Chapter 1
The snow swallowed my scream before anyone could hear it.
Moments earlier I'd been begging my husband, Derek Holt, to stop the car and take me home. We were driving through the mountains outside Silver Hollow, Colorado, blinding snow and towering pines all around us, wind so fierce I could barely stand after stepping out of the SUV.
Then I looked into his eyes. Nothing there. No anger, no hesitation. Just emptiness. Before I could react, both his hands slammed into my shoulders and the ground disappeared beneath me. I fell backward into open air, reaching for anything that could stop me, thinking only of my baby.
Through the swirling snow, I heard his voice one last time. Goodbye, Sienna, he called, laughing. Neither of you will be suffering much longer.
Then everything turned white.
I crashed onto a narrow ledge halfway down the mountainside. Pain ripped through my ribs, my wrist twisted beneath me, a sharp ache tore across my stomach as icy wind cut through my torn coat. Blood filled my mouth. With every ounce of strength left, I forced myself to look up.
Derek still stood at the edge. Beside him, Paige Larkin — the woman who'd smiled at me for months while secretly sharing my husband's bed. Is she dead? Paige asked nervously.
Derek shrugged. For fifty million dollars, she'd better be. Then they turned and walked away. They never looked back.
For what felt like hours I lay buried beneath snow, drifting in and out of consciousness, every breath burning, every heartbeat weaker than the last. I wrapped both hands around my stomach. Please, I whispered. Stay with me.
Just as darkness began pulling me away, a searchlight swept across the mountainside. A helicopter. Someone descended through the storm on a rescue cable — but he wasn't wearing a rescue uniform. A long black coat despite the weather, silver hair whipping wildly in the wind. The moment I saw his face, I recognized him. Years earlier, after my mother's death, I'd found an old photograph tucked inside a box of letters.
Nathaniel Vance. Founder of Vance Continental Insurance — the very company holding my life insurance policy. According to my mother's final letter, he was also my biological father.
Sienna? he whispered.
I tried to answer. Only blood came out.
He placed his hand gently over mine where I was protecting my stomach. You are not dying today, he said firmly.
---
At the hospital, doctors cut away frozen clothing while shouting orders — broken ribs, a fractured wrist, internal injuries. They searched for my baby's heartbeat. One second. Two. Then a tiny heartbeat echoed through the room, weak, fragile, alive. Tears streamed down my face, mixing with blood I hadn't yet had the chance to wipe away, the machines around me filling the silence with a rhythm I would remember for the rest of my life.
Nathaniel never left my bedside, his face calm but rage burning behind his eyes. Derek already filed the insurance claim, he said quietly. He told investigators you slipped during the storm. Official report: you and your son both died from exposure. He requested the full fifty-million-dollar payment the same day.
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Derek believed he'd buried us forever. He believed no one would ever question his story.
As I slowly raised my bruised hand from my stomach, a different feeling replaced my fear. For the first time since I fell, I smiled.
