Chapter One

At the party, everyone was talking about how Lacey Whitmore had just given birth to twins in Zurich—a boy and a girl.

Without thinking, I looked at Wyatt.

There was a tender smile on his lips.

He only ever smiled like that when someone mentioned Lacey.

“The delivery went pretty smoothly,” he told everyone. “Still, she went through a lot.”

“Both babies have her eyes. They’re unbelievably cute.”

The others started teasing him. “You flew out there to be with her for the birth?”

Wyatt didn’t deny it. “Having a baby can kill a woman. And her husband’s a lab rat who can barely look up from his microscope. How was I supposed to relax?”

I looked down. No wonder he’d spent all of last night browsing baby stuff online.

And I’d let myself believe he wanted a baby. I’d swallowed my embarrassment and put on the lace nightgown I’d bought when we first got married.

He’d given me one cold look and gone into his study.

A woman I knew nudged my arm. “Look at Wyatt—he loves kids. You should think about having one too. Something to secure your place.”

“Otherwise, three years married and still no baby? People will talk. And that mother-in-law of yours isn’t exactly easy.”

All I said was, “Forget it.”

“And what are you going to tell your mother-in-law? Forget it?”

“Yeah. Forget all of it.”

Forget the baby.

Forget Wyatt Hayes, too.

…

Chapter One

We were having dinner at the family house that night.

It was a Hayes family rule: from Christmas through New Year’s, we went back every single night.

I sat in the car. Wyatt sat beside me.

Out of nowhere, he said, “You weren’t really yourself today.”

I used to work so hard to fit into his circle. I’d rack my brain for things to say, jokes to tell.

I’d make everyone laugh.

And when they were done laughing, they’d say I was embarrassing. A clown.

Wyatt never once stood up for me. He was embarrassed by me too.

After a while, every time I opened my mouth, he’d already be frowning, his disgust written all over his face.

Eventually I just stopped trying.

Besides, I’d never been much of a talker.

Sitting quietly and letting my mind drift was easier anyway.

I just hadn’t expected him to come back afterward and pick the evening apart.

The more I thought about it, the more I figured it was because the topic had been Lacey.

Out of habit, I shook my head.

He still wasn’t satisfied. “Every time Lacey comes up, you go quiet.”

“Let me ask you something. Lacey just had her babies. What are you planning to give her?”

For a second, I didn’t know what to say.

A gift is supposed to be returned in kind.

So I thought about what Lacey had ever given me.

When I was born, her real mother—the Whitmores’ nanny—switched us. Lacey got a life of luxury. I was left on the street and nearly froze to death. I ended up in foster care, and I wasn’t adopted until I was seven.

When I was ten, I was diagnosed with a serious genetic illness. My adoptive parents had no choice but to put out public notices, hoping to find my birth parents and save my life.

Lacey’s mother panicked that the truth would come out. She took a desperate gamble: while my parents weren’t watching, she tried to snatch me again. She didn’t succeed—but I came out of it with claustrophobia.

When I was twenty-two, my adoptive parents died, one after the other, and the Whitmores took me back. Old Mr. Hayes announced that I would be the one marrying into his family instead.

So everyone decided she was the one who’d been wronged, and I was the one who’d hit the jackpot.

After that, everyone hated me for wrecking everything. In the Whitmore house, I became invisible.

At twenty-three, on the day I married Wyatt, she left for Switzerland.

Wyatt was five hours late to our wedding because he’d gone to see her off at the airport. And I was humiliated in front of everyone.

What should I give her?

I honestly couldn’t think of anything that would repay her and her mother for everything they’d done to me.

All I could manage was a flat “You decide.”

“I don’t get what goes on in your head. Because of you, Lacey had to have her babies in a foreign country. Don’t you feel like you owe her anything?”

“No wonder Mrs. Whitmore says you’re cold-blooded.”