Rhys and Frank were in this together. They were the ones who had kidnapped. Frank wanted the money, and Rhys wanted .
Their plan was to snatch , rough up just enough, then have Rhys swoop in as the hero. Frank’s n would stage a chase, forcing Rhys and into hiding. They were betting that if I spent enough ti alone with him, scared and vulnerable, I’d eventually fall for him.
Once that happened, the plan was for Rhys to get pregnant. I’d have to marry him then, and as my husband, he’d have a legal claim to my inheritance.
Then, an ‘unfortunate accident’ would be arranged. After my death, Rhys, the grieving widower, would conveniently bump into Frank. Feeling responsible for his late wife’s father, he’d generously grant him a portion of my fortune.
The whole sche was mapped out over two or three years, starting with the kidnapping and ending with my death after I’d given birth.
They had almost pulled it off.
The woman at the bed and breakfast was working for them, and the phone call to Ashton had been part of their plan, designed to give hope and make believe the kidnapping was real, that rescue was imminent.
After I made the call, Rhys gave a glass of water. It was drugged, just like all the water he had given since we went on the run. It was ant to keep docile, to drain my energy so I couldn’t fight back or question what was happening. The fatigue, the nausea, the dizziness—they weren’t all just symptoms of pregnancy.
Rhys and Frank were going to move to another city, to put on a plane out of the country after I lost consciousness. When I woke, they were going to feed a story about being discovered by the kidnappers, forced to flee and relocate.
Rhys was going to plant clues suggesting Genevieve had orchestrated everything. With ti and the steady influence of the drugs, he was confident he could make believe that Ashton hadn’t tried very hard to find because he knew it was Genevieve and wanted to protect her, even at the cost of my safety.
But Ashton arrived much faster than they had anticipated. Before they could transfer my unconscious body from the bed and breakfast, his n stord the place. Ashton took away while his team seized Rhys.
‘Frank Vance has fled the country,’ Ashton said as the video finished playing. ‘My n are actively looking for him.’
I barely heard him. I just hit replay and watched the video again. And again.
The truth washed over , it punched in the gut and slapped in the face, over and over, until it finally started to feel real, until I had no choice but to believe it.
I didn’t know what Ashton’s people had done to Rhys to make him talk, nor where he was being held now. But I found I no longer cared.
I didn’t even care if he was alive or dead.
So it had all been a lie. The caring Rhys, the one who would supposedly risk his life for , the one who kept showing up demanding a second chance, the one who warned that my father was out of prison and seeking revenge.
How long had he been plotting this?
A fresh wave of nausea hit . I rushed into the bathroom and was sick. This ti, I knew it had nothing to do with the pregnancy.
Ashton stayed quietly by my side throughout the following week. He never brought up Rhys or Frank again, and I followed his lead.
Sotis, after jolting awake from a nightmare, I found myself wishing my father had really died in prison.
Sotis, the sceptic in questioned Rhys’s story. Was everything he said the truth? What about the masked man who hit , the one who alluded to a woman losing a baby? That had made think of Genevieve. Was that just another part of Rhys’s fabricated narrative?
Ashton told he had Genevieve’s whereabouts checked for the ti I was kidnapped, and she was nowhere near the place. But did that definitively an she had nothing to do with it?
My brain ached from thinking about these things, the sa questions looping endlessly in my head until I had to actively distract myself.
And I was soon confronted with sothing else, sothing much more imdiate: my pregnancy.
It seed I was experiencing every possible complication—nausea, morning sickness, bloating, a complete lack of appetite, and violent mood swings.
Soon, I no longer had the energy to spare for Rhys or Frank.
I was moved to the gynaecology wing and given a private room. The doctor recomnded I stay for another two weeks under observation, just as a precaution.
He didn’t specify what they were precautioning against, but I could read between the lines.
Ashton ca to see whenever he could get away from work. He posted two guards outside my room, though I doubted Frank would be coming for again. I didn’t know what instructions Ashton had given them, but they must have left out any ntion of Genevieve, because one morning, she sauntered straight into my room and the guards didn’t stop her.
I was sitting up in bed, scrolling through the latest issue of The Carat Standard.
‘I ca to see how you’re doing,’ she said pre-emptively when she saw look up. ‘Don’t throw out.’
I set the tablet down. ‘I’m fine. Thanks for visiting. You can go now.’
Genevieve settled into the visitor’s chair. ‘Don’t be so rude. I brought you a fruit basket.’
I just stared at her.
She looked paler than before, and thinner, but her eyes burned brighter, as if she had found a new purpose in life.
‘You’re pregnant.’ Her eyes dropped to my barely noticeable bump.
I instinctively moved a hand to my belly.
‘That doesn’t an you’ve won, you know,’ she said with a flicker of her old confidence. ‘Ash will leave you for eventually.’
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