“Mrs. Robinson, I’m sorry. The insemination failed again.”

Audrey sat on the cold plastic chair and stared at the test report in her hands until the letters blurred.

Failed.

Again.

After the fifth time, she had stopped counting. Now she felt hollow, scraped clean from the inside. Even despair had gone numb.

For seven years, Audrey had tried everything. Hormone shots. Surgeries. Painful procedures. Expensive treatments. Prayers whispered into pillows in the night.

All for one thing.

To give the Robinson family the heir they wanted so badly.

She braced one hand on the chair and forced herself up, ready to knock on the doctor’s office door. Then voices drifted from around the corner.

“I honestly feel bad for Mrs. Robinson. Her uterine lining is almost gone. She’s destroying her body for nothing.”

“Feel bad for her? Please. I heard her husband doesn’t even want a child. She could do this a hundred more times and nothing would change.”

Audrey froze.

Cold sweat broke across her back. Her fingers crushed the report until the paper bent in her grip.

Evan… didn’t want her pregnant?

By the time Audrey got home, she barely remembered the drive. She curled under the covers, her body still shaking.

The mattress dipped behind her.

A familiar scent wrapped around her. Whiskey and cedarwood cologne. Expensive. Intimate. Painfully familiar.

Evan’s arm slid around her waist. His hand slipped under her silk nightgown with the ease of a man who had never once doubted his right to touch her.

“Miss me?” His low voice carried a hint of amusement.

Audrey stared at the wall.

He knew she had gone to the hospital today. He knew the result would either give her hope or crush the last piece of it.

But he did not ask.

“I’m not pregnant,” Audrey said. Her voice came out rough and dry. “It failed again.”

Evan’s hand paused.

Then he kept touching her, his tone flat. “I know. You’ve had a hard day. I’ll be away for two months. Get some rest. I’ll have the staff make you something nourishing.”

Then he kissed her.

Deep. Possessive. His breath still thick with whiskey.

Audrey pushed at his chest.

He did not stop.

Her fingers trembled, then slowly fell away. After seven years of marriage, she had learned the truth. Refusing Evan only created trouble, and Evan Robinson hated trouble more than anything.

He was never rough with her. That was the worst part.

He was careful. Controlled. Almost gentle.

And somehow, that made it hurt more.

Afterward, he carried her into the bathroom, cleaned her up in silence, then placed her back in bed. He pulled her against his chest and held her tightly.

Within minutes, his breathing turned deep and even.

To anyone else, he would have looked like a devoted husband.

Audrey’s eyes drifted to the leather briefcase on the armchair in the corner.

In seven years of marriage, she had never gone through his private things. She had once been proud of that. Proud of her trust. Proud of her dignity.

Now that pride felt pathetic.

She looked at Evan’s sleeping face, then slipped out of bed.

The briefcase lock opened with one soft click.

She told herself she only needed one look.

A small packet of white pills slid out from beneath a stack of urgent documents.

Birth control pills.

Audrey did not move.

The bedroom went painfully quiet. A chill spread through her body, sinking into her bones.

She had never taken birth control.

Of course she hadn’t.

They had been trying for a baby. At least, she had believed they were.

She recognized the pack only because a friend had once waved the same brand at her and laughed.

“You’ll never need these. Lucky you. Evan is so devoted.”

Audrey’s hand began to shake.

She thought of the supplements Evan had ordered the housekeeper to prepare for her every week. She had drunk them with a grateful heart, thinking they were proof he cared.

What had really been in them?

The thought poured through her spine, cold and brutal.

Then a photograph slipped from the side pocket and fluttered to the floor.

Its edges were soft and worn, touched too many times over too many years.

In the picture, a younger Evan grinned at the camera, wild and bright. A girl leaned against his shoulder, happiness shining in her eyes.

The girl was not Audrey.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Audrey jerked around.

Evan stood beside the bed, his eyes sharp and cold.

He crossed the room in three strides, shoved her aside, and snatched the photo from her hand.

“You have no right to touch this.” His voice dropped low, dangerous. “Going through my things? Audrey, when did you become this kind of woman?”

Audrey’s waist slammed into the bed frame.

Pain flashed through her, but she barely felt it.

She started laughing.

The sound came out broken and strange. Too sharp. Too loud. It tore from somewhere deep inside her chest, dragging years of humiliation with it.

She laughed until her eyes burned.

Then a sudden, violent pain twisted through her lower abdomen.

Her knees buckled.

The room spun.

Before darkness swallowed her, the last thing she saw was Evan’s furious face.

---

Cough.

Cough, cough.

Thick smoke flooded Audrey’s nose and scorched her throat.

“Help! Fire! There’s a fire! Run!”

Her eyes flew open.

Chaos surrounded her.

Orange flames crawled over the crowded room. People shoved one another, screaming as they rushed toward the exit.

Audrey pushed herself upright, coughing hard. Her lungs burned. Her head throbbed.

Wait.

This was not her home with Evan.