Blurb：
Pregnant Helena Whitman's world shatters when billionaire husband Leland sacrifices her to kidnappers to save his secretary Roxanne Dubois. Left for dead with scars mapping years of cruelty, she orchestrates an escape from their toxic marriage using Whitman family secrets. This gritty tale of betrayal and vengeance follows a mother's transformation from battered wife to master strategist, manipulating Leland's obsession with Roxanne while faking her suicide to disappear. Can Helena outsmart the Whitman empire's surveillance to protect her NICU miracle baby? Dark secrets unravel as she weaponizes corporate espionage and Leland's affair with Roxanne Dubois against them both.Content：
§PROLOGUEThe air in the abandoned warehouse tasted of rust and seawater.
Helena knelt on the cold concrete, the rough surface digging into her knees through the thin fabric of her dress.
Her hands were bound behind her back, the zip ties cinching so tightly her fingers had gone numb.
She was eight months pregnant.
The weight of the baby pressed down on her bladder, a constant, agonizing pressure.
Across the cavernous space, Leland Whitman, her husband, stood under a single bare bulb, his bespoke suit immaculate even in the filth.
Between them stood Roxanne Dubois, his secretary, her crimson lipstick a slash of defiance against her pale, tear-streaked face.
One of the masked men holding them captive gestured with his gun toward Roxanne.
"Mr. Whitman, we have what we came for. Time to make the trade."
Leland didn't hesitate.
His voice was as cold and precise as a surgeon's scalpel.
"Take my wife instead."
The words sliced through the silence, sharper than any blade.
Helena’s head snapped up, disbelief warring with a sickening, familiar certainty.
Even the masked man seemed surprised. "What? The deal was for the secretary."
"The deal has changed," Leland said, his gaze fixed on Roxanne, a flicker of something possessive in his eyes. "My secretary is essential to my business. My wife… is replaceable."
He turned his gaze on Helena, his eyes empty of any emotion she could recognize as human.
"She’s yours."
§01
The antiseptic smell of the hospital was the first thing to cut through the fog of pain.
Helena awoke to the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor, a dull ache radiating from her lower abdomen.
The baby.
Her hands flew to her stomach, which felt unnervingly slack under the thin hospital blanket.
A nurse bustled in, her expression a mixture of pity and professional calm.
"You’re awake. You gave us quite a scare, Mrs. Whitman. You went into premature labor. Massive hemorrhage."
"My baby," Helena whispered, her voice a raw croak. "Is my baby…?"
"He's a fighter," the nurse said, a small smile touching her lips. "A boy. Five and a half pounds. He's in the NICU, but he's stable."
Relief washed over her so intensely it felt like another wave of pain.
She had survived. Her son had survived.
The memory of the warehouse flooded back—the cold floor, the brutal kicks, Leland’s voice severing the last thread of her hope.
They had beaten her, tortured her, and left her for dead after Leland and Roxanne were safely gone.
A janitor had found her at dawn.
"Where is my husband?" Helena asked, though she already knew the answer.
The nurse’s smile faltered. "He was here briefly. He settled the medical bills and left instructions for the best care. He had an urgent business meeting."
Of course he did. Roxanne was safe. His world could continue turning.
§02
Margaret Whitman, Leland's mother, arrived a few hours later.
She swept into the private room, a formidable presence in a Chanel suit, her face a mask of controlled distress.
"Helena," she said, her voice tight with a guilt Helena knew was more for the family's image than for her. "I just heard. I am so sorry."
Helena simply stared at the ceiling.
"Are you truly sorry, Margaret? Or are you sorry this will make the papers?"
Margaret flinched. "Don't be cruel. You know I care for you. I was the one who wanted you for Leland."
"And look how that turned out," Helena said, her voice flat.
"He's lost his mind over that woman," Margaret admitted, sitting heavily in the chair by the bed. "This is a madness that will pass. Once he comes to his senses, he will realize what a gem he has in you."
"A gem he was willing to trade for a piece of glass."
Margaret reached out, her gloved hand hovering over Helena's. "What do you want to do? I will support you."
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