Chapter 1

"Ms. Laurent, your blood test confirms you're four weeks pregnant."

Sophia shot up from her chair, the screech of metal against tile piercing the sterile air.

Her gaze locked onto the doctor's lips as if sheer willpower could erase the words just spoken.

"That's impossible!"

The doctor adjusted his glasses and slid the lab report toward her. "HCG levels don't lie."

Her fingers trembled as they grasped the flimsy paper.

She'd never been intimate with anyone—not even Ethan Winston, her boyfriend of three years. Their relationship had never progressed beyond holding hands.

A shrill ringtone shattered the silence.

"Sophia, Ethan's birthday party started thirty minutes ago. Where are you?"

The call dragged her memory back to that corporate gala a month ago.

She'd been blackout drunk. Ethan had escorted her to the hotel.

Could that night—?

Laughter boomed through the VIP lounge atop Westmount Club.

Sophia pushed open the door just as Ethan licked frosting from Isabella's cheek, his arm draped around her waist.

The room fell silent.

"Look who decided to show up," someone sneered.

Ethan barely glanced up. "Don't get the wrong idea. We're just friends."

A high-pitched ringing filled Sophia's ears.

"See? You mean nothing to him," a redhead taunted. "If you weren't so clingy—"

The shatter of crystal cut through the mockery.

Burgundy liquid dripped from Ethan's hair onto his designer shirt.

"Are you insane?" Isabella scrambled to blot his face with napkins.

As Sophia turned, fragments of conversation chased her:

"Who does she think she is? She'll come crawling back within days."

"Everyone knows she can't survive without him."

The hallway walls felt like ice against her palms.

She'd forgotten to ask about that night.

Her hand drifted to her abdomen.

This child couldn't have come at a worse time.

Chandeliers blazed in the Lowell mansion's grand foyer.

Sophia stepped inside to hear Emily's saccharine voice: "Mother, the bird's nest soup works best when warm."

Under the crystal glow, the family tableau looked perfect—until Richard set down his teacup.

"The Valdemars are pressing for the marriage. Alexander is vegetative. Emily can't marry him. You will."

Sophia's grip tightened on her handbag strap.

The once-formidable CEO of Valdemar Holdings now lay motionless in a hospital bed.

And her father was throwing her into that gilded cage.