The two pink lines appeared before Natalie Harper had finished counting to thirty, and for several seconds she could only stare at them while the bathroom floor seemed to tilt beneath her bare feet. Pregnancy should have been joyful, or frightening, or at least something she could discuss with her husband over breakfast. Instead, Natalie’s first thought was that she had $28 left in her checking account and no idea how she was going to feed another human being.
Chapter 1
She photographed the test and sent it to her best friend, Chloe Bennett. Chloe called before Natalie could put the phone down, and the fury in her voice came through so loudly that Natalie held the phone away from her ear. “You’re carrying Ethan Cross’s baby while that man gives you eighty dollars a month to live on?”
Natalie lowered herself onto the edge of the bathtub. “He doesn’t know yet.”
“And when he finds out? Is he finally going to remember you’re his wife instead of Lauren Mercer’s replacement?”
That hurt because it was true. Three years earlier, Ethan Cross had rescued Natalie from the wreckage her father’s gambling debts had left behind, paid the men threatening her family, married her, and moved her into a penthouse overlooking Manhattan. He had never hidden why her face had first caught his attention. Natalie resembled Lauren, the woman he had loved before a car accident took her life.
Natalie had told herself resemblance was only where their story began. She had spent three years hoping that someday Ethan would look across the breakfast table and see Natalie instead of a ghost.
Yet lately, even breakfast had become a luxury.
The wife of a billionaire lived beneath Italian chandeliers and hunted clearance stickers at neighborhood grocery stores. She slept in a bedroom larger than her childhood apartment but calculated whether a carton of milk could last four days. Ethan’s executive secretary, Bianca Vance, controlled what Natalie had always believed was her household allowance, and every month exactly eighty dollars appeared in Natalie’s account.
When Natalie had tried taking a part-time job at an animal shelter, Ethan discovered it and bought the shelter before her first week ended.
“You’re Mrs. Cross,” he had told her, bewildered. “Why would you need a job?”
Natalie had been too ashamed to answer.
Two days after the pregnancy test, an obstetrician confirmed she was nearly eleven weeks along. The baby appeared healthy, but Natalie was not. Her blood work showed severe nutritional deficiencies, and the doctor prescribed supplements, protein-rich meals, and additional monitoring.
“How much?” Natalie asked.
The doctor hesitated. “The treatment plan will probably run around fifteen hundred dollars to start.”
Natalie nearly laughed.
She went directly to Cross Enterprises with the ultrasound tucked inside a plain envelope. Bianca intercepted her outside Ethan’s office, immaculate in a cream designer suit, her dark hair pinned into the same smooth twist she wore every day.
“I need to see Ethan.”
“He’s busy.”
“I’m pregnant.”
Bianca looked at the ultrasound, then at Natalie’s inexpensive coat. “You expect me to believe this?”
Several employees looked up from their desks.
Natalie swallowed. “I need money for prenatal care.”
Bianca’s mouth tightened. “Mr. Cross gives you more than enough. Last month you even demanded extra money for your dog.”
“He needed stitches.”
“And Mr. Cross generously approved another ten dollars.”
Someone nearby snickered.
Bianca handed back the envelope. “If you’ve spent your allowance already, perhaps you should learn some discipline instead of inventing pregnancies.”
Natalie’s face burned as she walked toward the elevator. Behind her came the whispers.
She’s asking for money again.
Doesn’t Cross give her a fortune?
Imagine being married to a billionaire and still acting like a gold digger.
Outside, Natalie sat on a bench beneath the glass tower and pressed one hand over her stomach. A limited-edition handbag Ethan had given her for her birthday rested beside her.
She looked at it for a long moment.
Then she sold it.
The consignment shop offered ten thousand dollars, far below its value, but Natalie accepted immediately. For the first time in years, seeing five figures in her account made her breathe easier.
By evening, photographs of the sale were circulating online.
BILLIONAIRE’S WIFE PAWNS DESIGNER GIFT.
Ethan called.
“Are you really so desperate for money that you’re selling things I gave you?”
Natalie closed her eyes. “I tried to tell you—”
“Bianca said you showed up at the office with some ridiculous pregnancy story.”
“It isn’t ridiculous.”
“If you need money, ask Bianca. Don’t embarrass yourself like this.”
He hung up before Natalie found the courage to tell him the truth.
Minutes later, her banking app refreshed.
The ten thousand dollars was gone.
A message arrived from Bianca.
Mr. Cross believes you have demonstrated poor financial judgment. I will safeguard these funds for you.
The following morning, movers arrived at the penthouse.
Bianca directed them personally as they removed artwork, electronics, furniture, and jewelry. “Take anything she could sell,” she instructed. “Mr. Cross has been more than patient.”
When the doors finally closed, Natalie stood alone in an apartment that echoed.
That night she found an advertisement for a private lounge hiring servers at forty dollars an hour.
She applied.
Three evenings later, wearing a borrowed black uniform and twenty-dollar sneakers, Natalie carried a bottle of expensive Scotch down a dim hallway toward VIP Room Eight.
Her hand stopped inches from the door.
Ethan’s voice came from inside.
“Three hundred thousand a month,” he said bitterly. “And somehow it still isn’t enough for her.”
Natalie stopped breathing.
