The nursery was painted the color of a summer morning -a soft, buttercup yellow that seemed to catch every stray beam of light.
Lovina stood by the window, her hand resting over the gentle swell of her stomach. She could feel the rhythmic thrum of a life not yet met, a tiny heartbeat that felt like a promise. For the first time in her life, everything was perfect. She had the house, the husband who adored her, and a miracle on the way.
"He's kicking again," she whispered, a radiant smile tugging at her lips.
A pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind. Julian pressed his chin into her shoulder, his breath warm against her neck. He smelled of expensive cologne and the safety of home.
"Already a troublemaker, just like his mother," Julian teased, his voice vibrating with a happiness so pure it felt fragile. He kissed the side of her head, his hands covering hers on her belly. "I've finished the cradle, Lovi. Hand-carved oak. It'll last him a lifetime. Our son is going to have the best of everything."
"He already has the best father," she replied, turning in his arms to face him.
They stood there in the quiet of their sanctuary, two people who believed they were untouchable. They didn't see the shadow standing in the doorway.
Elena was leaning against the doorframe, watching them. To a stranger, she looked like the perfect friend—the supportive bridesmaid who had stayed over to help with the baby shower preparations. But if Lovina had looked closer, she would have seen the way Elena's eyes didn't crinkle when she smiled. She would have seen the way Elena's gaze lingered on Julian's hands, then on the diamond wedding ring on Lovina's finger, with a hunger that was corrosive.
"You two make me sick with how perfect you are," Elena said, her voice dripping with a fake, playful sweetness.
"Don't be jealous, El," Lovina laughed, stepping out of Julian's arms to hug her friend. "Your turn will come. You'll find a man who looks at you the way Julian looks at me."
"Oh, I'm sure I will," Elena murmured, returning the hug. Over Lovina's shoulder, her eyes met Julian's for a fraction of a second—cold, calculating, and predatory. "I'm counting on it."
That night, the house was filled with the scent of lavender and the sound of laughter. Lovina fell asleep in her husband's arms, dreaming of yellow walls and oak cradles.
She didn't hear the soft click of the nursery door opening at midnight. She didn't smell the accelerant being poured onto the expensive nursery rug. She didn't see the match flicker to life in the hands of the woman she called a sister.
The last thing Lovina remembered of her old life wasn't the pain. It was the sight of the yellow walls turning a hellish, roaring orange, and the realization that the "morning" she had been waiting for was never going to come.
Writer's Thought: This prologue is the 'Emotional Anchor.' By showing the nursery and Julian's excitement, we make the loss of the baby hurt ten times more for the reader. It also establishes Elena's character—she didn't just want the money; she wanted the 'perfection' Lovina had. Now, when the readers see Elena in the present day, they won't just dislike her—they will loathe her.