby."

He opened his mouth to speak but Claudia was faster.

"Jules!" She clutched her chest, her face contorting into a mask of exaggerated agony. She stumbled forward, collapsing heavily against Jules’s arm.

"I can't breathe!" she gasped, taking loud, theatrical gulps of air. "Jules, my chest! The stress... the babies! I'm having a panic attack!"

The hesitation in Jules’s eyes vanished instantly. The flicker of humanity was gone, replaced by blind panic for the woman he thought held the Kensington billionaire fortune.

"Claudia, hold on!" he shouted, wrapping his arms around her waist to support her.

"It's too much, Jules," she sobbed, burying her face in his neck.

She peeked over his shoulder. Her eyes met mine. She wasn't crying. She was smiling. A cold, victorious smirk.

"I've got you," Jules promised her.

He scooped her up into his arms, holding her bridal-style. He turned toward the aisle.

"Jules, no," I choked out. The pain in my abdomen flared, a jagged, tearing sensation that made my vision white out. "You can't leave me. I'm bleeding."

He didn't even look down.

He lifted his foot. And he stepped directly over my bleeding body.

His shoe clipped my shoulder as he passed.

"Stop lying just to steal the spotlight, Hannah," Jules spat, his voice dripping with absolute disgust. "It’s pathetic. You're pathetic."

He didn't look back.

He carried his mistress down the aisle. The groomsmen, who had just poured wine over my head, scrambled to follow him. They didn't look at me either. To them, I was just trash on the floor.

The heavy oak doors of the cathedral groaned open. The bright afternoon sunlight spilled in for a brief second, illuminating the crimson puddle spreading beneath me.

Then, the doors slammed shut.

The boom echoed through the empty church.

I was alone.

I pressed my hands against my stomach. It was so cold. The marble was freezing, but the cold inside me was worse. It was a hollow, dead chill spreading from my womb to my heart.

My baby.

I squeezed my eyes shut, sobbing until my throat burned. The tears mixed with the sticky, sweet-smelling red wine drying on my face.

I had planned to tell him tonight. I had bought a tiny pair of white shoes. I had wrapped them in a silver box. I had imagined his face lighting up. I had imagined a family.

Instead, my child was slipping away on the floor of the church where I was supposed to be married.

"Help," I whispered to the empty pews. "Somebody, please."

Nobody answered. The priest had fled out the back the moment the groomsmen started throwing wine. The guests had scattered like rats.

I tried to push myself up. My arms shook violently, slipping in the mixture of wine and blood. I collapsed back onto the marble, my cheek hitting the cold stone.

Every breath felt like swallowing glass. Every heartbeat pumped more of my life onto the floor.

I looked at the altar. At the beautiful white roses I had spent months picking out. At the stained-glass windows depicting saints and angels.

There were no angels here. Only demons.

Jules didn't just break my heart. He killed my future. He killed my child. Because of his greed. Because he wanted the Kensington fortune.

And Claudia. My sweet, fragile, adopted sister. She had orchestrated it all. She had worn my mother's necklace. She had worn my wedding dress. She had pushed me down the stairs.

She wanted to be me so badly, she was willing to murder me to take my place.

A strange, terrifying calm washed over me.

The hysterical sobbing stopped. The tears dried up.

The girl who had loved Jules Montgomery died on that marble floor. The girl who had protected Claudia Kensington bled out in that ruined white dress.

What was left behind was something else entirely. Something cold. Something sharp.

I will destroy them.

I forced my eyes open. A few feet away, my white clutch lay overturned. Inside the clutch, a faint light blinked.

My phone. I gritted my teeth. The pain was blinding, but I dragged my body forward. Inch by inch. My fingernails scraped against the marble. I left a thick, dark smear of blood behind me.

I reached out. My bloody fingers closed around the cold metal of the phone.

I pulled it to my face. The screen was cracked, but I could read the caller ID.

Paul. My grandfather’s chief legal counsel.

My thumb smeared blood across the screen as I swiped to answer.

"Miss Kensington?" Paul’s crisp voice came through the speaker. "The board is waiting for your decision. Are you ready to officially take over the Kensington Empire?"

"Paul," I rasped.

"Miss Kensington? Hannah? You sound unwell. Is everything alright?" His professional tone cracked, replaced by sharp concern.

"No," I whispered. "I'm at St. Jude’s Cathedral. I need an ambulance. Now. Tell them... tell them I'm hemorrhaging."

"Good God. I'm dispatching a private medical team immediately. Hold on, Hannah."

"Tomorrow morning," I gasped, fighting the darkness creeping into the edges of my vision. "Freeze every account. Every credit card. Every asset Claudia has access to. Cut her off from the estate entirely."

"Right away, Miss Kensington."

"And Paul?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Prepare the press release. I am coming back."

The phone slipped from my bloody fingers.