Chapter 2

They'd been close friends for years. Travis agreed to Camila's request without hesitation.

Once they'd settled on a departure date, Camila hailed a cab home. Along the way, she tore every medical report into confetti-sized pieces and dropped them into a trash can on the sidewalk.

The medications from the hospital went into an empty vitamin bottle, tucked behind the mirror on her bathroom vanity.

Physically and emotionally drained, she forced herself into bed early—anything to avoid watching the fireworks at the harbor. But at ten o'clock, as if pulled by some cruel, invisible thread, she woke.

She reached for her phone. Sure enough, local videos were already flooding her feed—brilliant cascades of light exploding across the night sky, heartbreakingly beautiful.

Before she could stop herself, she hit video call on Stanley's contact.

"Where are you?"

He picked up almost immediately. Behind him, she could see an office—but not his office. Somewhere unfamiliar.

"At a client's place." Stanley smiled into the camera, his voice dropping low. "Missing me, sweetheart?"

"Mm." Camila's reply was barely audible. "Can you come home? Right now?"

She stared at his face on the screen—that impossibly perfect jaw, those dark eyes—and then she noticed it. Through the window behind him: an expanse of black ocean, and a single firework blooming in midair.

Laura was probably out there somewhere, watching the show, waiting for him to finish handling his wife.

The thought drained every ounce of wanting from her body.

"I'm kidding." She said it before he could respond. "Go finish up. I'm going back to sleep."

"I know you're upset." His voice shifted—sharper, more alert. He'd caught the edge in her tone. "I'll be done soon and I'll come straight home. Tomorrow I'll take you shopping—the whole day, just us. Whatever you want. Deal?"

Camila tugged at the corners of her mouth, forcing something that vaguely resembled a smile.

Before, he would have dropped everything and come home immediately.

Now, no amount of coaxing could compete with Laura.

But to Camila's surprise, Stanley walked through the door at midnight.

She was still awake, sorting through the walk-in closet, quietly selecting pieces she could take abroad.

"Still up?" He smelled like salt air and sea wind as he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Why are you doing this yourself? Have the housekeeper handle it tomorrow."

Camila buried her face against his chest and inhaled deeply—and caught it. A trace of perfume, faint but unmistakable. Not hers.

A violent wave of nausea slammed into her. She shoved him away and bolted for the bathroom, dropping to her knees over the toilet, retching.

Stanley was right behind her, panic sharpening his voice. "What's wrong? Is it your stomach? I'm taking you to the ER—"

He was already reaching to scoop her up. Camila waved him off. "Don't."

The pregnancy and the tumor were both making her sick. It would only get worse from here.

"I just didn't eat enough tonight." She rinsed her mouth, straightened, and met his eyes in the mirror. "Were you at the waterfront? You smell like it."

Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, that she'd noticed—but he recovered smoothly. "Yeah. Client wanted to meet down there."

"Is that so?" Camila smiled, thin and brittle, blinking back the sting behind her eyes. "And here I thought those harbor fireworks were for some other woman."

"Don't be ridiculous." His expression held nothing but fond exasperation—not a flicker of guilt. He stepped forward and drew her back against him, pressing his lips to the curve of her neck. "You want fireworks? I'll set them off for you tomorrow."

Camila stiffened, then pulled free of his arms.

"No need. I'm tired." She turned toward the bedroom. "You should get some sleep too."

The ache in her stomach was sharpening, and her chest felt like someone had taken a serrated knife to it. She cursed herself silently—she'd known for months that Stanley's attention was wandering, that fidelity was slipping through his fingers like sand. And still, knowing the truth hurt like this.

"Stanley." She paused at the edge of the bed. "You know how much I hate Laura. You know that, right?"

"Of course." His voice went low, serious. "If it weren't for her and her mother, yours would still be alive." A beat. "Baby—do you want me to take care of them? Both of them?"

"If I said yes—would you actually do it?" The question left her mouth before she could swallow it.

Laura was carrying his child.

"Of course I would." Not a second's hesitation. "But it'll have to wait. Things at the company are complicated right now—I can't step away."

"Right." Camila let out a quiet, hollow laugh.

He'd said yes—but not really. No matter how she tested him, she couldn't crack through to whatever Stanley truly felt underneath.

Better to simply disappear.

The next morning, Stanley kept his promise. He stayed by her side all day—until a phone call pulled him away just after noon.

Camila swallowed her discomfort and decided to nap. She'd barely closed her eyes when the doorbell rang.

Laura. Standing in her foyer like she owned the place.

"Last night, when Stanley found out I was pregnant, he was thrilled." Laura's voice was bright, performatively casual. "Picked me up and spun me around—you should have seen his face."

She extended her left hand, letting the afternoon light catch the enormous diamond on her ring finger. "When he proposed to you, Camila—the stone wasn't nearly this big, was it?"

Back then, Stanley hadn't had this kind of money. At Camila's insistence, they'd skipped the diamond entirely and found a pair of matching vintage bands at an antique shop instead.

"He buys me one that size every year." Camila didn't move from her spot on the sofa, her gaze passing over Laura with studied indifference. "If he was so thrilled, why hasn't he come home to ask me for a divorce?"

Laura's expression curdled.

"You insist on clinging to the title of Mrs. Martinez, making things impossible for Stanley—but I won't let you keep this up forever." Her teeth were practically bared.

Camila tilted her chin. "So? What exactly are you threatening me with?"

"Dad says if you cooperate, he'll hand over your mother's belongings." Laura had clearly come prepared. "You've been wanting her manuscripts, haven't you?"

Stanley had already pressured Victor Gonzalez into surrendering most of what he'd kept. Camila hadn't realized there was more.

"In exchange for what you're wearing." Laura's eyes locked onto the pendant at Camila's throat.

The Gonzalez family heirloom. Her grandmother had clasped it around her neck with her own hands.

Camila's lips curved. She fished the necklace out from beneath her collar, letting it dangle from her fingers. "Once you have this, you can finally prove you're the legitimate Gonzalez heir—not the illegitimate daughter. Not the mistress's child. Isn't that right?"

"I was never illegitimate!" Laura's face flushed scarlet, her composure cracking. "Just give me the necklace, Camila! Do you want the manuscripts or not?"

The shrill pitch of her voice and the cloying cloud of her perfume sent another wave of nausea rolling through Camila's stomach.

She rose from the sofa and headed for the bathroom.

She didn't make it two steps before Laura lunged.

Hands clawed at Camila's throat, grabbing for the chain. Camila threw up her arm to block—but in the scuffle, her balance gave way. She stumbled backward, her spine slamming into the staircase banister with a sickening crack. Pain detonated behind her eyes, white and blinding.

"Camila!"

Stanley's voice—distant, then suddenly close—and then strong arms were around her, pulling her against a solid chest.

Through the haze, she heard Laura's voice, high and trembling with theatrical distress: "I didn't do anything! She fell on her own—she's trying to frame me, Stanley—"