Chapter 1

Naomi's POV

When I shoved my prenatal test results into my bag, the confirmation email for the wedding venue was still open on my phone.

7:00 p.m. Seaport Grill. Anniversary dinner. Ian had promised he wouldn’t be late this time.

At 7:09, my car had barely turned onto the service road on the edge of the harbor district when a black SUV slammed into me from the rear side.

The steering wheel jerked hard. I stomped on the brakes. The seat belt cut into my chest so sharply it hurt to breathe.

I’d just grabbed my phone when Ian’s name popped up at the top of the screen. I hit call back—only to hear my door being yanked open before the first ring even finished.

“911—”

A hand clamped over my mouth from behind. Another arm hooked around me and dragged me out.

One of my heels flew off. My knee scraped the ground, pain flaring hot and raw. I bit down on the hand over my mouth as hard as I could. My phone went skidding, and I lunged, snatching it back.

The call connected.

“Ian,” I gasped, barely able to form words. “Don’t hang up— I’m in the harbor district, behind Pier 14, blue warehouse, the number… 7B…”

On the other end, there was silence for a second.

Then I heard Sophie, crying, so close to him it was like she was right there in his ear.

“Ian… I can’t breathe…”

His voice dropped, cold and deliberate, like he thought I was too stupid to understand. “Naomi. Enough.”

I got hauled into the back seat. My head cracked against the window and my vision went black for a beat. “I’m not messing around! Someone—”

“You really have to do this today?” His tone turned even harder. “Sophie’s having an attack.”

I nearly screamed. “I’m being taken!”

A slap exploded across my face. My phone almost flew out of my hand. The guy swore and wrenched my wrist behind my back, twisting until my whole arm shook with pain.

I was trembling, but I kept my thumb pressed to the call like my life depended on it.

“Ian—warehouse—7B. I’m Naomi Reed. Remember that name, please—”

“Don’t use that to force me.” He cut me off. “Calm down, and call me back when you’re done.”

And then the line went dead.

I stared at the black screen, the ringing in my ears climbing higher and higher.

Someone yanked my bag away. The prenatal report and the printed wedding reservation spilled all over the floorboards. Shoes crushed over the pages with soft, papery crunches.

“Pregnant?” the guy in the front scoffed. “That explains it.”

I snapped my head up. “Who sent you?”

No one answered.

When the car finally stopped, the screech of a metal gate sliding open made my scalp prickle. The warehouse smelled damp and rotten with mold.

They dragged me out, tied my hands and feet, and dumped me on freezing concrete.

One of them picked up my phone and flipped through it. “Who you trying to call next?”

I didn’t answer. While his head was down, I shoved my shoulder into him and knocked the phone to my side.

The screen cracked, but it still lit up.

I twisted my fingers as far as they’d go, pressed the voice button, my lips shaking.

“My name is Naomi Reed,” I whispered through tears I was trying not to let fall. “Harbor district. Pier 14. Blue warehouse, 7B… If anyone hears this, please. Hurry. I’m pregnant… please…”

Someone heard me.

A boot came down and kicked the phone away.

I curled in on myself as a hard cramp seized low in my belly.

Outside the warehouse, a shrill alarm suddenly blared—like a car in the distance had tripped its own anti-theft system. For half a second, I almost believed someone had come.

But the next moment, the last sliver of light on my screen went out.

On the shattered glass, the location icon blinked twice—then vanished completely.