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 2
Lucas Cole, Ethan’s oldest friend, let out a whistle. “Three hundred grand every month? Ethan, what is she doing with it?”
Ethan sounded exhausted. “According to Bianca, spas, clubs, jewelry, private parties. Yesterday Natalie claimed she was pregnant because she wanted more cash. I authorized another hundred thousand, and this morning she sent me a message saying if I couldn’t afford to support her, we should divorce.”
Natalie looked down at her shoes.
Three hundred thousand.
She received eighty.
Something cold and terrible moved through her.
She shoved open the door.
Ethan looked up from the sofa, surprise wiping the irritation from his face. “Natalie? What are you doing here?”
She slammed the bottle onto the table so hard the glass cracked.
Lucas rose. “Hey, maybe everybody should—”
Natalie crossed the room and slapped Ethan.
His head jerked sideways.
“Just how many wives do you have?” she demanded.
Ethan slowly turned back toward her. “Only you.”
“Then where is my money?”
His brow furrowed.
Natalie threw her debit card at his chest. “You said three hundred thousand dollars a month. I get eighty.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Ethan gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “That’s impossible.”
Natalie opened her banking app and shoved the phone toward him. “Look.”
May: $80.
June: $80.
July: $80.
Special veterinary allowance: $10.
Food allowance adjustment: $20.
The smile disappeared from Ethan’s face.
“You have the household account,” he said. “The black card. Bianca submits your expenses every month.”
“I have a green debit card from a neighborhood credit union.”
“No.”
“I ate stale bread outside a grocery store because it was marked down forty cents.”
Ethan stared at her.
“I went to the doctor with thirty dollars left on my credit limit. She told me I’m malnourished. I sold your handbag so I could pay for prenatal care, and Bianca emptied the money out of my account.”
His face changed.
Natalie’s anger finally cracked, exposing the exhaustion beneath it. “I fainted two days ago because I hadn’t eaten enough. Tonight I’m serving drinks because I need money for vitamins.”
Lucas looked at Ethan. “She’s not lying.”
Ethan’s gaze traveled slowly over Natalie for what seemed like the first time in years. He saw the uniform pinned at the waist because even the smallest size hung loose. He saw the hollows beneath her eyes, the sharpness of her collarbones, and the faint curve beneath her shirt.
His voice broke.
“Natalie… are you really pregnant?”
She wanted to answer.
Instead, the room tipped sideways.
Ethan caught her before she hit the floor.
At St. Catherine’s Hospital, the physician who emerged from Natalie’s room was Dr. Margaret Allen, a gray-haired obstetrician with thirty years of experience and no interest in Ethan Cross’s wealth.
“Your wife is dangerously malnourished,” she told him. “Her hemoglobin is critically low. Her body has been consuming its own reserves simply to function.”
Ethan gripped the back of a chair. “The baby?”
Dr. Allen stared at him.
“Babies.”
He looked up.
“She’s carrying twins.”
Ethan sat down hard.
The doctor’s expression remained unforgiving. “Two healthy heartbeats, despite everything. Another day or two without treatment could have caused organ damage. Perhaps worse.”
Ethan covered his face.
Dr. Allen continued. “She apologized for taking a hospital bed because she thought she couldn’t afford it. She had twenty dollars and half a bagel in her purse.”
Lucas arrived twenty minutes later carrying information that turned Ethan’s horror into something darker.
One of Lucas’s banking contacts had traced the transfers.
Every month Ethan had approved three hundred thousand dollars for Natalie’s household expenses. Holiday bonuses, medical reserves, discretionary funds, and special payments had all been authorized exactly as Ethan claimed.
None had reached Natalie.
The money had been redirected through a Delaware company belonging to Bianca Vance’s younger brother.
Over three years, millions had disappeared.
The next morning, Cross Enterprises’ boardroom filled with auditors, attorneys, and law enforcement officers. Bianca sat at the far end of the table, still composed.
“This is absurd,” she said. “Natalie has always been irresponsible. Her father was a gambler. Perhaps she inherited the habit.”
Ethan entered without a tie, his face unshaven.
He dropped a binder onto the table.
“Marcus Vance,” he said. “Your brother.”
Bianca went still.
“His company received every transfer intended for Natalie. Your office computer changed the routing instructions. You opened the account Natalie actually used and deposited eighty dollars a month into it.”
Bianca’s composure cracked.
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“You gave that girl everything!”
Ethan stared at her.
“She had nothing,” Bianca shouted. “Nothing. You dragged her out of nowhere because she looked like Lauren, put her in a penthouse, and called her your wife. Meanwhile, I worked beside you for years.”
Her voice broke into something raw.
“I loved you.”
Ethan’s expression did not change.
Bianca pointed toward him. “She was a substitute. You know she was. A copy of a dead woman. Why should she have had millions?”
Two detectives stepped forward.
Bianca looked from them to Ethan.
“No.”
The handcuffs clicked shut.
“Ethan!”
He turned away.
For the first time, her voice held fear.
“You need me.”
Ethan looked toward the city beyond the windows.
“No,” he said quietly. “Natalie needed me.”
And he had not noticed.
