Chapter 1Lethal Vows And Buttercream Lies

On the day we were supposed to get our marriage license, I waited for Carter at City Hall for four hours.

Unsurprisingly, he didn't show.

When I texted him, demanding to know where he was, his response came through as a blistering barrage of venom:

"Who the hell do you think you are, keeping tabs on me?"

"My patience has a limit, Tina. If you don't drop this right now, we are done!"

I was in a daze when I stepped off the curb. I never even saw the drunk driver speeding through the red light.

As the paramedics rushed my stretcher through the chaotic ER doors to treat my injuries, my eyes caught a familiar silhouette. It was Carter. He was half-kneeling on the linoleum floor, gently holding Mia’s hand as he pressed a small Band-Aid to her knuckle.

His voice was a soft, reverent murmur. "Thank God it's just a scrape. It won't scar."

I tore my eyes away. With a chilling, hollow calm, I pulled out my phone and dialed my boss.

"I'll take it," I said, the words tasting like ash. "I'll take the transfer to head the foreign trade division in the London office."

* * *

"That is fantastic news, Tina. With your fluency in four languages, having you anchor things in London is a massive relief."

The moment I hung up, the ER doctor began his examination.

A few minutes later, his brow furrowed. "The muscle tear in your calf is manageable," he said gently, "but there are clear signs of a miscarriage. I strongly recommend we proceed with a D&C surgery immediately."

My whole body went rigid.

A baby?

Seeing the sheer terror on my face, the doctor's expression softened into pity. "You didn't know you were pregnant?"

A single tear hot-tracked down my cheek. I gave a numb, trembling nod.

He offered a heavy sigh and a few gentle words of comfort I couldn't process. I took his advice. My leg required twelve stitches, and that same afternoon, I underwent the surgical abortion.

By the time I limped back into our apartment that evening, Carter was slouched on the sofa, bathed in the blue glow of his phone.

A dopey, irrepressible smile played on his lips. I didn't have to guess; he was texting Mia.

He didn't even bother to look up when the door clicked shut. "Where have you been? It's late."

I told him the truth. I told him how I left City Hall, got hit by a car, needed twelve stitches, and had to have a minor surgery.

Not a single muscle twitched in his jaw. No flicker of concern. He just gave a distracted grunt of acknowledgment and kept his eyes glued to his screen.

I knew it then. He hadn't heard a single word I’d said.

Tears prickled like crushed glass in my eyes. It felt as though someone had taken a hunting knife to my chest, twisted it, and then plugged the wound so the blood couldn't escape. The pressure was suffocating.

"Well, don't just stand there," he muttered. "Go make dinner. I'm starving."

I balled my hands into fists, my fingernails biting into my palms until my knuckles turned a stark, bloodless white. It was the only way to keep the tears from falling. I didn't have the energy to scream at him anymore.

"I already ate. Order Postmates."

I dragged my bad leg toward the bedroom. Suddenly, Carter’s hand clamped down on my wrist like a vice. For the first time all night, he actually looked at me.

"Are you seriously still throwing a tantrum because I forgot your birthday?" he demanded. "It was weeks ago, Tina. Are you really going to be this petty?"

A pale, broken smile stretched across my face. "You're right. It is petty. Which is why I won't be sweating the small stuff anymore. You don't need to worry about me. You just focus on playing nurse to your fragile little assistant."

I wrenched my arm out of his grasp and took a step forward.

"What has Mia ever done to you?" he barked, stepping into my path. "Why do you have to be such a bitch to a young girl who looks up to you? Have you lost your damn mind?"

"How many times do I have to tell you that she and I are strictly professional? Tina, I didn't tell you you could walk away!"

He shoved me. Hard.

Off-balance and favoring my torn muscle, I crashed heavily to the hardwood floor. The sudden, violent bend of my knee ripped the new stitches open. Hot blood instantly soaked through the pristine white gauze, blossoming into a dark stain on my light jeans.

My purse hit the floor, spilling its contents. My passport and my birth certificate—the documents I'd carefully gathered for City Hall—scattered across the rug.

Carter's eyes went wide. It was as if the sight of the documents finally jolted his memory. He had promised we’d get our marriage license today.

Panic flashed across his face. He scrambled to help me up, dragging me onto the sofa. His tone instantly shifted, softening into damage control.

"How did you get hurt?" he stammered. "Look, I had a massive crisis to handle at work today, that's why I missed City Hall. We'll just go tomorrow."

A massive crisis. A scraped knuckle on Mia's hand was a massive crisis.

Deep in my pelvis, the fresh trauma of the D&C began to throb—a vicious, hollow cramping. I curled my arms around my stomach. My body was in agony, but my heart was utterly decimated. A sheen of cold sweat broke out across my forehead.

"Tomorrow is Saturday," I whispered. "City Hall is closed."

Carter stared at me, flustered and entirely out of his depth.

"Carter," I breathed out. "Can you just get me a glass of hot water?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course."

He sprang up like a man pardoned from death row, grabbing my mug to head to the kitchen. But just then, his phone chimed.

He glanced at the screen. Instinctively, he set the mug back down. The corners of his mouth tilted up into that familiar, sickening smile. He was entirely consumed.

He turned, walked into the guest bedroom, shut the door behind him, and never came back out.

I curled into a tight ball on the sofa, the taste of bitter ash coating the back of my tongue.