“That useless woman deserved it.”
Then the cathedral doors exploded open. Every head turned. I walked slowly down the aisle, arm-in-arm with my father—the billionaire CEO of the insurance empire…
He pushed me when the snow was loud enough to swallow my scream.
One second, I was begging my husband to take me home; the next, I was falling backward off Blackthorn Cliff, nine months pregnant, my fingers clawing at empty air while Victor Hale laughed above me.
“Don’t worry, Elena,” he called down, his voice bright with cruelty. “The baby won’t suffer long.”
The world shattered into white.
I hit a ledge halfway down. Pain burst through my ribs, my cheek, my belly. I tasted blood and ice.
Above me, Victor’s shadow leaned over the cliff, phone in hand, recording nothing but darkness.
Then came another voice. His mistress, Serena. “Is she dea//d?”
Victor laughed softly. “For fifty million dollars? She’d better be.”
They left me there.
For two hours, I did not move. I listened to my own breath turning thin. I pressed both hands over my belly and whispered to my unborn son, “Stay with me. Please. Just stay.”
A light swept across the snow. Not Victor. A rescue helicopter.
The man who climbed down to me wore a black coat, not a uniform. Silver hair. Steel eyes. A face I had seen once in an old photograph my mother had hidden behind her wedding certificate.
Adrian Cross. CEO of Cross Atlantic Insurance Group.
