Chapter 1 — A Broken Promise

Bridget

The snowstorm outside the penthouse windows was mesmerizing, the fat, white flakes swirling idly against the jagged silhouettes of Manhattan’s towers. Bridget tightened her scarf as she stepped off the elevator, her heart a mix of anxious energy and glowing anticipation. The city’s icy wind still clung to her, but the sonogram photo in her hand offered a fragile warmth, its edges crumpled slightly from her grip.

This was meant to be a moment she would remember forever. Nathaniel had always spoken of their future family, painting vivid pictures of the life they would build together. She had imagined the joy in his piercing blue eyes, the way he’d pull her into his arms, his voice trembling with excitement. She rehearsed her words silently for the hundredth time: *“We’re going to be parents.”* Simple. Perfect.

The polished steel door to their penthouse gleamed ahead, reflecting the soft glow of the hallway lights. Bridget caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection—honey-blonde hair swept into a loose bun, her pale green eyes wide with both hope and trepidation. Doubt flickered across her face, uninvited but persistent. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “This is good news,” she whispered. “He’ll be happy.”

Sliding the keycard into the lock, she stepped inside, her heels clicking sharply on the marble floor. The stillness of the penthouse struck her immediately. It was too quiet. The lights were dim, casting elongated shadows across the pristine, minimalist decor. Nathaniel’s briefcase lay near the sofa, haphazardly abandoned. Yet there was no sign of him. The faint scent of something floral lingered in the air—perfume, unfamiliar and cloying—its presence unwelcome and intrusive.

“Nathaniel?” she called softly, her voice trembling as she set her purse down. The sound echoed faintly, emphasizing the oppressive stillness. She tightened her grip on the sonogram photo, her pulse quickening. Shaking off the inexplicable unease, she told herself she was overthinking. He was likely in his office, or perhaps he’d fallen asleep watching TV. He’d never—

A muffled laugh. Faint, but unmistakable. It sliced through her thoughts like a blade.

Her stomach twisted painfully as she turned toward the bedroom. The door was ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling into the hallway. She moved forward, her steps hesitant, every muscle in her body screaming for her to stop, to turn back. Yet she couldn’t. Her fingers tightened around the sonogram, the paper’s crinkle sharp and discordant in the suffocating silence.

She pushed the door open.

The scene before her burned itself into her memory with brutal clarity. Nathaniel. And Alice.

The bed, their bed, was a disarray of tangled sheets and entwined limbs. Nathaniel’s bare back faced her, his jet-black hair tousled in a way that was painfully familiar—except it wasn’t her hands that had mussed it this time. Alice, her former best friend, lounged beside him, her flame-red hair spilling over the pillows like a victory flag. A slow, triumphant smirk curved her lips, painted glossy and crimson, as her sharp eyes locked onto Bridget’s.

The sonogram slipped from Bridget’s trembling fingers, fluttering to the floor like a fragile, broken promise.

“Bridget,” Nathaniel’s voice shattered the silence as he turned, his eyes widening in shock. He scrambled for the sheets, a futile attempt at modesty. “I can explain.”

The room spun around her. Her breaths came in short, uneven gasps, her chest constricting as though the air itself had turned against her. Her legs threatened to give way.

“Explain?” Her voice emerged brittle, hollow, like fragile glass on the verge of breaking. “How do you explain this?”

Alice sat up leisurely, pulling the sheets around her as though wrapping herself in her own smugness. “Oh, Bridget,” she said, her tone dripping with mock pity. “Spare us the theatrics. Did you really think this… fantasy was going to last?”

Bridget pressed a hand against the doorframe to steady herself, her wide eyes darting between Nathaniel and Alice, desperate for something—remorse, denial, anything to make sense of the nightmare unfolding around her. But Nathaniel’s expression shifted, the guilt in his eyes hardening into something colder. Sharper.

“You think you’re so perfect, don’t you?” he snapped, standing and pulling on a discarded shirt. His sudden, biting anger hit her like a physical blow. “You think you’re some flawless saint, but you’re not. I know what you’ve been doing.”

“What?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. The word trembled with disbelief. “What are you even talking about?”

“The bank transfers,” he said, advancing toward her. His height, his presence, loomed over her in a way that had never felt threatening before. “The secret accounts. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? You’ve been siphoning money—*my money*—for months, Bridget. What was the plan, huh? To run off and leave me in the dark?”

Her heart clenched, disbelief and confusion colliding in a torrent of emotion she couldn’t contain. “That’s not true,” she said, her voice cracking under the weight of her desperation. “Nathaniel, you know me. I would never—”

“Oh, but you did,” Alice interjected smoothly, her voice a venomous purr. She tied a silk robe around her frame with a theatrical flair, her movements deliberate. “There’s proof, sweetheart. You’re just mad because you got caught.”

Bridget’s breaths came faster, shallower, tears clouding her vision as she struggled to process the accusation. “What proof? Nathaniel, I—” Her voice faltered. “I came here to tell you I’m pregnant, and this—this is what I walk into?”

Her words seemed to land like a punch, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered in Nathaniel’s expression—regret, sorrow, disbelief. But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, his features hardening again.

“You’re pregnant?” he said, his voice flat, unreadable.

“Yes,” she choked out, her trembling hands instinctively pressing against her stomach as though shielding her unborn child from the toxic air of the room. “And I was so happy to tell you. But now…” Her voice cracked, a sob escaping her throat. “Now, I don’t even know who you are.”

He stared at her, his silence deafening. Behind him, Alice let out a sharp, cruel laugh, the sound cutting through Bridget’s resolve like a dagger.

“A baby? How quaint,” Alice said, her tone laced with mockery. “Do you really think that’s going to fix this mess?”

Bridget’s hands tightened into fists at her sides. The betrayal, the lies, the accusations—they crystallized in her mind, forming one undeniable truth. This was no longer her life. This was no longer her home.

“I’m done,” she said, her voice low but steady. Those two words carried the weight of every shattered promise, every broken dream. She straightened, brushing past Nathaniel despite the trembling in her legs. “You can have each other. But you won’t have me. And you won’t have my child.”

“Bridget—” Nathaniel’s voice stopped her mid-step, tinged with something that almost sounded like desperation. But she didn’t look back. Not this time.

She paused only once, just before stepping into the elevator. Her eyes landed on a small photo frame on the console table—a snapshot of her and Nathaniel on their honeymoon. She reached out, her fingers brushing the glass before pulling back. Without a word, she turned away, leaving the frame untouched.

As the elevator doors slid shut, her reflection stared back at her—tear-streaked but resolute. She reached down and picked up the sonogram photo, her fingers smoothing its crumpled edges with care. This wasn’t the life she had planned, but she still had something to fight for—someone to protect.

The snowstorm greeted her as she stepped into the Manhattan night, the icy wind biting at her cheeks. Yet, amid the cold, a strange clarity began to settle over her. She would rebuild. She would protect her child. And she would not let this betrayal define her.

Pulling her scarf tighter, she walked into the swirling snow, each step carrying her closer to a life she vowed to make her own.