My husband’s mistress drove her heel into my pregnant belly, her smile colder than the hospital floor beneath me. “Hurry up and finish your duty as our surrogate,” she snapped, while my husband stood behind her in silence.
For one second, the world stopped.
The white ceiling lights blurred above me. Coffee spread beneath my palm. My thin maternity dress clung to my skin, wet and stained, while pain tightened across my stomach like a cruel fist.
“Evan…” I whispered.
My husband didn’t move.
His mistress, Celeste, laughed softly. She was wrapped in a cream designer coat, diamonds flashing at her throat, red soles gleaming under her heels. “Don’t look at him like that. You were never his wife in any way that mattered.”
I looked up at Evan, the man who had held my hand through our vows, the man who had kissed my forehead when the pregnancy test turned positive.
“You told her?” I asked.
His jaw twitched. “You should have signed the amended agreement.”
My breath caught.
There it was.
Not concern. Not panic. Not fear for our child.
A contract.
Celeste crouched slightly, careful not to wrinkle her coat. “Let me explain it slowly, since pregnancy has clearly made you stupid. You carry the baby. You give birth. You disappear. Evan and I raise the heir.”
“The heir?” I repeated.
Evan finally stepped closer. “My family’s board won’t release my trust unless I have a legitimate child. You were useful, Mara. Don’t make this uglier than it has to be.”
A nurse gasped behind the reception desk. Someone dropped a clipboard. Down the hall, an elderly man in a wheelchair stared. A young mother hugged her child against her chest.
Then a voice thundered through the hallway.
“Get your foot away from my daughter.”
Every head turned.
At the far end of the corridor stood Dr. Adrian Vale, billionaire surgeon, founder and owner of Vale Medical Center, the man whose name was carved in silver over the hospital entrance.
My father.
Evan went pale.
Celeste blinked, then smiled as if charm could still save her. “Dr. Vale, there’s been a misunderstanding.”
My father walked toward us slowly. He did not shout again. He didn’t need to.
Security guards appeared behind him. Doctors froze. Nurses straightened.
I pressed one hand over my belly and forced myself to breathe.
