On my birthday, my husband took me to a prenatal checkup. But on our way home, we were ambushed by his enemies. I threw myself in front of him to save him, only to get snatched by the attackers and dragged into the deep mountains. They brutalized me so badly I almost lost the baby. I was curled up in agony, convinced I'd miscarry, when my husband tracked me down that same night, but I didn't feel a single spark of happiness. Because his childhood best friend, the one he'd had a messy, love-hate dynamic with for years, had come along too. She ripped my collar open with one sharp yank, the fabric tearing loud as she grinned and jammed her camera lens right up against my body. "Jonathan, those tiny scrapes on her aren't gonna cut it! Let her stay locked up for a few more days, beat her up worse. Then the news story will be way more explosive, way more eye-catching!" My husband looked over at me, his face full of frustration like he was the one being inconvenienced. "Queenie, Jasmine has always dreamed of being a great journalist. This story will land her a full-time spot at her news job. Just put up with the misery for three more days, then I'll come pick you up and take you home, okay?" He assumed I'd cave and swallow my pride for the sake of our relationship, just like I always had before. But this time, I stared back at him, my gaze completely steady. "I'm due to give birth in a month. I'll ask you one last time. Her, or me? If you choose her, we're done."