PART 1

The first thing Ava Monroe saw when the lawyer opened his briefcase was not the legal contract.

It was the baby-sized white sock tucked in the side pocket of her purse, the one she had bought that morning because some foolish, desperate part of her still believed Nathan Whitlock might smile when she told him he was going to be a father.

Instead, she was sitting in a private room at the Hawthorne Club in Boston while a silver-haired attorney slid a check across the mahogany table and said, “Mr. Whitlock’s family believes this amount should help you make a reasonable decision.”

The check was for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

Ava stared at it until the numbers blurred.

“A reasonable decision,” she repeated.

The lawyer folded his hands. “This situation does not need to become destructive.”

“My baby is not a situation.”

Across the room, Nathan stood by the window with his back to her, one hand pressed to his mouth. He was twenty-three, beautiful in the polished way rich sons were beautiful, wearing a navy suit that probably cost more than Ava’s father’s truck. Three months ago, he had told Ava she was the only person who had ever made him feel human.

Now he could not even look at her.

“Nathan,” Ava said.

His shoulders tightened.

“Look at me.”

Slowly, he turned.

His eyes were red.

That almost broke her. Not because tears meant love, but because they meant he knew exactly what he was doing.

“My parents know,” he said quietly.

Ava let out a humorless laugh. “So that’s why I’m being bought in a room that smells like old money and dead animals.”

The lawyer cleared his throat. “Miss Monroe—”

“Don’t.” Ava pointed at him without taking her eyes off Nathan. “You don’t get to speak for the child inside me.”

Nathan stepped forward. “Ava, please understand. If you keep this baby, they’ll destroy everything.”

“My life?”

“Your father’s business. Your mother’s job. Your scholarship. They can make things impossible.”

“So you’re threatening me now?”

“No.” His voice cracked. “I’m trying to protect you.”

She stood so fast the chair scraped backward.

“Protect me from the family you’re too scared to defy?”

His face went pale.

The lawyer pushed the contract closer. “The agreement includes confidentiality, medical expenses, relocation assistance—”

Ava picked up the check.

For one terrible second, she imagined what that money could do.

Rent. Food. A doctor. A safe crib. A way to finish school without begging anyone. A way to not be terrified every morning when she woke up and remembered she was nineteen, pregnant, and loved by a man whose family saw her as a stain.

Then she tore the check in half.

The lawyer’s mouth fell open.

Nathan flinched like she had slapped him.

Ava tore it again. And again. Pieces of rich paper fluttered onto the table like ugly snow.

“Tell your parents,” she said, voice shaking, “that the baby they paid to erase just became the one thing in this world they will never own.”

She grabbed her purse and walked out before Nathan could touch her.

The sock was still inside.

By the time Ava reached the sidewalk, Boston had turned bitterly cold. The wind came off the harbor like a hand across her face. She made it halfway down the block before her knees weakened, and she leaned against the brick wall of a closed florist shop, pressing both palms to her stomach.