The Wedding He Lost

For eight years, I played the perfect high-society fiancée to Andrew Lester, a man consumed by guilt, whose emotional distance masked a disturbing fixation on his "niece," Molly. I silently endured his self-imposed celibacy, convinced his aloofness was just his penance.

But weeks before our wedding, I found a positive pregnancy test in our bathroom trash. It wasn't mine. Hours later, the man who hadn't touched me in years stormed into my bedroom and his hands closed around my throat. "Where is she?" he whispered, desperate, then chillingly revealed, "She's pregnant, Jennifer. With my child."