The Jones Heiress Strikes Back

Last time, my husband's secret daughter was diagnosed with acute leukemia. When it came time for a bone marrow transplant, he secretly took her in for the procedure. Her heart gave out mid-surgery. She died on the operating table at just four years old.

By the time I reached the hospital, all that was left for me to hold was my little girl's ice-cold body.

My husband just rolled his eyes at my tears. "It's not like she was going to make it anyway. If her marrow can help someone else, then good for her. Karma, right? Maybe she'll get a better shot in her next life."

I wanted to tear his face off.

He shoved me back and kicked me. "This is your fault, you useless mother! You couldn't even give her a healthy body. You're both cursed!"

That was it. I'd had enough. I grabbed him, and we went out the window—sixteen stories down.

Then I woke up. Back on my engagement day. Right then and there, I called my dad. "Dad, I'm not marrying Scott. Please switch the business deal to his brother instead."

Let's see how Scott and that tramp manage without me.

I hung up, my hands still shaking. The memory of my daughter's cold skin was burned into my mind. Sixteen stories… then boom. I was back in the bridal suite.

The party hadn't even started. I pulled myself together, snatched my dress, and got out of that room.

As soon as I stepped into the hall, I heard them.

"Scott, it's your engagement party. This isn't right. Miranda's right next door."

Scott's voice was rough, post-sex. "Relax. She's desperate to marry me. She's probably just sitting in there, waiting all pretty. She can't hear us."

"And if it weren't for her grandfather pushing this business merger, I wouldn't even look twice at her. Have you seen her? Always acting so high and mighty. It drives me crazy."

My fists clenched. I wanted to rip him apart.

He wasn't wrong. Our marriage was arranged because our grandfathers wanted it—a business deal, plain and simple. I wasn't in love with him. And last time, I'd just waited quietly in the bridal suite. I never saw this side of him.

Then Miranda's soft, sickly-sweet voice chimed in. "Scott, don't say that. Her mom died young, and her dad's never around. No one ever taught her how to behave…"

That did it. I kicked the door open.

I was still raw with grief over my daughter, and they had the nerve to bring my mother into this?

They scrambled up from the couch, frantically fixing their clothes.

The second Miranda saw me, her face twisted with anger. "Chelsea, what the hell! What are you doing here?"

I slapped her hard across the face. "It's my wedding. What are you doing? Screwing my fiancé on the couch?"

Miranda tried to hit me back, but I caught her wrist. With my other hand, I grabbed a fistful of her hair.

Because of her, my daughter had died on that operating table—just to provide bone marrow for Miranda's child.