My hand froze on the polished brass handle. Through the heavy oak door of Nathaniel's office, voices carried.

"Does Victoria know?" A man's voice, rough with cigarettes and amusement. "About her father?"

My husband's laughter followed, smooth as aged whiskey. "Of course not. She still thinks it was a heart attack. Poor thing's been so focused on finding us the perfect beach house."

The manila folder in my other hand - filled with photos of the oceanfront property I'd spent months tracking down - slipped from my fingers. Papers scattered across the marble floor like fallen leaves.

"Fifty million's quite the price tag." The man whistled. "Worth every penny though, considering what we got from her old man's properties after he was...taken care of."

"Victoria's always had expensive taste." Nathaniel's chair creaked. "But she made it so easy. All those nights she spent telling me about her father's holdings, his business practices. She practically handed me the blueprint."

My legs threatened to give way. The world tilted sideways as memories crashed through my mind - Dad's sudden death last year, Nathaniel's swift consolidation of his properties, the convenient paperwork that appeared.

"Still," the man continued, "pretty cold-blooded, watching him die like that. Didn't think you had it in you, Steele."

"Please." Nathaniel scoffed. "The old man was standing in my way. Victoria's just like him - too idealistic, too concerned with 'community impact' and 'ethical development.' Sometimes you have to remove obstacles to progress."

I pressed my palm against the cool wall, steadying myself. The engagement ring on my finger - three carats, perfectly cut - felt like it was burning into my skin. Five years of marriage, and I'd never truly known the man behind that door.

"Speaking of progress..." The man's voice lowered conspiratorially. "What's the plan for Victoria once she outlives her usefulness?"

My hand instinctively moved to my stomach. One month. I'd planned to surprise Nathaniel with the news tonight.

"Victoria's served her purpose." Nathaniel's voice hardened. "But murder's messy. Better to handle this cleanly - especially since she's carrying my heir."

The blood drained from my face. He knew?

"Caught her leaving the doctor's office last week. Had someone following her." A drawer opened, glass clinked. "Nothing a forced miscarriage and divorce papers won't fix. I'll blame the stress of losing the baby for her inevitable breakdown. No judge will grant custody to an unstable mother."

"And Jessica?" The man asked.

"My darling mistress can't wait to move in. She understands business. Doesn't ask questions about ethics or community impact." Ice cubes rattled. "Speaking of which, I should call her. Nothing like celebrating a successful acquisition with a night of-"

I stumbled back from the door, bile rising in my throat. The world spun - fragments of truth slicing through years of lies. Dad's suspicious death. The property transfers. The late nights at the office. The lipstick stains I'd convinced myself were from business dinners.

My fingers dug into my abdomen, protecting the tiny life growing inside. The life Nathaniel planned to destroy, just like he'd destroyed my father. Just like he'd destroyed our marriage.

The voices continued behind the door, discussing my fate like a business transaction to be negotiated. My husband - the man I'd loved, trusted, built a life with - plotting to erase me and our child as casually as erasing a line item from a budget.

Tears burned my eyes but I blinked them back. I couldn't break. Not here. Not now. Not when two lives depended on my next move.

I drove home in a daze, muscle memory guiding me through the winding roads to our gated mansion. The security guard nodded as I passed - another face I'd have to question now. Who else was on Nathaniel's payroll? Who else had known?

My phone buzzed. Nathaniel's message lit up the screen: "Late meeting. Don't wait up."

I threw the phone onto the passenger seat. Late meeting. Right. More likely tangled in silk sheets with Jessica, celebrating my upcoming "breakdown."

The house loomed before me, all limestone and perfect symmetry. I'd spent three years decorating every room, making it our dream home. Now the fa�ade felt hollow, like a stage set for the perfect life I thought I had.

I climbed the curved staircase to our bedroom. The California king bed where we'd made love countless times, where we'd created the child growing inside me, stretched out like a cruel joke. I curled up on my side, one hand protectively over my stomach.

Think, Victoria. Think.

I needed proof. Documents. Recordings. Something concrete before I made my move. But where would Nathaniel keep evidence of murder? Of fraud? The study? The offshore accounts I pretended not to know about?

My phone buzzed again. Unknown number.

The message made my heart stop: "I can help you."

I stared at those four words, my finger hovering over the screen. Who could have known