After Bradley made it big, I became the timid, cowering little wife in his circle. At cocktail parties, his friends would sneer, "Is this the nanny you brought along?" He never said a word. After that, he stopped taking me anywhere his friends would be. Until this weekend. Until, to curry favor with his wealthy partners and a ruthless socialite, he forced me into a solo skydive—to "earn" his marriage proposal. "I can't. I'm pregnant... I can't do this," I begged through my tears. Not only did he refuse to help me—he sneered and pressed the sole of his boot against my chest: "Don't try to fool me with that pregnancy nonsense. This is just exposure therapy. I will not marry a coward." When I pulled the ripcord, the parachute never opened. My parachute had long ago been swapped out for a solid steel counterweight weighing more than forty-five pounds in all. I smashed into the canyon floor and was shattered to pieces. My unborn child and I died on the spot. As a ghost, I watched Bradley laughing and chatting in the VIP lounge, mocking my "timidity and weakness." My heart died completely that day. Bradley—what will your face look like when you finally see that positive pregnancy test, and learn our baby was six weeks along? Chapter 1 Alexis Lane's POV: At ten thousand feet, Bradley shoved me out of the helicopter's door, all because he claimed my fear of heights had humiliated him in front of his friends. He also said that if I could survive this solo skydive, he would give me the six-carat pink diamond ring tucked in his jacket pocket. I clung for dear life to the metal frame of the open door, the biting Nevada wind nearly tearing my thin flight suit to shreds. My knuckles had gone white from gripping the handle so hard. "Bradley, please!" I screamed over the deafening roar of the rotors. "I really can't jump. I feel awful—I've had cramps in my stomach since this morning. Please, just let me sit back down." Bradley looked down at me from above, designer sunglasses on his face, dressed in a custom black flight suit. He made no move whatsoever to pull me back in. He crossed his arms, his jaw clenched into that cold, disappointed curve I knew all too well. "We've been over this, Alexis," Bradley's voice came through my helmet earphones, flat and without a ripple of emotion. "For five years you've been hiding in your shell. My partners think you're a dead weight they have to carry out of charity. I'm not going to propose to a woman who trembles at a little adrenaline rush." Behind him in the cabin, Cecily Harrington smoothed her silk scarf and let out a soft laugh. "Bradley's right, Lexi," Cecily chimed in sweetly, her immaculately manicured hand waving her sparkling water as she leaned forward slightly. "A tech CEO worth tens of billions needs a partner who matches him—not a frightened child who bolts every time a social occasion gets uncomfortable. This is nothing but exposure therapy. We've all done solo jumps years ago." Bradley's core venture capital partners, Dylan Austin and Hunter Pace, were sitting in the leather seats drinking beer. "Come on, Alexis!" Dylan shouted, holding up his phone to record my face. "Don't ruin the weekend vibes! Bradley spent fifty thousand dollars chartering this helicopter just to throw you this little test!" "Still looks like the nanny, though." "Look how she's shaking," Hunter said with a laugh, adjusting the camera angle. "She looks like she's about to wet her pants." Tears blurred my vision. The freezing wind lashed at my cheeks. I lifted my head and looked at the man I had spent every day and night with for five years. Back then, when he was writing the first version of his software in a dim, cold, run-down garage, I cooked him three meals a day, never repeating a dish. Before he secured his first round of funding, I worked two jobs around the clock at a 24-hour diner, breaking my back to cover his server rent. And now, he looked at me the way an executive reviews a flawed, discarded report. "Bradley, I'm begging you," I sobbed, my voice completely hoarse. "I... believe it or not, I'm pregnant. I really don't feel well." Bradley snorted coldly and glanced down at the luxury gold watch on his wrist. "You have ten seconds to jump on your own, Alexis," he said, his voice utterly devoid of warmth. "Don't think you can fool me with that flimsy excuse. So many people are watching—don't embarrass me." "Bradley! I'm begging you, I really am pregnant, please—" I begged again through my tears. "Five seconds," he cut me off coldly. Cecily peeked out from behind his shoulder and gave me a faint smile, her eyes full of undisguised malice. "Prove to him that you deserve to be the lady of the Evans family, Lexi," Cecily murmured. I shook my head in despair, clinging to that metal handle with every last ounce of strength left in my exhausted body. Bradley didn't even wait for the countdown to finish. He stepped forward, raised the heavy sole of his military boot, and drove it hard into the harness across my chest, kicking me out into the endless sky. The sudden free fall instantly drained the air from my lungs. I fell on my back, tumbling into the desolate, vast, tan-colored void of the Nevada canyon. The helicopter's roar faded in an instant, replaced by the sharp, piercing shriek of wind in my ears. The ground spun violently beneath me—red earth, jagged rocks, and withered shrubs whirling madly through my vision. "Pull the cord at four thousand feet!" Bradley's crackling, cold command came through my earpiece. "Don't freeze up!" I tumbled and struggled in the biting airstream, desperately trying to steady my limbs as they spun out of control. As the air pressure dropped, wave after wave of excruciating pain tore through my lower abdomen. I glanced at the altimeter on my left wrist. Five thousand feet. Four thousand feet. I reached for the ripcord handle at my right hip, seized the rubber grip, and yanked with all my strength. Nothing happened. No jerk of resistance came from the harness. No canopy blossomed above my head. I promptly pulled the emergency cutaway handle and yanked madly at the reserve chute cords. From inside the canvas pack came a dull, jarring metallic crash slamming against my back. The reserve chute never deployed. I had felt it was heavy on the ground. I just hadn't dared say so in front of them. Now, in the air, the pack dragged my spine downward and hurled me toward the canyon floor at a terrifying speed. The jagged boulders rushed up to meet me at a staggering speed of over one hundred and twenty miles per hour. In the last three seconds of free fall, I stopped screaming. I looked up at the pristine blue sky, where the helicopter had become a calm, hovering black dot. In that moment, I finally understood: Bradley had never loved me. I closed my eyes and gently cradled my belly with both hands. "I'm sorry..." I whispered into the wind. At the moment of impact, the world fell into absolute silence. There was no prolonged agony—only a blinding flash of white, followed by the crisp sound of bones shattering against hard granite. Then, my gaze slowly rose. I found myself floating twenty feet above the ground, looking down at the boulder stained red with blood. My broken, twisted body lay crumpled among the scattered wreckage of the parachute pack. The canvas had burst apart completely under the violent impact. Scattered across the rust-red rocks, inside the torn main container, was no nylon cord, no emergency silk canopy— but three black cast-iron barbell plates, bound tightly together with heavy-duty tape, a combined forty-five pounds of dead iron! Dangling from the torn straps was a laminated inventory tag: PROPERTY OF THE SUMMIT RESORT GYM — CHECKED OUT TO: D. REYES, GUEST SERVICES. So she had never intended for me to leave that plane alive. Inside the glass cockpit, Bradley was laughing and chatting with his friends, utterly oblivious to the horror unfolding on the rock below.

Alexis Lane's POV: My soul followed the helicopter, watching it land on the private helipad of the canyon resort. The rotors slowed to a rhythmic hum, and the dry dust they kicked up battered the floor-to-ceiling windows of the VIP lounge. Bradley stepped out of the cabin first, unzipping his flight suit to reveal the cashmere sweater underneath. Dylan and Hunter followed close behind, clinking their aluminum beer cans in celebration. "Buddy, that was legendary!" Dylan laughed, slapping Bradley on the back. "Did you see her face when you kicked her out? Absolutely priceless!" "She probably chickened out completely and yanked the cord in a panic at six thousand feet," Hunter sneered. "I bet she landed in a cactus field five miles out. She'll come crawling back crying any minute now." Bradley walked into the climate-controlled luxury lounge, running a hand through his black hair. "She needed to be taught a lesson," Bradley said indifferently, lifting a glass of whiskey from the bar cart. "Alexis needs to understand that emotional weakness is her own choice. If she wants to be my wife, she can't keep acting like an injured stray dog." Cecily glided in beside him, the diamond bracelet on her wrist jingling. She reached into Bradley's open jacket pocket and pulled out the little black velvet box. "Is this it?" Cecily asked, greed glinting nakedly in her eyes. "That six-carat Harry Winston pink diamond you picked up in Geneva?" Bradley took a leisurely sip of his whiskey and nodded casually. "Yep. But she won't get it until she walks through that door and apologizes for her little tantrum on the plane." Cecily opened the box with her flawlessly manicured fingertips. The enormous pink stone caught the afternoon light, scattering a dazzling blaze of color across the leather sofa. "Bradley, it's breathtaking," Cecily breathed, sliding the ring out of its velvet slot. "Look at that cut. What a waste to put it on the hand of someone who wipes tables for a living." "Try it on, Cecily," Dylan goaded with a wicked grin. "Let's see what five million dollars looks like on a real society girl." "Oh, I couldn't possibly," Cecily demurred, even as her finger slid halfway into the platinum band. "If Lexi found out, who knows what kind of fit she'd throw." "Wear it," Bradley said, swirling his glass without a care. "Alexis refuses to quit her pathetic diner job. Her hands are red and rough from scrubbing other people's plates. She'd ruin the setting." Cecily pushed the ring down her slender finger to the base. A perfect fit. She raised her hand to the light, turning her wrist, a triumphant, radiant smile spreading across her face. "Brad, it's like it was made for me," Cecily cooed, leaning into him, pressing her hand against his chest. "Maybe you really should reconsider your standards. You built a billion-dollar empire from nothing—you deserve a woman who actually matches your worth." Bradley looked down at the hand on his chest, the corner of his mouth curling into a faint, arrogant smirk. "Alexis took care of me when I had nothing," Bradley said, though there was no warmth in his voice at all. "Her strong point is loyalty. That counts for something, I suppose. Once she figures out where her place is in our circle, she'll settle down." I stood in the corner of the room as a transparent spirit, watching the man who had consumed five years of my youth. There was no jealousy in my heart. No anger, either. My heart had died with my shattered body on the rocky riverbed at the bottom of the canyon. I remembered the night three months ago, in our penthouse, when Bradley flung a plastic measuring tape into my face. "Measure your ring finger," he commanded, without even lifting his head from his laptop. "I need to send the size to the jeweler." I told him then that I had been washing dishes for ten hours straight at a charity relief station and the diner, and my knuckles were badly swollen. He just snorted coldly and mocked, "Then stop doing filthy low-class work. It's embarrassing." And now, one full hour had passed since my fatal fall. The clock in the VIP lounge ticked steadily toward five in the afternoon. Dylan glanced at his Rolex and looked out at the dust-choked canyon road beyond the panoramic windows. "Hey, Brad," Dylan set his empty can on the glass coffee table, "the shuttle from the landing zone should've picked her up by now. She still hasn't called you?" Bradley pulled the sleek titanium phone from his pocket and tapped the screen. "No," he frowned impatiently. "She's playing hard to get. Just trying to rattle me into sending a helicopter after her, to feed her pathetic little ego." Angry, he typed out a text and hit send. I watched the words appear on his glowing screen: [Alexis, you have thirty minutes to drag your pathetic self down to the resort lobby. If you make us late for dinner, I'll give the pink diamond to Cecily tonight and cut off your mother's hospital payments. Don't test my patience.] The message showed only a single gray checkmark. It had been delivered to a shattered phone—one submerged in my congealed blood, pinned beneath three steel plates. Bradley stared at the screen, waiting for the blue "typing" bubble that had appeared within five seconds every time before. The screen stayed dead. Nothing. The corner of Bradley's left eye twitched. "Now she's really testing me," Bradley muttered, his voice tight. I drifted beside his chair, looking down at that handsome, heartless face. "I'm not coming back, Bradley," I whispered to the cold air. The atmosphere in the room fell into an eerie stillness, broken only by the canyon wind outside, howling against the glass.

Alexis Lane's POV: Dark clouds hung over the desert like bruised, cold iron as an unseasonable storm came howling through the Nevada canyon. Torrential rain hammered against the resort's tall floor-to-ceiling windows, drowning out the jazz drifting from the ceiling speakers. Dylan stood at the rain-streaked glass, staring out at the blinding white curtain of water. "God, it's really coming down," Dylan muttered, rubbing his forearms. "If she's still stuck out on that mountain road, she'll freeze solid." Hunter lounged on the leather sofa with a yawn, scrolling through his stock portfolio. "A little freezing will do her good—hone her temper. After this misery, she'll finally learn to appreciate Brad's heated penthouse." Suddenly, with a bang, the heavy double doors of the VIP lounge burst open. Mark, the operations director of the skydiving base, came stumbling in. His yellow safety raincoat was drenched with rain and mud, and his face was bloodlessly pale. "Mr. Evans!" Mark grabbed the doorframe to steady himself, shouting between ragged breaths. "Where's the girl? The girl who jumped at four o'clock—where is she?!" Dylan's brow furrowed. Irritated, he slammed his glass down on the table with a screech. "Mind the carpet, buddy," Dylan snapped. "What the hell is wrong with you? She's probably walking back from the drop zone right now, bawling her eyes out like a spoiled child" "She never walked back!" Mark screamed, nearly hysterical, his voice warped by raw terror. "After the storm warning, we just did a full inventory of the gear! The packing staff found an empty main container in the back room — canopy pulled, straps cut clean. And the rig she jumped with never came back." Bradley Evans slowly set down his whiskey glass, his eyes narrowing into two dangerous, icy slits. "Speak plainly, Mark," Bradley ordered, every word carrying the oppressive weight of a billionaire at the top of the food chain. "What do you mean, missing?" "Someone tampered with her rig!" Mark stumbled to the center of the lounge, shouting in a cracked voice. "Before you boarded, someone pulled the nylon main canopy right out of its container! Someone stuffed three industrial steel barbell plates into her pack! Nearly forty-five pounds of dead weight! And the reserve chute's safety seal had been swapped for a factory-new one!" The entire room fell dead silent. Cecily jerked her hands back to her chest, the diamond ring on her finger glinting coldly under the dim ceiling lights. "That's impossible," Cecily said, her voice trembling slightly. "She never even opened her own pack. Bradley can tell you that — she wouldn't know a canopy from a sleeping bag." "I've got two ground search patrols down at the base of the north cliff," Mark choked out, tears streaming freely down his rain-soaked face. "They found a massive impact crater near the granite ridge! The rocks are covered in blood... human remains scattered across a radius of forty or fifty meters! Her parachute never opened—because there was no parachute inside it!" The crystal glass slipped from Hunter's hand and shattered on the polished hardwood floor. Whiskey and crushed ice splashed across Cecily's feet, soaking her designer boots. Bradley stood frozen for five full seconds. Then a shrill, mocking laugh erupted from deep in his throat. "Nice acting, Mark," Bradley said, leaning back against the bar, a cold, contemptuous sneer curling his lips. "How much did Alexis pay you to come in here and deliver this little script? Ten, twenty thousand?" Mark stared at Bradley as if looking at an incomprehensible madman. "Mr. Evans, this isn't a joke! There's a dead woman at the bottom of that canyon!" "Shut up!" Bradley roared, slamming his fist hard against the cold marble bar. "No one here knows Alexis better than I do! She's a spineless, hypocritical, scheming woman—what wouldn't she do to get out of a test?" Bradley jabbed his finger hard into Mark's chest. "She probably hired a couple of local punks to throw a weighted bag off the cliff to fake her death! She wants me rushing out into the storm, begging on my knees for her forgiveness, so she can have leverage over me!" "Brad, the patrols have confirmed human remains—" "I said shut up!" Bradley exploded, his eyes blazing with a defensive fury bordering on madness. "Alexis doesn't have the guts to die! She needs my money to live! Her mother's room in that Phoenix hospice costs me thirty grand a month. One phone call, and the payments stop." I stood right in front of Bradley, quietly watching those hollow, arrogant eyes. Listening to the filth spewing from his mouth about my mother, my heart felt nothing at all—it had long gone numb. With trembling fingers, Bradley pulled out his phone again, hit speaker, and dialed my private number. The cold automated voice echoed through the silent room: "The subscriber you are calling has powered off, or is outside the service area." Bradley let out a furious growl and hit the voicemail button. "Alexis, this is your final warning," he roared into the phone, his voice shaking with a fury bordering on derangement. "If you're hiding out in some maintenance shed in the canyon, waiting to watch me sob my eyes out for you, you've miscalculated! I'm counting to sixty—if you don't walk through that door, I'm calling Phoenix Memorial Hospital right now and cutting off every cent of your mother's chemo! Let's see how long she survives without my black card!" He slammed the phone down on the glass coffee table, his chest heaving, his breathing ragged and wild. The room was dead silent, except for the storm outside still battering the panoramic windows. I looked at Bradley, and a ghostly, ice-cold smile touched my lips. "Bradley, my mother died six months ago," I said softly to the empty air. "The day the doctors pulled her off the ventilator, you were in Aspen picking out a diamond necklace for Cecily."