Chapter 1
After 144 hours with his mistress, he finally remembered his pregnant wife, but what she left behind destroyed his entire empire.
The first time billionaire CEO Damen Vance walked into his wife's hospital room after spending six days and six nights with his mistress, the bed was empty.
There were no flowers on the nightstand.
No suitcase beneath the chair.
No familiar voice asking whether he had eaten.
Only a tiny blue knitted hat resting on the pillow beside a sealed envelope.
Damen stared at it.
"Where is my wife?"
The nurse standing near the doorway looked at him with an expression he couldn't understand.
"Mrs. Vance was discharged this morning."
"Discharged?" His eyebrows drew together. "She was seven months pregnant. She was hospitalized for complications. Who authorized her discharge?"
"Her medical team cleared her to continue recovering outside the hospital."
"Then where is she?"
The nurse hesitated.
"Mr. Vance, perhaps you should read the letter."
Something about her voice irritated him.
Damen Vance was accustomed to immediate answers. At forty-one, he controlled Vance Medical Innovations, a multibillion-dollar healthcare technology company headquartered in Manhattan. Doctors returned his calls. Executives rearranged their schedules around him. Entire conference rooms fell silent when he entered.
Yet this young nurse refused to tell him where his own wife had gone.
He snatched the envelope from the pillow.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
The handwriting was unmistakably Meline's.
"Damen,
"Our son was born at 3:17 a.m. on Tuesday.
"He weighed two pounds and eleven ounces.
"He had your nose.
"He never took a breath.
"I waited 144 hours for you to come meet him.
"Now you don't have to worry about us anymore."
Damen read the letter once.
Then again.
His eyes stopped on five words.
He never took a breath.
"What is this?"
His voice barely reached the doorway.
The nurse swallowed.
"I'm very sorry about your son."
Damen looked up sharply.
"Our son?"
"Your wife suffered a severe placental abruption following an injury. The medical team did everything possible, but the baby could not be saved."
The paper slipped slightly between his fingers.
"No."
The nurse remained silent.
"No, that's not possible. Bernard told me she was stable."
"Your wife's condition was critical when she arrived."
"But she was supposed to deliver in September."
"Mr. Vance—"
"Where is my son?"
The nurse's eyes filled with tears.
"I'm sorry."
Damen took one step backward.
For the first time in fifteen years, the man who had built an empire out of solving seemingly impossible problems had absolutely no idea what to do.
And the worst part was that the hospital had tried to tell him.
Twenty-five times.
Six days earlier, Damen had been sitting across from his wife in the dining room of their Upper East Side townhouse.
Meline Lawson Vance, thirty-four, wore a cream-colored maternity dress. One hand rested protectively on her swollen stomach while the other slowly pushed roasted vegetables around her plate.
"He's kicking again," she said, smiling.
Damen glanced at his phone.
"That's good."
"Do you want to feel?"
"In a minute."
She waited.
A minute passed.
Then another.
"Damen?"
He sighed, finally looking up.
"What?"
"Our appointment is tomorrow at nine. Dr. Harper wants to review the ultrasound and my latest test results. You promised you'd come."
"I have a board meeting."
"You said you'd move it."
"I said I'd try."
Her smile faded.
"Damen, this is important. She said we needed to keep a close eye on the placenta."
"Meline, we have the best doctors in New York. If there were a serious problem, they'd handle it."
"That's not what I'm asking."
"Then what are you asking?"
She looked down at her stomach.
"I'm asking you to be there."
Before he could answer, his phone rang.
The screen displayed a name.
Elena Courtland.
Meline recognized it immediately.
Over the previous eight months, Elena had gone from being a wealthy investor's daughter to becoming a permanent shadow over their marriage.
She attended Damen's business dinners.
She traveled with him to conferences.
She sent him messages late at night.
And whenever Meline expressed discomfort, Damen accused her of being jealous.
"Elena is helping secure the company's next funding round," he always said. "You should be grateful."
Now he answered the call before the second ring.
"Elena?"
A frightened female voice spilled through the speaker.
"Damen, something's wrong. I'm at the hospital. There's bleeding, and I'm terrified. Please come."
He pushed his chair back.
"I'm on my way."
Meline rose too quickly, catching the edge of the table for support.
May you like
"What's happening?"
***
