Chapter 1 - The Two Pink Lines
The night I discovered I was pregnant, my husband was busy making another woman’s wish come true.
Not just any woman.
My best friend.
I stood alone in the marble bathroom of our Las Vegas penthouse with a pregnancy test trembling between my fingers. Two pink lines stared back at me, so clear and unmistakable that for several seconds I forgot how to breathe.
Pregnant.
I was pregnant with Vincent Moretti’s baby.
For three years, I had been Claire Moretti—the wife of the most feared casino owner in Las Vegas.
People lowered their voices when they said Vincent’s name. Men twice his age stood when he entered a room. Politicians returned his calls. Casino executives changed plans when he raised an eyebrow. He had drivers, security teams, attorneys, assistants, and enough money to make almost any inconvenience disappear.
But that night, I didn’t need Vincent Moretti, the powerful man everyone feared.
I needed my husband.
I pressed one hand against my stomach even though there was nothing to feel yet.
For months, I had imagined this moment.
I had pictured myself telling him over dinner. Maybe I would put the pregnancy test inside a small box. Maybe Vincent would stare at it in stunned silence before pulling me into his arms.
He wasn’t an emotional man.
But I had always believed a baby would reach the part of him no one else could.
I called him.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Claire.”
His voice was distracted.
There was noise behind him—traffic, laughter, music.
“Vincent, where are you?”
“Downtown.”
I swallowed.
“I have something important to tell you.”
There was a pause.
For one foolish second, hope rushed through me.
“Can you come home early?”
“Not tonight, Claire.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Why?”
Another pause.
Then he said the name that had slowly become a third person in our marriage.
“Isabella wants a mango crêpe cake from Bellucci’s.”
I stared at my reflection.
My face had gone completely still.
“What?”
“She’s had a terrible week. Bellucci’s closes soon.”
“That requires you?”
“She asked me.”
Of course she had.
Isabella Hart had been my closest friend for nearly six years.
Beautiful, charming, fragile whenever Vincent was nearby.
Three weeks earlier, her boyfriend had ended their relationship. Since then, Vincent had decided she needed looking after.
At first, I had tried to understand.
Then came the midnight phone calls.
The dinners.
The rides home.
The little favors.
And every time I objected, Isabella looked wounded and Vincent accused me of jealousy.
I forced myself back to the reason I had called.
“Vincent, please. This is important.”
“I told you. Not tonight.”
“What are you doing after you get the cake?”
“I’m taking Isabella to Red Rock.”
My heart stopped.
“Why?”
“She wants to watch the sunrise.”
I looked toward the enormous windows outside our bedroom.
Months earlier, on our anniversary, I had asked Vincent to do exactly that.
One sunrise.
No casino.
No phones.
No business.
Just us.
He had laughed.
“Claire, I have meetings at seven. I’m not driving into the desert at four in the morning to watch the sky change colors.”
I remembered pretending it didn’t hurt.
Now he was doing it for Isabella.
“When I asked you to watch the sunrise with me, you said it was a waste of time.”
Vincent exhaled sharply.
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything.”
“Yes, you are.”
My eyes burned.
“I’m asking why something was ridiculous when your wife wanted it but suddenly matters when Isabella asks.”
“Why does everything have to become a competition with Isabella?”
His voice hardened.
“She’s going through a breakup, Claire.”
“And I’m your wife.”
Silence.
I looked down at the pregnancy test.
Tell him.
The words almost left my mouth.
Then Vincent spoke first.
“I don’t have time for this tonight.”
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
He had hung up on me.
My hand slowly dropped.
The pregnancy test was still in my other hand.
Two pink lines.
A future that had existed for less than an hour already felt strangely lonely.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from Isabella.
I opened it.
It was a photograph.
She was sitting beside Vincent in his car.
Her blonde head rested against his shoulder. Vincent was looking away from the camera, apparently unaware she had taken it.
Beneath the photograph were two sentences.
Vincent belongs to me tonight.
I’ll watch the sunrise for you too.
Something inside me went completely quiet.
I could have screamed.
I could have called Vincent again.
I could have demanded that he bring my husband home.
Instead, I looked at the pregnancy test.
Then I typed four words.
You can keep him.
I turned my phone off.
That night, I slept alone.
Or tried to.
At four in the morning, I was standing beside the penthouse windows.
Somewhere beyond the city, Vincent and Isabella were watching the sunrise I had once begged my husband to share with me.
The first light spread over Las Vegas.
My hand rested over my stomach.
“You and me,” I whispered.
For the first time that night, I smiled.
It was small.
But real.
Whatever was happening between Vincent and me, this baby was innocent.
I would protect it.
At eight the next morning, I called my doctor.
They had an opening.
I went alone.
The examination began routinely.
Blood pressure.
Questions.
Bloodwork.
Then the ultrasound.
The technician became quiet.
I noticed immediately.
“Is something wrong?”
She gave me the careful smile medical professionals use when they don’t want to answer too soon.
“I’m going to get the doctor.”
My heart began pounding.
The doctor came in several minutes later.
She studied the screen.
Then she looked at me.
There are sentences that divide your life into before and after.
What she told me became one of them.
Complications had developed.
The pregnancy wasn’t progressing normally.
More tests followed.
More waiting.
More explanations that blurred together until I could barely understand them.
By the time I left that office, the future I had imagined the night before was gone.
I sat in my car with the ultrasound report on my lap.
Around me, Las Vegas continued normally.
Cars moved.
People laughed.
Someone nearby complained about parking.
And I had just lost my baby.
I reached for my phone.
My finger hovered over Vincent’s name.
Then I remembered Isabella’s photograph.
Vincent belongs to me tonight.
I put the phone down.
I drove home alone.
When the elevator doors opened into our penthouse, laughter reached me from the living room.
Vincent was there.
So was Isabella.
They were sitting together looking through photographs from Red Rock.
Photographs of the sunrise.
My sunrise.
Isabella noticed me first.
Her smile faded slightly.
“You look terrible.”
I stared at her.
Vincent turned.
His brows drew together.
“Where have you been?”
I almost laughed.
He had no idea.
My husband—the man who could find almost anyone in Las Vegas within an hour—had no idea where his own wife had spent the morning.
“Doctor.”
Vincent stood.
“Why?”
I looked at him.
For one second, I wanted to tell him everything.
Then Isabella touched his arm.
A tiny gesture.
Almost meaningless.
Except it wasn’t.
“Vincent,” she said softly, “show her the picture from the overlook.”
And he turned toward her.
That was the moment I understood something I should have understood months earlier.
I was no longer fighting for my marriage.
I was fighting for basic attention inside it.
And I was exhausted.
“I’m going upstairs.”
“Claire.”
I kept walking.
I locked the bedroom door.
Then I opened my handbag and removed the medical documents.
Pregnancy confirmation.
Ultrasound report.
Clinical notes.
I placed them inside the bottom drawer of my desk.
I thought that was the end of the worst day of my life.
I was wrong.
Because the following afternoon, Vincent came home carrying a white bakery box.
He placed it on the kitchen island like a peace offering.
“I brought you something.”
I opened the lid.
And the second I smelled it, every muscle in my body went rigid.
Mango.
Vincent had brought home the one food that could send me to the emergency room.
And standing behind him, Isabella was smiling.
But what neither of them knew was that before the night ended, Vincent would have two chances to lose me.
May you like
He had already lost our baby without ever knowing it.
The second time, he would almost lose me too.
