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When Jackson put the only life jacket on Phoebe, he didn't even look at me. Thomas, the boy I'd loved and cared for over five years, was clinging to Phoebe's leg, screaming that I was a bad woman. The seawater rose past my ankles, icy and sharp. The pregnancy test I'd been clutching was already ruined by the saltwater. Ten minutes ago, I had thought this was just an ordinary yacht accident. Then Jackson chose Phoebe. Then Thomas bit my hand, forcing me to let go of the life preserver. I realized then that this marriage had been a fraud from the very beginning. I was nothing more than a full-time nanny Jackson had hired to fill in while Phoebe was abroad recovering. And I had seven days left before I completely disappeared from this world. Scarlett POV The ambulance was already waiting when the yacht docked. Paramedics swarmed the pier, lifting a blanket-wrapped, shivering Phoebe onto a stretcher. Jackson followed behind, his brow furrowed tight. The hand that wore his wedding ring was now clamped around Phoebe's wrist. Thomas toddled beside the stretcher on his short legs, his voice raw from screaming, "Phoebe, don't die." And I stood alone on the deck. The breeze had dried my wet clothes, making the fabric stiff and rough against my skin. My abdomen throbbed with a dull pain-right where Thomas had kicked me hard earlier. Before I could make my way down the spiral stairs, Jackson suddenly turned around. Through the crowd and the flashing emergency lights, his gaze landed on me. That look was cold, impatient. "Scarlett, stop dawdling." He called my name, his voice the same cold tone he used for incompetent subordinates. "Phoebe's in shock. Go home and make her hot chocolate, then bring it to the hospital." I wanted to say I'd fallen into the water too. I wanted to say my stomach hurt. I wanted to say the seawater-ruined paper had read "six weeks pregnant." The words reached my lips, but all I tasted was blood. I swallowed it down. "Okay." I heard my own calm voice. Jackson seemed satisfied with my compliance and turned to climb into the ambulance. The door slammed shut with a bang, cutting off all lines of sight. The crowd at the pier gradually dispersed. I took a cab back to the Beverly Hills mansion alone. When I walked through the door, the housekeeper Anna was pouring hot ginger tea into a thermos. Seeing me come in, disheveled and dripping, she froze, her eyes turning evasive. "Ma'am... Mr. Sterling called. He said to send hot drinks to Miss Phoebe. He didn't mention you were..." She didn't finish, but I understood. In this house, Jackson's orders were the only law. I ignored her awkwardness and went straight upstairs. Passing by the nursery, toys were still scattered all over the floor. Thomas's favorite superhero figure lay alone on the carpet, one arm broken off. That was a limited edition I'd stood in line all night to buy for him six months ago. This morning before we left, Thomas had thrown a massive tantrum because I'd accidentally knocked over that figure. He'd pointed at my nose and cursed: "I knew you weren't my real mom! If it was Auntie Phoebe, she would never break my stuff!" At the time, I'd dismissed it as childish nonsense. Now it seemed children's instincts were often the most accurate. He'd known all along who the outsider in this family really was. I returned to the master bedroom and locked the door. In the bathroom mirror, a pale face stared back at me. There was a bruise on my temple from hitting the railing when I fell into the water. I touched it. No sensation. I stripped off the wet clothes reeking of ocean and balled them up, throwing them directly into the trash. Along with the pulpy mess in my pocket that used to be paper. Hot water cascaded over my body, bringing sharp little pinpricks of pain. I looked down at my flat abdomen. A tiny life had once been growing there. Just a few hours ago, I'd been so happy, planning to tell Jackson the good news. Now, it was all gone. That kick had been vicious. The ice-cold seawater mingled with the blood trickling down my thighs, winding across the white tiles before spiraling into the dark drain. I didn't cry. I just felt tired. After showering, my phone screen was lit up. A text from Jackson. Just one brief line: Did you send the soup? Phoebe's still shaking. Not one word asking if I was hurt. Not one word asking how hard that kick had been. I stared at the screen for a long time until my eyes started to ache. Then I replied: "On its way." After sending that message, I pulled open the bottom drawer of my nightstand. Inside was a divorce agreement I'd drafted long ago, along with a one-way ticket to Switzerland. Originally I'd planned to burn these. Since I was pregnant, I'd wanted to give this marriage one more chance. But now, that wasn't necessary. I pulled out the ticket, my fingertips tracing the date printed on it. Departure in seven days. That was Jackson's birthday, and also the final deadline I'd set for myself. I picked up a pen and drew a heavy circle on the calendar. The countdown had begun.