Chapter 1Silent Strings

I, Abigail Graham, and Serena Vance were notorious rivals at the company. We fought over deals at work and, in private, we fought over men. After three years of relentless competition for the same man, I suddenly found it utterly pointless. So, I chose Art Sterling, our new superior, who had actively sought me out.

For two years, we loved each other. Our bodies intertwined with an undeniable chemistry. We were on the cusp of marriage. The unexpected news of my pregnancy filled me with such elation; I was eager to share it with Art. But then, in the break room, I overheard his conversation with Serena.

“Are you really going to marry Abby, just for me?” Serena’s voice was a soft purr.

“It doesn’t matter who I marry, does it? Besides, she’s quite comfortable in bed.” Art chuckled, a casual, almost dismissive sound. “She’s not entirely useless.”

“But what if I don’t want her to get off that easy?” Serena pressed, a sly edge to her tone.

“Are you willing to let go of Marcus Thorne?” Art’s voice held a knowing note.

Serena’s laughter, a light, triumphant trill, echoed in the room.

A wave of icy dread washed over me, as if I’d been struck by lightning. My assumed mutual love was nothing but a calculated conspiracy. My mind went blank, swallowed by a boundless, suffocating darkness.

I made the decision to terminate the pregnancy. Then, I dialed Marcus Thorne’s number.

* * *

The doctor held the ultrasound sheet, and I sat across from her, numb.

“Yes, you’re pregnant. About a month and a half along. Are you married?”

“No.”

“Will you keep the baby or not?”

“Not keeping it.”

“When would you like the procedure?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Alright, then schedule a time with the assistant physician.”

“Okay.”

I left the hospital, my steps heavy, my mind a disoriented haze.

I called my father. “Dad, the wedding I mentioned to you is off.”

My father sounded stunned. “Abby, didn’t you say last time that you and Art had a wonderful relationship? That he was mature, steady, and truly exceptional?”

“Did something happen?”

I felt a pang of shame. “We broke up.”

My father sighed. “Well, if you broke up, you broke up.”

“You can find someone else you truly like. You know your mother’s and my thoughts—we hope you’ll stay close to us.”

“I know, Dad. I’ll consider it.”

“I’m sorry to make you worry.”

After hanging up, I sat alone on the sofa, staring into space.

The sound of the door opening broke my reverie. Art was home.

He leaned in, hugging me, pressing a kiss to my cheek. His voice was laced with an irritating cheerfulness. “What reason did you give for taking time off this afternoon?”

“You wouldn’t tell me. Why are you sitting in the living room, staring into space?”

The memory of his conversation with Serena flashed through my mind, and I gently pulled away from his embrace. “I just felt a bit unwell, so I came home early.”

His expression shifted, clearly showing concern. “Unwell? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Are you feeling better now?”

“Should we go to the hospital?”

I scrutinized the man before me, carefully examining his face. His features were etched with what looked like genuine worry and care. If I hadn’t overheard that conversation, who would have ever guessed it was all a charade?

“Art, I’m pregnant.”

At my words, a flicker of discomfort instantly crossed his face, quickly followed by a wide, beaming smile.

“Really? That’s wonderful!” he exclaimed, his voice too loud, too forced.

“It seems we’ll have to speed up our wedding plans.”

That brief, almost imperceptible flicker of discomfort I’d caught was now seared into my mind. So, I hadn’t misheard. He really was marrying me for Serena. His entire approach to me was merely to clear away the obstacles in his true love’s path. How incredibly noble of him, sacrificing himself for the woman he adored! But why did I have to be the sacrifice? Was playing people like this truly so satisfying?

I lowered my head, nodding slightly. Then I asked the question that had been hovering, a persistent ache in my chest.

“Art, do you love me?”

He stroked my hair, his touch a familiar comfort that now felt like a betrayal. “Of course I love you!”

“If I didn’t love you, why would I want to marry you?”

I closed my eyes. “Then… is there anything you’ve been keeping from me?”

“Or, to put it another way, have you lied to me?”

His cheek twitched almost imperceptibly. “How could I ever lie to you?”

“I love you too much for that. We’re going to be together forever.”

I let out a soft, hollow laugh. I had given him a chance, but he insisted on continuing the deception. Then he had no one to blame but himself. There would be a wedding, alright. Just not our wedding.