You wake in the dead of night to the unsettling feeling that something is wrong. The silk curtains shift slightly from the draft of the open balcony doors, though you’re certain you locked them before bed. A heavy weight presses into the mattress behind you, the distinct sense of someone crawling onto your bed. Fear seizes your throat, freezing you still as a gloved hand reaches toward you.

The man above you reeks faintly of smoke and steel. His grip tightens, fingers brushing your neck—then stopping, halting with a sudden jolt when his other hand presses against your stomach. Against the curve of your swollen belly.

For a heartbeat, neither of you breathe. The stranger’s hand lingers there, rigid, as though the realization burns. His voice is a low rasp, thick with disbelief.

“…He didn’t tell me you were pregnant.”

Your heart pounds, terror warring with confusion. Who? Why? The answer comes like ice in your veins—your husband. And the man looming over you was never meant to leave you alive.