PART:>>1
Julian Vance uttered those exact words to me in front of twenty executives, two major investors, and the woman he’d been secretly sleeping with for six months.
I was nine months pregnant, and he knew it.
We had been married for ten years. When I first met Julian, he was driving a beat-up sedan, struggling to get a tiny logistics startup off the ground. I never revealed my family’s true status to him. To Julian, my father, General Hector Sterling, was just a retired veteran spending his afternoons feeding pigeons in the park, and my mother was a modest housewife. He had no idea my father was a four-star Admiral who had commanded elite tactical operations, that my mother managed a multi-million-dollar family trust, or that the quiet angel investment keeping his business solvent came straight from my personal bank accounts.
I kept my background hidden because I wanted to know if he loved me for who I was, or if he was simply chasing my family’s legacy.
That day, I realized just how terribly I had misjudged his heart.
Julian had organized a corporate retreat at an exclusive resort in Cabo, Mexico. When I arrived, the bay was filled with luxury yachts, open bars, loud music, and jet ski races. Victoria Hayes, his director of public relations, lounged by the infinity pool in a white swimsuit, wearing a smug smirk that no longer bothered to hide their affair.
“It’s just one quick lap around the bay,” Victoria purred, stepping up beside him.
“No,” I replied, instinctively shielding my baby bump. “My pregnancy is high-risk. I could go into labor at any moment.”
Noticing a few junior executives filming with their phones, Julian’s smooth public persona instantly clicked back into place.
“You’re right, sweetie. It was a stupid idea,” he said smoothly, kissing my forehead before handing me two white pills with a glass of bottled water. “Here, take your prenatal vitamins.”
I swallowed them without a second thought.
An hour later, I woke up as cold, salty ocean water violently slammed against my face.
I was stranded far out at sea, strapped to the back of a jet ski. A heavy canvas belt was cinched tightly around my waist, pinned beneath my heavy stomach, and my wrists were zip-tied to the handlebars. A few yards ahead, Victoria revved the engine of a lead jet ski connected to mine by a thick tow rope.
“Julian!” I screamed, my voice cracking against the wind.
On the distant dock, Julian stood holding a glass of scotch, casually observing us through binoculars.
Victoria hit the throttle.
The tow line snapped taut, throwing my body forward. My abdomen slammed hard against the fiberglass dashboard, my head whipped back, and I tumbled sideways into the churning wake, swallowing mouthfuls of saltwater as a searing, agonizing pain tore through my lower back and pelvis.
“I’m pregnant! Stop! Please, stop!” I sobbed.
Victoria looked back over her shoulder, her eyes cold behind her designer sunglasses.
“Then hold on tighter, sweetie.”
I had been terrified of open water ever since college, when I rescued Julian from a rip current off the Florida coast. As he lay coughing up seawater on the sand that day, he held my hand and swore he would never let me suffer because of him. Now, his mistress was laughing while I suffocated in the ocean spray.
Another sharp turn. Another brutal jerk of the line.
Then, I felt something hot streaming down the inside of my thighs.
Blood.
Panic seized my body. Using my one semi-free hand, I pressed the hidden emergency button on the heavy tactical watch my father had given me for my birthday. It instantly broadcasted my real-time GPS coordinates and opened an encrypted satellite audio line.
“Dad…” I gasped into the watch face.
“Genevieve? What’s happening?” my father’s commanding voice echoed through the small speaker.
I looked down at the bright red trailing through the clear blue ocean water around me.
“Call the Navy. Call the Coast Guard. Call anyone,” I sobbed. “They’re trying to kill us.”
Minutes later, a deafening roar tore through the clouds as a military helicopter cut through the sky, quickly followed by another. A Coast Guard cutter sliced through the bay, instantly locking down the entire maritime zone. Tactical megaphones boomed across the water, ordering all civilian vessels to cut their engines immediately.
Victoria slammed the brakes on her jet ski, all color draining from her face. On the beach, Julian dropped his glass of scotch, his jaw hanging open in utter shock.
“Who the hell is your father?!” Victoria shrieked, backing away from me in horror.
I could barely hear her. The world was spinning into darkness, but one terrifying realization burned through my mind as military rescue divers hit the water: my baby had stopped moving. And what federal agents were about to find inside Julian’s hotel room would prove that this was never just an irresponsible stunt.
