CHAPTER 3
"My family would never accept this," he had said, his voice calm and patient, like he was explaining simple math. "But you’re very dear to me, Andrea. I’ll take care of you, as long as we’re together."
When he’d leaned in to kiss her, she’d slapped him.
But even then, he hadn’t given up. "We can still be together," he said smoothly. And when she recoiled in disgust, he played his final card — the one he’d been saving all along.
"You always wanted a family, didn’t you?" His voice had turned soft, persuasive. "We could have a few children. Evie would never need to know. And even if she did find out…" He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter in the slightest. "You’ll still be my woman."
Her stomach turned, but he didn’t notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care.
He stepped closer, his voice dipping into that familiar, honeyed tone that had once made her weak. “Listen,” he said, brushing a hand along her arm — and this time she couldn’t even flinch, frozen by the sheer audacity of what she was hearing. “I’ll be unreachable until the 12th — you know how honeymoons are — but once I get that over with, I’ll come see you. Maybe we could take a little trip of our own.”
He winked.
When he leaned in to kiss her, she pushed him away — her hands trembling, her breath short — but he only laughed, undeterred.
“It would be like our own secret honeymoon,” he said, smiling like he was offering her the world.
Andrea wanted to throw up.
How had she not seen it before? The selfishness behind the charm, the cruelty hidden in that easy humor — the man she’d loved had never really existed. This was who he was.
He smiled again, so sure of himself, so sure of her. “I know you want me, darling. You can’t stay angry for long. Once I get this marriage with Evie out of the way, everything will go back to normal. You’ll see. No one will come between us.”
He was so confident, so convinced she’d wait — that she’d always wait.
But he was wrong.
And Andrea had never been so certain of anything in her life.
There are moments in life when everything you believed in — every dream, every foundation you built your life on — collapses all at once, leaving you with nothing but the wreckage.
That had been one of those moments.
She realized then that she had never been his girlfriend — not really. Behind his charm and promises, there had always been a different word for her.
Mistress.
That’s all she had ever been. A secret kept in the shadows while his perfect, respectable life went on in the light. And the children he spoke of so casually? They’d be bastards — born into scandal, carrying the weight of their mother’s shame.
She’d packed her bags that night and disappeared without looking back. She crashed on a friend’s couch for a few days, trying to figure out what to do — and then the second nightmare began.
Because her friend leaked the news.
The headlines spread like wildfire: "Victor Remington’s Secret Mistress Pregnant with His Child!" "Billionaire’s Lover Abandoned for Diamond Heiress!"
Her face was everywhere. And the fallout was swift and brutal.
The Remington family descended on her like vultures — threats, harassment, lawyers calling her at all hours. The paparazzi camped outside every door she tried to hide behind. And then, one day, Victor himself called.
She made the mistake of answering.
"You little bitch," he snarled down the line. "You’ve ruined my life, my reputation. I swear, when I find you—"
She hung up before he could finish, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might stop.
After that, her friends blocked her calls. The paparazzi hounded her day and night. And when Evie Calloway broke off the engagement, the harassment only got worse.
She had no choice but to run.
She spent what little savings she had left trying to escape, and by the time she reached Montera Springs — a tiny, sleepy town no one ever stopped in for long — she had nothing left.
But for the first time in months, she felt like she could breathe.
The cobblestone streets, the quiet shops, the single restaurant — it felt like safety. A place no one would think to look for her.
She got a job at the feed supply store. Dr. Reid helped her find the little house she lived in now. And for the first time, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she’d found a home.
Her baby boy would be born here, she’d thought. He’d go to the school down the block and play soccer in the big field where the town held its tournaments. He’d grow up happy, safe, loved.
But tonight — as she lay curled up on her worn old couch, sobbing so hard she thought she might break — she realized it had all been a lie.
The safety she’d built here was an illusion. The peace she’d found was slipping through her fingers.
And Victor Remington was still out there — still powerful, still untouchable — and still winning.
Tonight, she would allow herself to break. Tonight, she would cry until there were no tears left — until the pain, the bitterness, the anger were wrung out of her completely. Because tomorrow… tomorrow, she would have to die.
Not in the literal sense — no, that would have been too easy. Tomorrow, she would have to do something far worse. She would have to pick up the phone and call Victor Remington. She would have to beg him — the man who had destroyed her life, humiliated her, threatened her — for mercy. For money. For the chance to keep her baby alive.
And in that moment, whatever was left of her pride, her strength, her very self — it would die.
But that was tomorrow.
Tonight, she would survive.
No one was waiting for her anywhere. No one was thinking of her, wondering if she was alive or dead. No one depended on her. Except the life inside her — the only thing that mattered. And so, she would keep going, even if it meant falling apart first.
She wasn’t sure how much time passed before the hunger woke her — sharp and insistent — accompanied by a kick from the baby inside her. A small, fierce reminder that there was still someone who needed her. Someone who still believed she could protect them.
She smiled through the ache in her chest, brushing a hand over her belly. "Okay, okay — I hear you," she whispered.
Pulling herself up from the couch, she reached for the groceries she’d bought earlier — cheap, easy meals that didn’t require much effort. Canned pasta and boxed mashed potatoes. It wasn’t much, but it would keep them fed.
The sound of the microwave humming filled the quiet house as she stood there, arms wrapped around herself, staring out the window. And that was when she saw him.
The homeless man.
He was exactly where he always was — huddled under his makeshift shelter of cardboard boxes and tattered coats on the bench across the street. The thin light from the streetlamp caught the glint of his pale blue eyes, and beside him, neatly placed, was the plate and fork she’d given him this morning. Like a quiet symbol of hope he hadn’t let go of yet.
The weather forecast had warned of the coldest night of the year. The snow hadn’t stopped falling since dusk, and the world outside was already blanketed in white. She could almost feel the bitter chill through the glass.
A sharp pang went through her chest, unexpected and fierce.
Tears filled her eyes without warning — not from sadness for herself this time, but for the man out there, so alone, so exposed. And yet still holding onto a sliver of dignity, still placing that plate beside him like maybe — just maybe — someone would care enough to bring him another meal.
She looked down at the warm plate in her hands, then back at the man outside.
And maybe it was the desperation of her own situation. Maybe it was the crushing loneliness — the suffocating weight of knowing tomorrow would rip away the last bit of control she had over her life. Or maybe it was simply because she knew exactly how it felt to be discarded, forgotten — left to the cold with no one coming to save you.
Her life here in Montera Springs was going to end soon. She knew that. The fragile little sanctuary she’d built was already slipping through her fingers. So what harm would one last act of kindness do?
If everything was going to fall apart, she wanted to go out knowing she had done something good.
The snow outside was too thick, the cold too dangerous. She couldn’t risk venturing out there — not when she could barely stand without feeling dizzy. But there was something she could do.
Taking a deep breath, Andrea walked to the front door and opened it. The wind bit at her skin instantly, but she didn’t hesitate.
“Hey!” she called softly, her voice shaking only partly from the cold. The man’s head lifted, and those sharp blue eyes locked on hers.
“Come inside,” she said.
He hesitated, and she couldn’t blame him. She was a stranger inviting him into her home — a woman alone, seven months pregnant and vulnerable. But that didn’t matter right now.
“Please,” she added, her voice breaking just a little. “It’s too cold out there.”
For a long moment, he didn’t move. And then slowly — cautiously — he stood.
Her heart pounded in her chest as he approached the house, her mind flickering through every reason this was reckless, foolish, dangerous. But when he stepped into the light, she saw the exhaustion on his face, the gauntness of his features, the way his hands shook from the cold — and all those doubts faded.
Because she knew what it felt like to have nowhere to go.