A year after she stole my husband, my former best friend mailed me an invitation to her baby shower. “Come celebrate our little miracle,” she wrote, adding a smiley face. “Sorry you couldn’t give him a son.”
Before Daniel married me, before Camille learned how expensive betrayal could become, I built the legal firm responsible for Mercer Holdings’ contracts.
I knew exactly where every body was buried.
And now, one of them was growing inside Camille’s stomach.
“I’ll be there,” I whispered softly.
Then I ordered the gift….
PART 2
The baby shower took place at the Mercer estate, because Camille abandoned subtlety the moment she discovered inherited wealth. White roses lined the driveway. Pale blue balloons curved over the marble staircase. A violinist stood beside the fountain, playing something delicate that sounded suspiciously like a funeral hymn.
I arrived wearing black.
Camille spotted me before anyone else.
Her smile widened sharply, almost like a blade.
“Naomi,” she sang sweetly while crossing the ballroom with one hand resting dramatically on her stomach. “You actually came.”
“I told you I would.”
Daniel stood beside her in a pale linen suit, his hand spread proudly across her belly. He looked polished, smug, and painfully foolish—the kind of man who mistakes silence for surrender.
“You look well,” he said carefully.
“You look fertile,” I answered.
His smile twitched slightly.
Camille laughed too loudly. “Still bitter? Oh, sweetheart, don’t be. Life gives different women different blessings.”
