The Tenth Unanswered Call
I was once the wife of Caspian Hawthorne, an heir to a New York City fortune.
When I was five months pregnant, after a charity gala, I was ambushed and kidnapped by a group of thugs in the parking garage. I desperately called my husband, Caspian, for help.
But he ignored nine frantic calls from me so he could deal with a minor fender-bender involving his stepsister, Vivienne.
The kidnappers surrounded me, their fists hammering my arms and legs, each blow an agonizing wave of pain.
With a final, desperate gasp, I dialed his number for the tenth time.
This time, Caspian's cold voice cut through the line. "Are you done with your drama? Vivienne was in a car accident and she's scared. Stop bothering me."
Vivienne was Caspian and Sterling's stepsister—the one they truly loved.
With nothing to stop them, the kidnappers closed in. A man’s foot slammed into my stomach, and with sickening certainty, I felt my unborn child slipping away.
Just as I was on the verge of death, my sister, Scarlett, found me and fought the kidnappers off.
But there were too many of them. Soon, Scarlett collapsed beside me, a heavy blow to her back leaving her unable to move. She used her last ounce of strength to call her husband, Sterling, but the only reply she received was, "I'm with Vivienne. Don't bother me."
By some miracle, a security guard in the parking garage found us. Both Scarlett and I survived.
When I woke up in the hospital, my first thought was simple: divorce.