"I will avenge you," he swore. "I will wipe away this humiliation. My life is yours, Tessa. Everything I am belongs to you."
But promises are cheap. He couldn't die for me, and he certainly couldn't live for me.
After the incident, humiliating photos flooded the internet. At first, Jesse channeled his rage into business. He used the capital I provided to stage a miraculous comeback—reclaiming what the Gilberts had lost and surpassing it. He sent my captors to prison, scrubbed the photos from the web, and issued a gag order so strict that mentioning the kidnapping became social suicide.
But I don't know when the silence broke.
Rumors began circulating among the elite again. Some men even dared to joke in front of Jesse, asking if he enjoyed "wearing a second-hand shoe" or "damaged goods."
It was during that resurgence of malice that I discovered I was seven weeks pregnant.
I went to his study, eager to share the news, hoping this child would bridge the distance between us. But through the oak door, I heard his voice—cold and detached.
"Damaged goods or not, what business is it of yours?"