PART 1
“If you actually trust me, get on the jet ski and stop acting like a porcelain pregnant woman.”
Julian Vance said those exact words to me in front of twenty executives, two major investors, and the woman he’d been secretly sleeping with for six months.
I was nine months pregnant.
And he knew it.
We had been married for ten years. When I first met Julian, he was driving a beat-up sedan and trying to get a tiny logistics startup off the ground. I never told him who my family really was.
To him, my father, General Hector Sterling, was just a retired old veteran who spent his afternoons feeding pigeons in the park, and my mother was a quiet, modest housewife. He had no idea my father was a four-star Admiral who had run elite tactical operations, that my mother managed a multi-million-dollar family trust, or that the quiet angel investment keeping his company afloat had come directly from my personal bank accounts.
I hid it all because I wanted to know if he loved me, or if he just loved my family’s legacy.
That day, I learned just how terribly I had misjudged his heart.
Julian had organized a corporate retreat at an exclusive resort in Cabo, Mexico. When I arrived, the bay was filled with luxury yachts, open bars, loud music, and jet ski races. Victoria Hayes, his director of public relations, was lounging by the infinity pool in a white swimsuit, wearing a smug smile that didn’t even try to hide their affair anymore.
“It’s just one quick ride around the bay,” Victoria purred, stepping up beside him.
“No,” I said, instinctively wrapping my arms around my baby bump. “My pregnancy is high-risk. I could go into labor at any moment.”
Julian noticed a couple of junior executives filming the scene on their phones, and his charming persona instantly clicked back into place.
“You’re right, babe. It was a stupid idea,” he said smoothly. He kissed my forehead and handed me two white capsules along with a glass of bottled water. “Here, take your prenatal vitamins.”
I swallowed them without a second thought.
An hour later, I woke up to cold, salty ocean water violently slamming against my face.
I was far out at sea, sitting on the back of a jet ski. A heavy canvas strap was cinched tightly around my waist, pinned beneath my heavy stomach. My wrists were zip-tied to the handlebars. A few yards ahead, Victoria was revving the engine of a lead jet ski, connected to mine by a thick tow rope.
“Julian!” I screamed, my voice cracking against the wind.
On the distant shoreline, Julian was standing on a private dock, holding a glass of scotch, casually watching us through binoculars.
Victoria hit the throttle.
The tow rope snapped taut, tearing my body forward. My abdomen slammed hard against the molded fiberglass dash. My head whipped back, and I tumbled sideways into the churning wake, swallowing mouthfuls of salt water as a searing, white-hot pain tore through my lower back straight down into my pelvis.
“I’m pregnant! Stop! Please, stop!” I sobbed.
Victoria glanced over her shoulder, her eyes cold beneath her designer sunglasses.
“Then hold on tighter, honey.”
I had been terrified of open water ever since college, when I’d rescued Julian from a rip current off the coast of Florida. That day, as he lay coughing up sea water on the sand, he had held my hand and sworn he would never let me suffer because of him.
Now, his mistress was laughing as I suffocated in the ocean spray.
Another sharp turn.
Another brutal jerk of the tow line.
Then, I felt something hot pouring down the inside of my thighs.
Blood.
Panic surged through my body. With my one semi-free hand, I pressed the hidden emergency button on the side of the heavy tactical watch my father had given me for my birthday. It immediately broadcasted my real-time GPS coordinates and opened an encrypted satellite audio line.
“Dad…” I gasped into the watch face.
“Genevieve? What’s happening?” my father’s deep, authoritative voice came through the tiny speaker.
I looked down at the bright red blooming in the crystal-blue ocean water around me.
“Call the Navy. Call the Coast Guard. Call anyone,” I sobbed. “They’re trying to kill us.”
Minutes later, a deafening roar tore through the clouds as a military helicopter cut through the sky. Then another.
A Coast Guard cutter sliced through the harbor, instantly locking down the entire maritime zone. Tactical megaphones boomed across the water, ordering all civilian vessels to cut their engines immediately.
Victoria slammed the brakes on her jet ski, her face turning pale.
On the beach, Julian dropped his glass of scotch, his jaw hanging open in utter shock.
“Who the hell is your father?!” Victoria shrieked, backing away from me in horror.
