The night before I gave birth, I overheard my husband secretly offer the doctor $500,000 to make sure I died during delivery so he could start a new life with his five-month-pregnant mistress. I pretended to be asleep—but by the next day, his plan had completely backfired.

Not the birth of his daughter.

Not the murder of his wife.

He adjusted his cuff.

“Your mom would have been so excited.”

I looked at him.

My mother had died three years earlier.

Daniel knew exactly how much that still hurt.

Yes.”

“She always liked me.”

My stomach twisted.

“She did.”

He smiled.

“Smart woman.”

I almost laughed.

My mother never trusted Daniel completely.

Once, after our engagement, she told me something.

“Pay attention to how a man behaves when nobody can give him what he wants.”

I had ignored it.

Daniel had been charming then.

Attentive.

Patient.

Generous.

But maybe he had only been getting what he wanted.

Me.

My name.

My family.

My company.

At six eight, someone knocked.

Daniel looked toward the door.

A nurse entered.

Behind her stood a woman in a hospital administrator badge.

And a man in plain clothes.

My heart jumped.

The administrator smiled.