My Boyfriend's Pregnant Mistress

Chapter 2 Slaved Away

Celeste headed to the hospital solo, her hand split open by a deep gash that screamed for urgent stitching.

Pregnant and unmedicated, she had no choice but to endure the procedure—ER doctors had flatly refused anesthesia, citing her pregnancy as a critical safety risk.

The cold metal of the needle slid between her blood and skin, sending a storm of sharp, stabbing pain rippling through her veins.

She bit back a scream until her jaw ached, her whole body trembling violently until hot, unbidden tears spilled down her cheeks, leaving salty trails on her skin.

Memories crashed over her unbidden. Once, every time Felix spotted a fresh wound on her hand, his jaw would tighten, his eyes softening with unbridled heartache.

The house was stocked to the brim with the finest surgical ointment money could buy—prescribed by top-tier surgeons, each bottle costing a small fortune—and Felix never hesitated to fill the cabinets.

He'd even taught himself to wrap her wounds with skilled, gentle hands.

But now, her hand was a mangled mess of blood and broken skin, and Felix was doting on another woman, his attention fully captured.

The ER doctor's voice was laced with sympathy as he bandaged her up. "Ms. Winter, this wound is deep. You need to take extreme care of it in the days to come—if not, it could seriously impact your career."

Celeste nodded numbly, her mind elsewhere, before stumbling out of the hospital and back to her home.

The moment she stepped through the front door, she spotted servants carrying her clothes and luxury cosmetics down the staircase, carting them from the second floor to a first-floor bedroom.

Her blood ran cold as she followed their gaze—and there, on the plush velvet sofa, Felix was massaging Beatrice's calf, his voice soft and tender as he checked in on her.

"How's that? Still getting those leg cramps?" he asked.

Beatrice opened her mouth to reply, but her smile wilted the second she spotted Celeste standing in the doorway. She scrambled to her feet, a forced, ingratiating grin plastered on her face.

A cold, mocking laugh slipped from Celeste's lips. "What's with the smile? Don't even try to butter me up."

The snappish words made Beatrice's eyes well up with tears at once. She clutched her stomach, whimpering, her voice trembling. "Felix, my stomach hurts... it's cramping badly."

Felix paused his massage, his tone sharp as he snapped at Celeste. "You know she's pregnant—she can't stand shocks or harsh words. How dare you speak to her like that?"

Celeste let out a bitter, hollow snort. "Am I supposed to put her on a golden pedestal and worship her?"

She held up her bandaged right hand, the gauze soaked through with fresh blood, her voice rising with raw emotion. "My boyfriend became her man, I'm stuck raising her unborn child, my career nearly got destroyed because of her—and you still have the nerve to scold me?"

At her words, Beatrice turned to Felix, her face etched with fake sorrow, her lower lip trembling. "It wasn't intentional, Felix. I told you that night—it was a terrible mistake. I was young, stupid, caught up in the moment... I let my emotions get the better of me. It's all my fault, leading to all this pain for the three of us."

She covered her face with her hands, her sobs soft and feigned. "I should just leave. If I go, you and Celeste can get back together, I'm sure of it. As for the baby... after I give birth, I'll send him to you. I'll never show my face again, pretend I never had him. I'll disappear from your lives forever."

Felix refused to let her go, his arms wrapping tightly around her shoulders, pulling her into a protective embrace. "You're my woman, carrying my child. How could I ever let you leave? I'm not letting you go anywhere."

The pair's dramatic, teary exchange made Celeste feel like a stranger in her own home, utterly superfluous.

She turned and stumbled into the first-floor bedroom, collapsing onto the bed in a daze, too numb to feel anything at all.

*****

The dead of night found her jolted awake by a sharp, insistent push to her shoulder.

Blasting sleep from her eyes, she saw Felix standing over her, his face etched with exhaustion, his dark circles prominent under his eyes.

"Celeste, Beatrice keeps saying she's hungry. Make her a late-night snack. She can't stomach the maids' cooking."

It finally dawned on her why he'd moved her to the first floor. This bedroom was nothing special—no grand view, no fancy decor—but it was the closest to the kitchen, a cruel convenience he'd orchestrated without a single word of apology.

Celeste bit back a surge of white-hot rage, her voice trembling with hurt and frustration. "Felix, enough is already too much. I've already handed over my bedroom to Beatrice, and now you want me to be her personal cook? That's going too far."

Felix rubbed his temples, looking exasperated, his patience fraying at the edges. "Celeste, she's carrying my child—our future baby. You know how important that is to me."

"That's not my child!" Celeste cried, her voice breaking.

He dropped his gaze, his jaw tightening, his stubbornness replacing any trace of the softness he'd once shown her. "The maids' cooking isn't half as good as yours. Do this for me, please. Just make her something to eat."

She said nothing, rolling over and burying her face in the pillow, her silence a clear, unyielding refusal.

She thought he'd back down, that he'd leave her in peace. Instead, the soft blanket was yanked off her in an instant.

Felix grabbed her by the wrist, his fingers digging into her skin, lifting her up like a squirming chick before yanking her roughly off the bed, her bare feet hitting the cold floor with a thud.

"Celeste, I don't want to fight with you. Just make the food, and I'll let you go back to sleep afterward."

When Felix pressed her against the cool marble of the kitchen counter, her body finally gave way. The tears came hard and fast, soaking her cheeks as she sobbed. "Felix, how could you do this to me?"

She'd spent eight long years by his side, weathering family feuds and career setbacks together, hand in hand, through every storm and sunshine.

Now, just because another woman was lucky enough to get pregnant first, she'd become a discarded pawn, cast aside for a moment of fleeting passion.

He ignored her sobs, his jaw set in unyielding resolve. He grabbed a kitchen knife from the counter and shoved it into her hand, his grip tight and unrelenting. "Celeste, be good. Cook the food."

He clamped his hand over hers, forcing her to wrap her fingers around the blade.

The bandaged right hand burned under his tight grasp, the pressure squeezing the wound until a searing, white-hot pain shot through her veins.

"Felix, my hand's hurt." She choked out, her voice barely audible over her sobs.

He froze for a split second, a flicker of guilt flashing across his eyes before it was gone. His hold on her hand loosened slightly, just a fraction. "Celeste, just cook."

*****

Celeste slaved away in the kitchen for hours, from midnight until noon, whipping up dozens of dishes.

Yet Beatrice never uttered a single word of praise. She took one tiny bite of each dish, some barely even lifting a fork to smell them, pushing the rest aside without a second thought.

The endless, demeaning ordeal left Celeste's body and soul drained, her hands shaking from fatigue and pain.

It wasn't until the sun was high in the sky, casting bright light through the kitchen windows, that Felix finally let her leave the kitchen.

As she stumbled past the grand spiral staircase, her legs wobbly with exhaustion, she heard soft, mocking laughter drifting down from the upper floor.

"Celeste's cooking is absolutely amazing! I just fed her food to the dog, and the pup gobbled it right up—loved every bite!"

Then came Felix's soft, indulgent chuckle. "I'm glad you're happy... don't push yourself if you can't eat. Whenever you want something, Celeste will make it for you."

Warm sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting dappled, golden patterns on the white walls—but Celeste felt no warmth, no joy, nothing at all. The pain in her hand, the hurt in her heart, had all faded into a cold, empty numbness.

She reached into her purse, her fingers brushing against the folded ultrasound slip hidden inside. And in that moment, a strange, unexpected sense of relief washed over her.

'Thank God Felix doesn't know about this baby.'

It gave her a chance. A chance to leave, to walk away from this toxic mess, without any ties holding her back.