Chapter 1
Chapter 1:
A sharp, tearing sensation ripped through June’s lower abdomen.
It was so sudden, so violently intense, that her fingers went numb. The glass of water slipped from her hand.
It hit the hardwood floor and shattered into dozens of jagged pieces. The sound echoed through the massive, empty master bedroom of the Compton estate.
June tried to take a step forward, but her knees buckled. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead, plastering her hair to her skin. She collapsed onto the expensive Persian rug, her hands flying to her stomach.
𝗙o𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗎𝘀 𝘰n
Her lungs forgot how to pull in air. The pain was not a dull ache — it felt like a serrated blade twisting inside her organs. Her vision blurred at the edges, dimming to gray. She knew her body. She was a medical researcher. This was not a normal pregnancy cramp. Her vital signs were crashing.
Her phone sat on the nightstand, three feet away. It might as well have been a mile.
Trembling violently, June dragged herself across the floor. Jagged shards of broken glass bit into her knee, but she could not feel them over the agony in her abdomen. She reached up, her fingers clawing blindly at the nightstand until she knocked the phone to the floor.
The bright screen pierced her eyes. Her fingers were slick with cold sweat. She pressed the speed dial. Number one.
Cole.
The phone rang once. June squeezed her eyes shut, her fingernails digging so hard into her palms that the skin broke. Please answer. Please.
It rang a second time. Each second stretched out, heavy and suffocating.
Then — a click.
“What?” Cole’s voice came through the speaker. It was not a greeting. It was a wall of ice. In the background, June could hear the clinking of champagne flutes and the smooth drift of a live jazz band.
“Cole…” June gasped, her throat tight and dry. “Help me… the baby p>
Before Cole could respond, a high-pitched, sweet voice drifted through the receiver. “Cole, who is it? We’re going to be late for the red carpet.” Alycia.
June’s stomach lurched. The pain spiked, sending a wave of nausea surging up her throat.
“June,” Cole said, his tone dropping into a low, impatient growl. “If this is your pathetic attempt to stop me from attending the gala, it’s a terrible strategy p>
“No…” June choked out. She tasted something metallic in her mouth. Blood. “I’m bleeding. Please p>
“Stop acting,” Cole snapped. She could almost picture him adjusting his expensive cufflinks, irritated by her existence. “You are perfectly fine. We are walking on stage in two minutes. Do not call this number again tonight p>
“Cole, wait p>
The line went dead.
The dial tone buzzed in the silent room. It sounded like a death sentence.
June stared at the darkened screen. The phone slipped from her weakened grasp and landed softly on the rug.
Then a sudden, terrifying warmth spread between her thighs.
She looked down. A dark, thick pool of red was soaking into the intricate patterns of the Persian rug. Blood. So much blood.
A primal panic seized her chest. She was losing the baby.
With the last ounce of strength in her shaking fingers, June grabbed the phone again and dialed 911.
“911, what is your emergency p>
“Compton Manor,” June whispered, her voice barely leaving her throat. “Hemorrhaging. Pregnant. Please hurry p>
She dropped the phone. Her head fell back against the floor.
Across the room, the massive flat-screen television played a muted live broadcast of the charity gala. Through her half-closed eyes, June saw Cole. He looked breathtaking in his custom tuxedo. He was smiling — smiling down at Alycia, who had her arm wrapped tightly around his. Alycia wore a stunning white gown, radiant as a bride. Cole’s eyes held a tenderness June had not seen in four years of marriage.
The contrast was brutal. He stood in the spotlight, holding another woman, while his wife bled out on his bedroom floor.
The wail of ambulance sirens pierced the night air, growing louder.
Downstairs, the heavy oak doors banged open. Footsteps thundered up the stairs.
Mrs. Lynch, the head housekeeper, appeared in the doorway. She did not gasp at June’s pale, stricken face. Instead, her eyes dropped to the floor.
“Good heavens,” Mrs. Lynch muttered in disgust. “You’ve ruined the antique rug p>
Paramedics shoved past the housekeeper. They dropped a medical bag and knelt beside June.
“Ma’am? Can you hear me?” a paramedic called, shining a penlight into her eyes.
June could not speak. The room had begun to spin.
They lifted her onto a stretcher. The movement sent a fresh wave of agony through her pelvis, and a single silent tear slid down her temple.
Inside the ambulance, the fluorescent lights flickered.
“Blood pressure is tanking!” a medic shouted over the siren. “Eighty over forty! Suspected ruptured ectopic pregnancy — step on it p>
The emergency room doors flew open. The wheels of the gurney rattled violently against the linoleum floor as the overhead lights streaked past in a dizzying blur. Nurses swarmed her. Scissors cut through her blood-soaked clothes.
“Where is the family?” a doctor demanded, gripping a clipboard. “Where is the husband? We need consent for emergency surgery p>
A nurse leaned close. “Mrs. Compton? Where is your husband p>
June forced her heavy eyelids open. She looked at the nurse. Her lips trembled.
“He won’t come,” she whispered.
The doctor did not wait. “We’re losing her. Get her to the OR — now p>
The heavy operating room doors swung shut. A mask was clamped over her nose and mouth. The sweet, chemical scent of anesthesia filled her lungs. Her last conscious thought was the sound of Cole hanging up the phone.
Hours later, the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor pulled her awake.
June opened her eyes. The hospital room was dark, lit only by the glow of New York City filtering through the blinds. Her abdomen felt hollow. A dull, throbbing pain radiated from her surgical incisions.
The room was completely empty. There were no flowers. There was no husband sitting in the chair beside her bed.
A nurse walked in to check her IV drip and offered June a look of quiet, genuine pity.
“Mrs. Compton,” the nurse said softly. “We tried calling the emergency contact listed in your file several times. A Mr. Compton.” She paused. “He didn’t answer p>
June turned her head slowly toward the window. The city lights blurred into long streaks of gold and silver.
She did not cry. The tears were gone, replaced by a freezing, solid weight in her chest. She closed her eyes.
The June who had loved Cole Compton had died on that operating table.