A pregnant, struggling grocery shopper rejected her cheating ex's charity, only to have Chicago's most feared mafia boss step out of the shadows and kiss her in front of a recording crowd.

The blonde woman beside Nathan didn't look threatened; she looked entertained. Her lips, painted a delicate shade of nude gloss, curled into a faint, patronizing smirk as she adjusted her designer handbag. She looked at Claire the way one might inspect an unauthorized smudge on an antique mirror.

"Is this her, darling?" the fiancée asked, her voice dripping with synthetic sweetness. "The one from the apartment?"

"The very one," Nathan replied, not taking his eyes off Claire’s stomach. The cruel amusement in his expression deepened, hardening into something ugly and vindictive. Six months ago, when Claire had discovered the pregnancy, Nathan had offered to write a check on the strict condition that she terminate it and sign a non-disclosure agreement protecting his upcoming merger and engagement. When she had walked out of his penthouse instead, taking nothing but her clothes, he had promised she would starve in the city alone.

"You look tired, Claire," Nathan said, taking a step forward. He reached into the inner breast pocket of his navy blazer and withdrew a sleek alligator-skin wallet. With slow, deliberate arrogance, he slid out a thick fan of crisp hundred-dollar bills. "Actually, you look terrible. What is that dress, polyester?"

"Nathan, don't do this here," Claire said, keeping her voice completely level despite the hot sting of tears threatening behind her eyelids. Her left hand drifted instinctively downward, resting flat and protective over the curve of her child. She felt a faint, fluttering kick beneath her palm—tiny, fragile, and utterly dependent on her strength. That small movement anchored her. "Let me through."

"I’m trying to be charitable," Nathan mocked, extending his hand, holding five hundred-dollar bills directly toward her face like someone dangling table scraps before a stray dog. "Take it. Buy yourself some decent prenatal vitamins. Maybe pay your landlord before you get evicted with an infant. We both know you’re in no position to raise a baby."

The words landed like physical slaps, loud enough to cause an elderly woman two bins over to pause with a carton of strawberries in her hand. The blonde fiancée chuckled softly, whispering something under her breath as she admired her own manicure.

Claire looked down at the money held out between them. The paper smelled of bank vaults and cold ink. Five hundred dollars would pay for her ultrasound next week, would cover her electric bill, would ensure her refrigerator wasn't empty when the winter freeze set in. The temptation was an ache in her marrow, born of pure, exhausting desperation.

Then she looked up, meeting Nathan’s mocking blue eyes.

"Keep your money, Nathan," Claire whispered, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed rage, but steady in its refusal. "My baby will never touch a cent that comes from your hands."

"Still pathetic and stubborn," Nathan sneered, shaking the bills impatiently. "Don't be an idiot. Take the cash. You’re working double shifts at a framing shop while carrying a bastard child. Do you really think anyone is going to rescue you?"