Everyone assumed I'd loved Greta so completely, so pathetically, that when I couldn't beat the other man, I simply joined them.
But I was the only one who knew the truth.
This baby existed because Grandma Evelyn Jenner had called in a life-debt—the one I owed her from years ago—and ordered me to protect it.
The Jenner family's firstborn son had arrived.
Which meant the divorce agreement she'd promised me should finally take effect.
1.
The night before Greta went into labor, they'd pumped me full of sedatives and bone-weakening drugs—insurance against me harming her or the child.
When the drugs wore off and I opened my eyes, she was cradling the baby, face glowing with joy.
"Honey, Grandma already picked a name for our son. Just sign here and we can register the birth."
She handed me the certificate.
The moment I saw the name—John Swanson—the fog in my brain burned away.
John.
John.
That was the name I'd chosen for my own unborn son. A name that meant remember your original heart. It carried all my hopes for him, all my dreams for our love.
It was also the name recorded in the Jenner family genealogy—reserved for firstborn sons for thirteen generations.