The Dying Wife's Secret Baby Bump

for the handle. Maura Donnelly, the housekeeper, stood in the foyer. Her face wa

clipped. "Mr. Boyle called. He wi

um-quiet, still, dead. Today, the air hummed with a subtle tension. The staff was moving wi

ry. Three years to the day sin

e asked, walking past the housek

sked you to wear the

rned. "Wh

t bag hung over the banister, the logo of a high-en

silk. It was a beautiful dress. It was also entirely inappropriate for th

sted. Harrison's surprises were never pleasant. They were power p

e was a five-minute window where the side gate by the garden was unmonitored. She had mapped it out months ago, a desperate contingency plan she never thought she'd use. A prickle of unease ran down her spine. It felt too easy. In the past

. Before the baby. Before the three-m

she stayed for this "surprise," s

er voice steady. "I'll

ded and disappeared

eart was pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She was

w the garment bag on the bed and unzipped it again, s

ondescript. Inside were three things: a change of clothes, a wad of cash she had skimmed fr

g that could trace her back to the

weater and jeans. She pulled on a pair of running shoes, the lace

it over the pillows and pulling the duvet up to create the illusion of a sleeping figure. I

alcony. The French doors opened silently. The air outside w

climbing the stone facade looked strong enough. She had tested it

n the vines. Her fingers curled around the cold stone, the rough textur

d scratching her hands. A thorn caught her ankle, slicing through her jeans and dra

awn. The impact jarred her knees, but she didn't pause. She crou

it by memory, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The cold ai

gate loomed ahead, its spikes pointing at the darkening

te. It was stiff, rusted from the sea air. She

ave way. The gate

d with towering oak trees. The ocean was close; she could hear the waves c

rward, her foot hi

world tu

ned her in place. A low rumble vibrated thro

ss, stopping inches from her knees. The engine wa

or opened. Harr

made him look like a shadow detached from the night. He di

chest. The headlights backlit him, casting his face in shadow. But

ous rumble. "Our anniversary dinner hasn't even

eplaced by a cold dread. She had been so close. So damn close. The paranoia she'd felt

nds balling into fists at her side

ging out in the quiet night. "The t

a harsh, grating sound, devoid of any humor. He pushed himself off

is fingers closing around her chin like a vise. He tilted her he

ing with contempt. "Who told you that

t down, scooping her up in hi

ed, her fists beating agai

the house, his stride long and purposeful. The Bentley

Boyle," he said, his voice a low growl again

behind them with a resounding clang. The sound e

head bowed, her eyes averted. The other servants lined the hallway, th

d dress still lay on the bed, a cruel joke. He kicked the door