Chapter 2
I had nowhere to go.
The penthouse had been my home for two years. My clothes, my books, my entire life was inside those walls.
Dominic's assistant, Gregory, was waiting for me in the lobby with a single suitcase.
"Mrs. Ashford— I mean, Ms. Cole," he corrected himself, having the decency to look ashamed. "Mr. Ashford had your personal belongings packed. A car will take you to a hotel for tonight."
"Gregory," I grabbed his sleeve. "Did you know about this? About Vivienne?"
He wouldn't meet my eyes.
"She arrived three days ago. The DNA confirmation came back yesterday. It's really her."
Three days.
For three days, Dominic had been planning to discard me while I was shopping for anniversary gifts and rehearsing how to tell him about our baby.
"There's something else," Gregory said quietly, leaning in. "The prenup you signed — Ms. Laurent's legal team drafted a clause two years ago. Before your wedding."
My blood ran cold.
"What?"
"The prenup. It was designed from the beginning to ensure you'd leave with nothing in the event of dissolution."
"But Vivienne was dead two years ago. How could she—"
"I don't know, Ms. Cole. I only know what I've seen."
The car took me to a mid-range hotel on the Upper East Side.
I sat on the stiff bed, staring at the ultrasound photo.
A tiny heartbeat. Eight weeks. Our child.
I had to tell him.
With shaking hands, I dialed Dominic's number.
It rang once, twice, three times.
"What?" His voice was sharp, irritated.
"Dominic, I need to tell you something. I'm—"
"Serena." His tone was ice. "Whatever game you're playing, stop. Vivienne told me you'd try this."
"Try what? I haven't said anything yet!"
"Emotional manipulation. Tears. Excuses to stay in my life." He exhaled through his nose. "It's over. Accept it."
"I'm pregnant!" The words burst out of me. "Dominic, I'm carrying your child!"
Silence.
For one beautiful, agonizing moment, I thought I'd reached him.
Then Vivienne's voice floated through the speaker, close to his ear.
"Dom, she's lying. My doctor told me about this. Desperate women fake pregnancies all the time. Don't fall for it."
"Serena," Dominic's voice returned, harder than before. "If you are pregnant, which I doubt, it's not mine."
"What?"
"We barely touched in the last two months. I was traveling."
"That's not true! The night before your London trip, we—"
"Enough!" he roared. "Send me a paternity test when the bastard is born. Until then, lose my number."
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone, my vision blurring.
Then it buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
"Sweet Serena. Did you really think he'd believe you over me? I've spent four years preparing for my return. You were just keeping my seat warm. — V"
I hurled the phone across the room.
The next morning, I woke to fifty-seven missed calls.
Not from Dominic. From reporters.
My phone lit up with notification after notification.
"ASHFORD CEO REUNITES WITH FIRST LOVE — REPLACEMENT WIFE DISCARDED"
"SERENA COLE: GOLD DIGGER WHO TARGETED BILLIONAIRE DURING HIS GRIEF"
"SOURCES SAY COLE FAKED EMOTIONAL DISTRESS TO TRAP ASHFORD IN MARRIAGE"
Every headline was worse than the last.
And every single one had quotes from "anonymous sources close to the Ashford family."
Vivienne hadn't just taken my husband.
She was destroying my reputation, my career, and any chance I had of being believed.
My phone buzzed again. This time, it was my boss at the architecture firm.
"Serena, I'm sorry. The Ashford Group is our biggest client. We can't afford... I hope you understand."
I was fired before noon.
Pregnant, homeless, jobless, and branded a liar by the most powerful man in New York.
I had never felt so completely alone.
But then a message appeared from a number I didn't recognize.
"Ms. Cole. I have information about Vivienne Laurent that you need to see. Meet me at Café Blanc, 3 PM. Come alone. — A friend."
The penthouse had been my home for two years. My clothes, my books, my entire life was inside those walls.
Dominic's assistant, Gregory, was waiting for me in the lobby with a single suitcase.
"Mrs. Ashford— I mean, Ms. Cole," he corrected himself, having the decency to look ashamed. "Mr. Ashford had your personal belongings packed. A car will take you to a hotel for tonight."
"Gregory," I grabbed his sleeve. "Did you know about this? About Vivienne?"
He wouldn't meet my eyes.
"She arrived three days ago. The DNA confirmation came back yesterday. It's really her."
Three days.
For three days, Dominic had been planning to discard me while I was shopping for anniversary gifts and rehearsing how to tell him about our baby.
"There's something else," Gregory said quietly, leaning in. "The prenup you signed — Ms. Laurent's legal team drafted a clause two years ago. Before your wedding."
My blood ran cold.
"What?"
"The prenup. It was designed from the beginning to ensure you'd leave with nothing in the event of dissolution."
"But Vivienne was dead two years ago. How could she—"
"I don't know, Ms. Cole. I only know what I've seen."
The car took me to a mid-range hotel on the Upper East Side.
I sat on the stiff bed, staring at the ultrasound photo.
A tiny heartbeat. Eight weeks. Our child.
I had to tell him.
With shaking hands, I dialed Dominic's number.
It rang once, twice, three times.
"What?" His voice was sharp, irritated.
"Dominic, I need to tell you something. I'm—"
"Serena." His tone was ice. "Whatever game you're playing, stop. Vivienne told me you'd try this."
"Try what? I haven't said anything yet!"
"Emotional manipulation. Tears. Excuses to stay in my life." He exhaled through his nose. "It's over. Accept it."
"I'm pregnant!" The words burst out of me. "Dominic, I'm carrying your child!"
Silence.
For one beautiful, agonizing moment, I thought I'd reached him.
Then Vivienne's voice floated through the speaker, close to his ear.
"Dom, she's lying. My doctor told me about this. Desperate women fake pregnancies all the time. Don't fall for it."
"Serena," Dominic's voice returned, harder than before. "If you are pregnant, which I doubt, it's not mine."
"What?"
"We barely touched in the last two months. I was traveling."
"That's not true! The night before your London trip, we—"
"Enough!" he roared. "Send me a paternity test when the bastard is born. Until then, lose my number."
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone, my vision blurring.
Then it buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
"Sweet Serena. Did you really think he'd believe you over me? I've spent four years preparing for my return. You were just keeping my seat warm. — V"
I hurled the phone across the room.
The next morning, I woke to fifty-seven missed calls.
Not from Dominic. From reporters.
My phone lit up with notification after notification.
"ASHFORD CEO REUNITES WITH FIRST LOVE — REPLACEMENT WIFE DISCARDED"
"SERENA COLE: GOLD DIGGER WHO TARGETED BILLIONAIRE DURING HIS GRIEF"
"SOURCES SAY COLE FAKED EMOTIONAL DISTRESS TO TRAP ASHFORD IN MARRIAGE"
Every headline was worse than the last.
And every single one had quotes from "anonymous sources close to the Ashford family."
Vivienne hadn't just taken my husband.
She was destroying my reputation, my career, and any chance I had of being believed.
My phone buzzed again. This time, it was my boss at the architecture firm.
"Serena, I'm sorry. The Ashford Group is our biggest client. We can't afford... I hope you understand."
I was fired before noon.
Pregnant, homeless, jobless, and branded a liar by the most powerful man in New York.
I had never felt so completely alone.
But then a message appeared from a number I didn't recognize.
"Ms. Cole. I have information about Vivienne Laurent that you need to see. Meet me at Café Blanc, 3 PM. Come alone. — A friend."