If you and I cannot escape the sea of sin

Grace made herself at home immediately. On the very day she moved in, she insisted I go with her to try on wedding dresses.

To be precise, I did all the trying while she watched from a plush seat, perfectly at ease.

By the thirtieth gown, every muscle ached; my arms hung leaden at my sides. In the mirror, my face was a frightening shade of pale.

When Anthony arrived at the boutique and saw me, his brow furrowed instantly. He opened his mouth to speak.

But Grace stepped forward first, looping her arm through his and swaying it gently with a coquettish pout. "You're late. I've tried on so many, I'm utterly exhausted."

Anthony's gaze slid from me to her. "Work has been hectic. I'll make it up to you tonight," he soothed.

Grace blushed, playfully hitting his chest. "You're terrible."

Their flirting gave me a moment to breathe. I lowered my eyes and waited.

Grace changed into the same dress I was wearing. Holding the hem, she did a light spin. "Who wears it better," she asked coyly, "me or Jessica?"

Anthony glanced at her, his praise generous. "You look perfect in it."

Then his dark gaze swept over my waist and abdomen, lingering. "Jessica's waist is a bit thick."

My hand moved instinctively to my stomach. He didn't know. A little life, sharing our blood, was growing there.

"What a terrible thing to say! Only Jessica is patient enough not to mind," Grace giggled, whispering in his ear.

Anthony gave no answer. Instead, his gaze—black and unreadable—held mine for a beat too long.

Squirming under that naked stare, I spoke up. "I'm tired. I'd like to go home."

How could Grace let such a perfect opportunity to flaunt their love slip by? "It's your fault," she chided him. "Now Jessica is upset."

Anthony, who always put her first, turned a cold tone on me. "Grace's health is delicate; she can't overexert herself. You go try on a few more."

It was a warning. A reminder of my debt.

Years ago, a paternity test had humiliated Grandfather. In his fury, he'd imprisoned Anthony—that "bastard"—subjecting him to relentless abuse. By the time Anthony was barely an adult, there was hardly an inch of unmarked skin on his body.

Later, he escaped that hellhole. Adrift and alone, it was Grace who took him in, who gave him shelter.

And I betrayed him. I told Grandfather his hiding place, condemning him back to hell and causing the tragic death of Grace's father.

To care for her ailing mother, Grace had to drop out of school, work herself ragged, ruin her health. He felt both guilt and love for her, moved by her kindness and resilience, so he indulged her every whim.

What he didn't know was that the tragedy of Grace's family had nothing to do with me. In fact, his escape had only been possible because of my secret help.

I knew he wouldn't believe a word I said. So, dragging my heavy body, I headed for the dressing room.

While struggling with the zipper, the door opened. Anthony stepped in, his gaze predatory as it locked onto me. "Jessica," he warned, "behave. Don't think about playing any tricks to upset Grace."

Weariness washed over me. "You're overthinking. I won't interfere."

Anthony narrowed his eyes, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Won't you? Then who was it, in bed, calling herself my dog?"

I'd had enough of our mutual degradation. Anger flared; I shoved him. "Get out!"

He caught my wrist easily, yanking me forward. Without a word, he bent his head and captured my lips.

I twisted my face away. "Not here. I don't want to."

He acted as if he hadn't heard, his mouth moving to my ear with possessive force.

Desperate, I whispered, "Grace is right outside. She can't find out."

He stopped. Desire still churned in his eyes, but he took a step back, his voice hoarse. "I'll let you off this time."

A chill settled deep in my heart.

For six years, I'd endured his humiliation, a small voice inside insisting he just didn't know the truth—that even his cruelty was tangled with love and hate.

Only today did I realize: this was the difference between a distraction and the real thing.

But if he didn't love me... why, night after night, had he been so desperate to get me pregnant?