I was exactly eight months and two days pregnant when my millionaire husband raised his hand at me again.
The enormous imported Austrian crystal chandelier hanging far above us shook under the force of his shouting, scattering broken flashes of rainbow light across the icy marble foyer. I lowered myself to the polished floor, wrapping both trembling arms tightly around my swollen stomach, folding inward like a shield.
Stay with me, I begged silently to my unborn son. Please hold on. We are almost there.
Nathaniel Mercer stood over me in a custom white dress shirt, half-open from the heat of his fury. His gold wedding ring caught the wall lights, shining like a beautiful, expensive lie.
To outsiders, Nathaniel was a prince—handsome, generous at charity events, untouchable in glossy business magazines. But behind the iron gates of our twenty-room mansion, he was a monster who believed money could erase any sin.
“You are nothing without me!” he thundered. “You are a useless charity case, Ava! I dragged you out of nothing!”
I kept my eyes on the gray veins in the marble and forced my breathing to stay calm. Fear only fed him.
From the curved staircase behind him came the soft clink of ice against crystal.
