The same hour Stella Quinn got her pregnancy report, an anonymous number sent her four photos of her fiancé kissing another woman in Rome. Sitting in her car in the hospital parking lot, Stella held the lab sheet in her right hand—hCG positive, five weeks along—and her phone in her left. On the screen, at the top of the Spanish Steps, Lucian Rhodes had a woman pressed against his chest, his mouth slanted over hers. The woman in his arms was Celeste Moore. Stella zoomed in on each image, checking the shadows, the grain, the edges of their hair. None of them were doctored. The man's left wrist against Celeste's waist was bare, though Stella barely registered it. Her eyes stayed on his face. In three years together, she had never seen Lucian kiss anyone like he was losing control. Not even her. Everyone in New York's upper circles knew about Lucian Rhodes and Celeste Moore—college sweethearts for four years until Celeste left for Milan to chase her jewelry design career. Stella had entered his life that same summer, filing down every sharp edge she had to remake herself into the quiet, composed woman he preferred. The night they became official, she had asked him about Celeste. Lucian hadn't even looked up. "Gossip. She's nothing." She had believed him. For three years she had been his secretary by day and his secret by night. Only his assistant, Nate Carver, and Grandpa Rhodes knew. Whenever she brought up going public, Lucian told her keeping them quiet before the wedding was to protect her. Last month, he had gone down on one knee. The wedding was set for December. A tear dropped onto the lab slip, blurring the ink. Stella wiped it away, folded the paper into her bag, and rested her palm flat against her stomach for one breath. Then she started the engine. Two days later, Lucian flew back to New York. Stella drove the black Phantom toward JFK's private terminal to pick him up. Halfway down the expressway, her work phone rang through the dash. It was the head of HR at Rhodes Group. "Ms. Quinn, about the new jewelry design director the CEO's office just brought in—does Ms. Moore need to go through standard onboarding?" The light ahead turned red. Stella slammed the brakes, tires screeching against the asphalt. "Is her name Celeste Moore?" Stella asked. "Yes. The appointment letter came straight down from the CEO's office with Mr. Rhodes's signature. Were you not informed?" In three years as his chief secretary, Lucian had never hired a single executive behind her back. "Process it normally," Stella said, and ended the call as the light turned green. Twenty minutes later, she parked outside the private terminal. Lucian strode out of the glass doors, six-foot-two in a dark overcoat, with Nate rolling a suitcase behind him. Stella took off her sunglasses and stepped out. The sharp September sun stung her eyes, making her squint against the glare before she schooled her face into a professional smile. "Welcome back, Mr. Rhodes." Lucian gave a brief, businesslike nod. She fell into step beside him toward the car. "Bidding on the Southshore parcel opens at ten. Would you like to go straight to the venue, or—" "Give Nate the keys," Lucian cut in. Stella paused, then handed the key fob to Nate. He took it with a sheepish grin and hurried to load the trunk. When he rounded the hood and reached for the driver's door, the locks clicked shut from the inside. Nate froze, glanced at the tinted rear window, and quickly backed ten feet away. In the back seat, Lucian caught Stella by the waist, hauled her across his lap, and covered her mouth with his. The kiss was hard and possessive. Out of three years of habit, Stella parted her lips and let him take what he wanted. When he finally lifted his head, her breath was uneven. "We'll be late for the bidding." "Let them wait." Lucian brushed his thumb across her swollen lower lip, the frost in his dark eyes warming slightly. "Fix your lipstick." Before she could reach for her bag, he pulled a lipstick from her open purse, twisted the cap off, and said, "Come here." Stella leaned in. He tipped her chin up with two fingers and traced the color onto her lips. He had done this dozens of times over the last three years, and every other time it had made her heart race. Today it felt like a blade sliding between her ribs. Her fingers curled tight against her knees. He capped the tube and smoothed a hand over her hair. Stella looked straight into his eyes. "Luc. Let's go public. Today." Lucian's hand stilled. His brows drew together. "We agreed to wait until the wedding." "I want to do it today." She caught his cuff between her fingers. "Please, Luc." He studied her face, his expression cooling. "Give me a reason." "I just want to." "If it's a whim, there's no need." He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. "You're running a fever." He unlocked the doors and lowered the window. "Nate. Drive her home to Tribeca." He looked back at Stella. "Stay in bed today. I'll take a town car to the bidding." Forty minutes later, Stella walked into the quiet penthouse at 8 Harrison Street. She pulled her personal phone from her bag. An unread text from an unknown number was waiting on the screen: "This is Celeste Moore. Can we meet?" Stella gripped the phone and tapped call. It connected on the second ring. "I'm in the café downstairs from your new office," Stella said, and hung up.

Celeste Moore ordered an iced Americano, black, no sugar. It was the exact way Lucian drank his. Sitting across the corner booth of the empty ground-floor café, Stella caught a whiff of the roasted espresso and her stomach turned. She lifted her glass of lemon water and took a slow sip to force the nausea down. Celeste rested her chin on her laced fingers, her smile warm and polite. "You look pale, Ms. Quinn. You're not pregnant, are you?" Stella set her glass down and met her gaze squarely. "And if I were? What's your next move, Ms. Moore?" Celeste gave a soft laugh. "Relax. I was joking. I know you can't be. Luc promised me no kids for five years." The glass hit the table with a sharp crack, lemon water sloshing over the rim. Stella stared at her, her voice low and flat. "So you invited me down here to tell me he loves you more. Should I pack my bags now?" "No, you're misunderstanding me!" Celeste shook her head quickly, her eyes widening. "I didn't send those photos from Rome. Someone blackmailed me with them. He demanded ten million dollars and said he had video too. I paid him off so Luc wouldn't be dragged into a scandal. I never thought the bastard would still send them to you." "Save the performance," Stella said. "From those photos to every word out of your mouth right now, you know exactly what you're doing." A tear spilled over Celeste's lashes, rolling down her cheek right on cue. "I'm not provoking you, I swear. Everyone thinks I dumped Luc after college to go to Milan, but the truth is Grandpa Rhodes forced me to leave." Stella gave a cold laugh. "Grandpa Rhodes respects Luc's choices more than anyone. He wouldn't bother." "He would when it came to me," Celeste whispered, biting her lip. "Because I was born unable to have children. Luc is the sole heir to the Rhodes fortune. His grandfather would never allow a barren woman to become Mrs. Rhodes." She covered her face and began to sob. "I know Luc is going to marry you, Ms. Quinn. He told me you're the most suitable wife he could ask for, and that he'll give you the title and a family. I don't want your place. I just can't live without him, and he can't let me go after all these years." Stella's hand tightened around her glass. "Shut up." Celeste looked up through wet lashes, her voice trembling. "I'm not asking for a title! I just want to stay beside him quietly. Please, Ms. Quinn, we genuinely love each other. Just don't tear us apart." "I said shut up." "Please, I'm begging you to bless—" Stella stood up and threw the rest of her lemon water straight into Celeste's face. Celeste gasped, freezing as water dripped from her hair and chin. Stella looked down at her, her voice cold. "You want me to bless your affair? With what, the body you say can't give him an heir?" Celeste wiped her face, her breath hitching. "You cry on command and beg me to let you be his mistress while slipping in how much he loves you in every sentence," Stella said, picking up her purse. "If you really have that hold on him, tell Lucian to call off our wedding. Otherwise, the day I become Mrs. Rhodes, you're the first thing I clean out of this building." She turned to walk past the booth. "Ms. Quinn!" Celeste lunged up from her seat and grabbed Stella's right forearm. Before Stella could yank her arm back, Celeste shoved her with everything she had, aiming her straight at the sharp corner of the heavy oak table. Stella's breath caught. She threw one hand over her stomach, twisted her hips at the last second to miss the wood, and planted her heel. Pivoting back, she swung her free hand and slapped Celeste hard across the face. The crack of skin on skin echoed through the quiet café at the exact moment a deep voice barked from the entrance. "Celeste!" Stella stiffened and looked toward the door. Lucian had just stepped inside with Nate right behind him. From the doorway, the high back of the booth would have hidden Celeste's shove. All he could have seen was Stella's hand striking Celeste's cheek. In three long strides, Lucian reached the table. He looked at the red print blooming on Celeste's wet face first, then turned his dark, frigid eyes on Stella. "Explain yourself," he said. Stella looked at the man who had traced lipstick onto her mouth two hours ago. Her lips felt numb. "Does it hurt you that I hit her?" "Violence is unacceptable regardless of the reason." His jaw set. "Apologize." "No." "Stella." "Luc, don't be angry with her!" Celeste caught his sleeve with both hands, tears mixing with the lemon water on her cheeks. "It's my fault. I said the wrong thing and upset Ms. Quinn. Please don't fight with her over me..." Her eyes rolled back, and her knees buckled. Lucian caught her before she hit the floor. "Celeste?" When she didn't answer, he scooped her up into his arms and turned toward the door without a second glance at Stella. "Nate, call Dr. Wu." "Right away, sir!" Nate pulled out his phone and hurried after him. Stella stood beside the table and watched Lucian carry another woman out into the street. She didn't look away until the glass doors swung shut behind them. "Miss? Your hand..." A young waitress stepped forward hesitantly, holding out a stack of napkins. "You're bleeding." Stella looked down at the back of her right hand. A clean, three-inch gash was welling with bright red blood, dripping onto the floor. She crouched down beside the table leg. Glinting against the dark tile was a tiny, razor-thin craft blade, stained red at the tip. Celeste had palmed it between her fingers when she grabbed her arm. Stella wrapped the blade carefully in a napkin, tucked it into her purse, and stood up. She pressed a clean napkin to her cut and looked at the waitress. "Do you have cameras in here?"

Stella turned off every light in the Tribeca penthouse except the candles on the dining table, waiting for the man who had carried another woman out of a café hours ago. At eight o'clock, the private elevator chimed. The front door opened, and Lucian stepped into the dim foyer. Stella walked toward him barefoot in a backless crimson silk dress, the bandage on her right hand hidden behind her hip. In the candlelight, she tilted her chin up and smiled. "Welcome home, fiancé." Lucian's dark gaze swept down her frame, his throat working once before his eyes dropped to her bare feet on the marble. He loosened his tie, his brow furrowing. "If you think putting on a show tonight makes up for hitting Celeste this afternoon, it doesn't." Instead of answering, Stella stepped in close and looped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest. "I missed you." Lucian stiffened for a second. Then his hand came down on the small of her back, pressing her against the entryway credenza. He bent his head to take her mouth. Right before his lips touched hers, Stella turned her head. His mouth brushed her cheek instead. He pulled back an inch, frowning. In three years, she had never dodged him. "You slap someone, refuse to apologize, and now you're sulking?" He nipped her earlobe, his voice low. Stella pressed her palm lightly against his chest. "I made dinner. Eat with me first. What happened with Celeste today?" "She told me it was her fault," Lucian said against her neck. "She's harmless, Stell. Bringing her back to New York was my call. If you're upset about it, take it out on me, not her." "I don't like her," Stella said quietly. "It's her or me." Lucian bit her bare shoulder, just hard enough to sting. "You don't have to choose. Your place and hers don't conflict. I know you're not feeling well today, so I'll let the attitude slide, but Celeste isn't up for negotiation. I need her. You'll accept her." Stella went completely still in his arms. Inside her purse by the table sat a flash drive with the café's security footage—showing Celeste shoving her toward the table corner with a blade between her fingers. There was no point showing it to him now. She closed her eyes, drew a slow breath, and curved her lips into a practiced smile. "Understood." "Good girl." Lucian pinched her chin and kissed the corner of her mouth. "Once this quarter wraps, I'll take you to Rome. You've always wanted wedding photos on the Spanish Steps." The Spanish Steps. Where he had just held Celeste Moore in his arms. "Let's eat before it gets cold," Stella said, slipping out of his hold and leading him to the dining table. They sat across from each other with two tall tapers flickering between them. Lucian picked up his knife and fork, sliced his prime ribeye into even, bite-sized pieces, and swapped his plate with hers. It was a habit he had kept for three years. Stella picked up her wineglass, filled with sparkling cider she had poured in place of Bordeaux, and raised it. "A toast." Lucian touched his rim to hers and drank. Watching his throat move, Stella swirled her glass. "Let's get married tomorrow. City Hall." Lucian paused mid-swallow. He lowered his glass to the marble tabletop with a sharp clink and looked across at her. "Say that again." "I said, let's go to the County Clerk's office tomorrow and sign the papers." A cold laugh left his throat. "Is this the surprise you cooked for? Stop acting out, Stella. Our wedding is set for December. You know I don't like my plans disrupted." "What if I can't wait until December?" She set her glass down hard enough to crack the stem. Her voice stayed steady and quiet. "What if I told you I'm pregnant?" Lucian froze. There was no joy on his face. Only a flat, cutting scrutiny. "I got the lab report three days ago," Stella said, meeting his eyes across the candle flame. The dining room went dead silent. "Stell," Lucian said, his voice dropping to subzero. "Don't lie to me." A sharp, humorless laugh escaped her. Her eyes burned, but she refused to let a single tear fall. "Three years together, and your first instinct is that I'm lying?" Lucian stood up, looking down at her from his full height. "Don't test my limits." "I'm not lying," Stella said, her hands flattening on the table as she rose to face him. "Last month at the St. Regis, the night you proposed, we didn't use anything—" "I had a vasectomy two years ago." The words cut through the room like a guillotine. Stella stared at him, the blood draining from her face. Two years ago. Celeste's voice from the café echoed in her ears: Luc promised me no kids for five years. He'd had the procedure to keep a promise to Celeste, while letting Stella believe they would have a family. "Satisfied?" Lucian looked at her chalk-white face, his lip curling with disgust. "Three years, and you couldn't wait three more months for the ring? I thought you were smart enough to know your place without playing dirty tricks. Turns out you're no different from the rest." Stella gripped the edge of the table, her chest heaving. "What did you just say to me?" "It must have been exhausting," Lucian said coldly, buttoning his suit jacket. "Putting on an act for three years just to lock down the Mrs. Rhodes title. Watching you pretend to love me and obey me is disgusting." He turned his back on her, strode to the foyer, and yanked the heavy door open. The slam shook the walls. The draft snuffed out the candles on the table, plunging the penthouse into pitch darkness. Stella's legs gave out. She sank onto the cold marble floor beside her chair. A violent cramp tore through her lower abdomen, stealing her breath. Seconds later, a warm gush soaked through the silk between her thighs. She didn't reach for her phone. She sat alone in the dark, pressing her cut hand to her stomach as the warmth pooled beneath her. "Lucian," she whispered into the empty room. "You got what you wanted. As of tonight, I don't love you anymore."