While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her

As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole. I begged him for help, my vision blurring. But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background. "Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again." He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm. I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube. Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry. Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled. "You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up." He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research. I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym. They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive. They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding. I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it. Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house. The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born.

Romance Crime Revenge Pregnancy Enemies to Lovers Pregnancy Personal Growth

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I was a Grammy-winning musician, engaged to the love of my life, tech mogul Julian Watson. But on the night of my greatest triumph, he framed me for plagiarism to protect his secret lover, the pop starlet Kaylene Avila.

He leaked my private journals, and the world turned on me. An enraged fan, fueled by his lies, attacked me, leaving a scar across my face and destroying my vocal cords forever. My grandfather died from the shock.

I ran, changing my name and hiding for five years as a barista. But Julian found me. He threatened the kind old woman who'd given me a job and even my grandfather's grave. His price for their safety? I had to become Kaylene's ghostwriter.

Trapped in a luxury apartment, I was a tool for their ambition. Kaylene, wearing a bracelet Julian once gave me, smirked as she handed me her terrible lyrics.

"Don't worry, Annie," she purred. "Your voice might be gone, but your words can still be mine."

But my usefulness ran out. Kaylene arranged for me to be beaten and left for dead. As I faded into darkness, I heard her final, chilling order to "make sure she's permanently out of the picture."

What she didn't know was that my estranged sister, a federal prosecutor, had just found me.

And she was about to fake my death.

Chapter 1

Annie Farley POV:

The Grammy award sat heavy in my hand, but the weight of Julian' s betrayal was crushing me, even before the whole world knew. It was the night my life ended, not began.

My name, Annie Farley, used to be synonymous with music, with heart. Now, it was a curse. Plagiarist. Saboteur. The words echoed in every corner of my mind, screamed from every headline. They were lies. All of it.

Julian Watson. My fiancé. The man I had loved since we were children, the tech mogul who held my future in his hands. He fed the rumors, fueled the fire. He leaked my private demo tapes, my most intimate lyrical drafts from my personal journals. All to protect Kaylene Avila, his secret lover, the pop starlet he falsely claimed I' d tried to ruin.

The world turned on me overnight. The public, a ravenous beast, tore me apart.

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