Stolen Lover

I was pregnant, the creative force behind a culinary empire I was building with my husband, Donovan. My best friend, Jazmine, was our closest confidante, the one I' d held through detox.

Then I found the hidden folder on his server. A revised partnership agreement transferred my entire life's work-my recipes, my concepts, all future profits-to Jazmine. My name was erased.

But the betrayal was far more sinister. I found their emails and audio recordings. Jazmine was infertile, and I was their "incubator," a surrogate they planned to discard.

They had a plan to declare me mentally unstable after the birth, take my baby, and even discussed arranging a "tragic accident" to get me out of the picture for good.

My husband and my best friend didn't just want my career; they wanted my child and my life.

So I gave them a death. I burned my old life to the ground and disappeared, faking my own funeral to save my baby.

Chapter 1

Audrey's POV:

The numbers shimmered on the screen, a date etched into my memory: 07.12.2015. It was Jazmine' s sobriety anniversary, the day I had held her hand through detox, the day we swore we would face anything together. Now, it was Donovan' s server password. My fingers trembled as they typed, each digit a betrayal.

The hidden folder sprung open, a digital Pandora' s Box. My heart pounded against my ribs, a trapped bird desperate to escape. I clicked on the first file, an innocuous title that hid a venomous truth. It was a revised partnership agreement. Not between Donovan and me, but between Donovan and Jazmine. My name was conspicuously absent from the executive roles, relegated to a footnote as "creative consultant."

A cold wave washed over me, stealing my breath. My intellectual property, the recipes, the restaurant concepts, the very soul of our culinary empire-all explicitly transferred to Jazmine Salinas. Future profits? All hers. The document spelled it out in stark, legal jargon. My empire, my life' s work, systematically erased, piece by agonizing piece. My vision, my palate, my late nights, all attributed to someone else.

Then I saw the post-nup, a document I didn' t even know existed. It outlined the division of assets, a meticulous dissection of our shared life. Donovan' s fortune, vast and formidable, was ring-fenced, protected by layers of trusts and offshore accounts. And my share? A pittance. A severance package, really, for services rendered, not a spouse' s rightful portion. It was designed to leave me with barely enough to start over, if I were lucky.

The irony tasted like ash in my mouth. I remembered signing the pre-nup, years ago. Donovan had laughed, a charming, disarming sound. "Just formalities, my love," he had said, his eyes twinkling. "Ensuring our enterprise is stable, protecting us both. You know how volatile the restaurant business can be. A mere formality for two people destined to build an empire together." I had trusted him, completely, blindly. My own legal counsel, a friend I had brought into our circle, had assured me it was standard practice.

Now, I saw the truth. There were no "us" in his vision. Only him, and eventually, Jazmine. My contributions were not assets to build upon, but resources to be exploited, then discarded. He had used my talent, my passion, my initial investment to fuel his ambition. I was a stepping stone, a temporary vehicle. The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. My stomach churned, a bitter bile rising in my throat. This wasn't just about money; it was about my identity, my worth, systematically stripped away.

The chill in the room suddenly intensified, or maybe it was just my blood running cold. I looked around our opulent home, the one I had helped design, the one that now felt like a gilded cage. Every expensive piece of art, every custom-made furniture felt like a lie. Donovan and I rarely shared intimate conversations, our dialogue always revolving around the business, the next big launch, the quarterly reports. I had mistaken his laser-focus for shared ambition, his efficiency for devotion. How could I have been so naive? So foolish?

My fingers traced the screen, the figures blurring. Millions, earmarked for Jazmine' s future, for their future. My own accounts, tied to the restaurant group, were practically empty. I had poured everything back into the business, believing in us. My personal savings, my inheritance-all gone, absorbed into the behemoth he called "our" empire. The vulnerability was terrifying. I was pregnant, due in mere months, and suddenly, utterly exposed.

A sharp pain shot through my lower abdomen. My hand flew to my belly, a primal instinct to protect the tiny life growing inside me. The baby kicked, a gentle flutter that felt like a desperate plea for safety. Fear, raw and suffocating, clenched around my heart. I was not just alone; I was responsible for another.

The heavy thud of the front door echoed through the silent house. Donovan. My blood froze. He was home early. Too early. I scrambled to close the folder, to erase my digital footprint, but it was too late. He was already in the study doorway, his gaze piercing through me. His eyes, usually cool and calculating, were narrowed, a predator spotting its prey.

"Audrey," he said, his voice dangerously low. "What are you doing on my server?"

My heart hammered against my ribs. There was no point in lying. The truth, however ugly, had to be faced. I stood, my knees shaking, and held his gaze. "I found it, Donovan," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I found everything."

His jaw tightened. He strode across the room, his movements swift and purposeful. Before I could react, he snatched the laptop from the desk. His fingers flew across the keyboard, a flurry of commands. The document vanished, the folder disappeared, the Recycle Bin emptied. It was as if it had never existed. He stared at me, his face a mask of cold fury. "Found what, Audrey? You're being irrational again. The pregnancy hormones, perhaps?"