His Disposable Wife Left With His Baby

Chapter 2 Just A Contractual Arrangement

ELARA

The phone stopped vibrating.

A text notification appeared beneath Camilla's name. Three words, glowing in the dark: You'll want this, honey.

Before I could look away, my stomach clenched. Sharp, vicious pain—like someone driving a needle through my abdomen and twisting.

I doubled over, hand flying to my belly.

I pressed my hand against my belly, trying to breathe through it.

I counted the seconds between cramps. Tried to remember what I'd read online. Was this normal? Could stress cause this?

Another wave hit, worse than before. I gasped, couldn't help it—a small, choked sound.

The water shut off.

I straightened up quickly, too quickly. The movement made my vision swim. I gripped the edge of the mattress,.

The bathroom door opened. Steam rolled out in a cloud, and Kieran was there, hair still wet and dripping, a towel slung low on his hips. He took one look at me and crossed the room."Elara?"

"What's wrong?" His hands were on my shoulders, warm and solid. "Are you hurt?"

It spread through my lower abdomen like fire, and my vision blurred at the edges. All I could think was: the baby. Something's wrong with the baby.

He didn't wait for an answer. Just slid one arm under my knees and the other behind my back, lifting me. The sudden movement made my head spin, and I instinctively grabbed onto his shoulder.

"Don't move," he said, laying me down.

His face was close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, and the confession nearly spilled out. I'm pregnant. Seven weeks. I'm sorry. I don't know how it happened. Please don't make me choose.

"You look terrible." He frowned. "You need to see a doctor."

A pause. His eyes narrowed.

"You've been taking your birth control pills on time, right?"

The confession died in my throat.

My heart stopped, then started again, too fast. "Yes."

The lie tasted bitter.

"You're scared I'm pregnant, aren't you?" I tried to sound casual.

His face didn't change. "Our marriage is just a contractual arrangement, Elara."

There it was.

"Yes." I forced the word through numb lips. "And I wouldn't allow myself to get pregnant either."

Something flickered across his face, too quick to read. Then he stood, already reaching for his phone on the nightstand. "Take tomorrow off. Get some rest."

When I woke the next morning, Kieran was already gone.

The sheets on his side of the bed were cold, undisturbed. He must have left hours ago.

My eyes felt dry and gritty when I rubbed them. I'd cried in my sleep again. The same dream I'd been having for years.

Day fifty-five after Mom died. I remembered it with the kind of clarity that comes from reliving something over and over. The sound of Dad's car in the driveway. The click of heels I didn't recognize on our hardwood floors. A woman's laugh, echoing through rooms that had been silent for nearly two months. And then Camilla, sixteen and beautiful.

I lost my mother, my father, and my home all at once that day. Dad remarried less than three months after Mom's funeral, and suddenly I was the outsider in my own house.

Maybe I was losing Kieran now too.

I never truly had him though.

I dressed carefully for work, choosing the navy dress that made me look professional and forgettable. Applied concealer under my eyes until the evidence of crying disappeared. Put my hair up in a neat bun, the way I always did.

Anya called while I was in the car.

"Please tell me you're calling in sick today," she said without preamble. "Please tell me you're not going into that office to see his face."

"I have to work, Anya."

"You have a master's from Hopkins. You wrote a thesis on artifact repatriation that made your professors cry. And you're filing papers for a man who f***s you at night and ignores you in the morning."

I winced. "It's not—"

"Don't defend him to me. You know I love you. You know I want better for you than this."

My throat tightened. "I know."

"Then quit. Walk away. You don't need his money, and you sure as hell don't need his—"

"I'll call you later," I said quietly, already moving the phone away from my ear.

"Elara—"

I hung up.

The Ashcroft Group headquarters occupied forty-three floors of prime Manhattan real estate, all glass and steel and ruthless efficiency. The secretarial department was on the thirty-eighth floor, a sprawling open office full of eager young professionals.

The moment I stepped into the secretarial department, I knew something had shifted. The air felt electric, charged with gossip.

Madison grabbed my arm before I'd even set my bag down. "Oh my God, Elara, did you see her?"

"See who?"

"The woman!" Her eyes were bright with excitement. "The one Mr. Ashcroft brought in this morning. She's stunning. Like, stop-traffic gorgeous."

My stomach dropped.

Another colleague leaned in. "He picked her up at the airport yesterday—I saw it on Page Six before the post got taken down."

"No wonder people say Mr. Ashcroft is married but hasn't gone public." Madison lowered her voice conspiratorially. "This must be his wife. Right? I mean, look at them together. They're perfect."

They were all looking at me now, waiting for my reaction, my opinion, my confirmation of their theories.

"I don't know," I managed.

"You'll see when you bring up the quarterly reports." Madison grinned. "Seriously, Elara, they look like they stepped out of a magazine. I bet that's her. The secret wife."

I wanted to respond, wanted to say something normal and professional and detached.

Instead, nausea hit me like a wave.

I barely made it to the restroom before my stomach revolted. I locked myself in a stall and vomited until there was nothing left but bile, bitter and burning.

When I finally emerged, legs shaking, I went to the sink and splashed cold water on my face. Took deep breaths through my nose. Counted to ten.

Looked up at the mirror.

I looked wrecked. Pale, hollow-eyed, like a ghost of myself.

"You look awful, sis."

I froze.

That voice. Sweet as poisoned honey.

I turned slowly.

Camilla stood in the doorway of the restroom, leaning against the frame like she owned it.