The Day My Heart Died

From the back cover

When my water broke a month early, my billionaire husband locked me in a soundproof panic room.

He told me I had to wait. His sister-in-law, Kennedy, was also in labor, and her son had to be born first to inherit the family's multi-billion-dollar fortune.

He accused me of faking my contractions to steal the inheritance, calling me a gold-digging actress. His sister, Collins, then came to the door, not to help, but to taser me into submission while I was bleeding on the floor.

"My only nephew is being born in a state-of-the-art hospital," she sneered. "Your little bastard will get nothing."

They left me to die. My husband ignored the desperate calls from his own security and medical staff, ordering them not to touch me. He called me a liar as our son's heartbeat faded to nothing.

I don't understand. I loved him, and he was willing to sacrifice me and our child for a legacy. How could a man I shared a bed with be so cruel?

But they made one fatal mistake. They didn't know who my father was. And now, six months after they left me for dead, I'm back. And I'm here to take everything.