Monica's POV
The door slammed shut with a deafening crack, but I could still hear their voices carrying down the hall.
"Monica misunderstanding us like this isn't fair. Ashton, you should explain it to her," Carmen said, her voice dripping with false sweetness.
Ashton responded with nothing more than a sharp, dismissive snort. "Explain? Does she even deserve it? What more does she want from me? She eats my food, wears my clothes, uses my things."
"Oh, Mr. Kincaid, don't say that," Carmen cooed, her voice thin and insincere. "Your wife is still pregnant, and getting angry isn't good for the baby…"
Their voices faded as their footsteps disappeared, but the burning anger in my chest only intensified.
Fueled by adrenaline, I tore through the room, shoving Ashton's shirts and cufflinks into bags.
Every piece I touched carried the sting of betrayal, a reminder of how deep the bitterness ran inside me.
I thought bitterly: 'Wasn't it you, Ashton, who once claimed you felt sorry for me when I got pregnant? You were the one who pushed me to quit my job. And now you twist it, calling me the burden. Do you even have a heart?'
That's right...the baby is gone.
The thought consumed me.
After days of strain, grief, and exhaustion, my body finally succumbed to fatigue, and I collapsed into a deep sleep.
...
The next morning, I woke groggy, blinking against the sunlight, only to jolt upright when I saw Ashton lying beside me.
"Ashton, what are you doing here?"
He smiled gently, straightening his shirt as if nothing were wrong. "You can't be serious about last night. Didn't we agree to play along with the "propping her up' plan for Carmen? The higher she climbs, the harder she'll fall. Did you forget? You wouldn't believe it—Carmen was over the moon last night."
I stared at him, the familiarity of his face feeling distant now, as if something inside me had shifted.
My voice came out low, like I was pleading for something I knew I could never get.
"And you? Were you happy?"
Ashton didn't notice the shift in my tone.
He chuckled lightly, his usual self, carefree and casual. "Of course, I was! We're one step closer to our plan. Now get up. I made you breakfast to make up for last night. Our child shouldn't go hungry."
With light steps, he left the bedroom.
I watched his retreating figure, whispering under my breath, "You keep hiding behind this 'propping her up' excuse, but you can't even see your own heart. And there's no child anymore."
In the dining room, Ashton had set out a steaming bowl of porridge.
He smiled, pushing it toward me.
I bent closer, and a strange scent hit me.
I frowned. "What's in this?"
"Nothing special. Just rice, shrimp… and yams," he replied.
But then his face turned pale. I saw the flicker of guilt as he remembered that I was allergic to yams.
"Monica, I've been so busy I forgot. I'll make you noodles instead."
He stood quickly, trying to cover his mistake.
I cut him off sharply. "That's enough, Ashton. What is it you really want from me?"
His hand froze mid-air, the spoon still dripping porridge.
He looked at me, confusion tightening his voice. "Do you really not trust me? When did it get like this between us?"
The moment lingered before he recovered, his voice soft and coaxing. "Monica, I know I haven't been attentive to you and the baby lately. Don't be upset. Things will get better once this phase is over."
I cut him off, my voice as cold as ice. "I'll say it again. The baby is gone. And your things are packed. Leave."
For a moment, his expression darkened.
Then, to my surprise, joy suddenly appeared on his face.
"I knew you still cared about me. I'll be back, I promise."
Before I could answer, he grabbed his phone and dialed.
"Carmen, Monica finally agreed to let me move out. But once we're married, I'll definitely have to go back home, or she'll throw a fit. Just wait for me, I'll be there soon."
On the other end, Carmen's voice rang out, smug and sweet. "Monica, if you need anything, just call my assistant. I'm pretty busy right now."
Without so much as a glance my way, Ashton slung the bag I had packed for him over his shoulder and walked out.
I forced down the storm rising in my chest, turned, and dialed a familiar number.
My voice was steady when I spoke.
"I want to invite you to my wedding in seven days. But this time, I want you to be my groom."
Monica's POV
The door slammed shut with a deafening crack, but I could still hear their voices carrying down the hall.
"Monica misunderstanding us like this isn't fair. Ashton, you should explain it to her," Carmen said, her voice dripping with false sweetness.
Ashton responded with nothing more than a sharp, dismissive snort. "Explain? Does she even deserve it? What more does she want from me? She eats my food, wears my clothes, uses my things."
"Oh, Mr. Kincaid, don't say that," Carmen cooed, her voice thin and insincere. "Your wife is still pregnant, and getting angry isn't good for the baby…"
Their voices faded as their footsteps disappeared, but the burning anger in my chest only intensified.
Fueled by adrenaline, I tore through the room, shoving Ashton's shirts and cufflinks into bags.
Every piece I touched carried the sting of betrayal, a reminder of how deep the bitterness ran inside me.
I thought bitterly: 'Wasn't it you, Ashton, who once claimed you felt sorry for me when I got pregnant? You were the one who pushed me to quit my job. And now you twist it, calling me the burden. Do you even have a heart?'
That's right...the baby is gone.
The thought consumed me.
After days of strain, grief, and exhaustion, my body finally succumbed to fatigue, and I collapsed into a deep sleep.
...
The next morning, I woke groggy, blinking against the sunlight, only to jolt upright when I saw Ashton lying beside me.
"Ashton, what are you doing here?"
He smiled gently, straightening his shirt as if nothing were wrong. "You can't be serious about last night. Didn't we agree to play along with the "propping her up' plan for Carmen? The higher she climbs, the harder she'll fall. Did you forget? You wouldn't believe it—Carmen was over the moon last night."
I stared at him, the familiarity of his face feeling distant now, as if something inside me had shifted.
My voice came out low, like I was pleading for something I knew I could never get.
"And you? Were you happy?"
Ashton didn't notice the shift in my tone.
He chuckled lightly, his usual self, carefree and casual. "Of course, I was! We're one step closer to our plan. Now get up. I made you breakfast to make up for last night. Our child shouldn't go hungry."
With light steps, he left the bedroom.
I watched his retreating figure, whispering under my breath, "You keep hiding behind this 'propping her up' excuse, but you can't even see your own heart. And there's no child anymore."
In the dining room, Ashton had set out a steaming bowl of porridge.
He smiled, pushing it toward me.
I bent closer, and a strange scent hit me.
I frowned. "What's in this?"
"Nothing special. Just rice, shrimp… and yams," he replied.
But then his face turned pale. I saw the flicker of guilt as he remembered that I was allergic to yams.
"Monica, I've been so busy I forgot. I'll make you noodles instead."
He stood quickly, trying to cover his mistake.
I cut him off sharply. "That's enough, Ashton. What is it you really want from me?"
His hand froze mid-air, the spoon still dripping porridge.
He looked at me, confusion tightening his voice. "Do you really not trust me? When did it get like this between us?"
The moment lingered before he recovered, his voice soft and coaxing. "Monica, I know I haven't been attentive to you and the baby lately. Don't be upset. Things will get better once this phase is over."
I cut him off, my voice as cold as ice. "I'll say it again. The baby is gone. And your things are packed. Leave."
For a moment, his expression darkened.
Then, to my surprise, joy suddenly appeared on his face.
"I knew you still cared about me. I'll be back, I promise."
Before I could answer, he grabbed his phone and dialed.
"Carmen, Monica finally agreed to let me move out. But once we're married, I'll definitely have to go back home, or she'll throw a fit. Just wait for me, I'll be there soon."
On the other end, Carmen's voice rang out, smug and sweet. "Monica, if you need anything, just call my assistant. I'm pretty busy right now."
Without so much as a glance my way, Ashton slung the bag I had packed for him over his shoulder and walked out.
I forced down the storm rising in my chest, turned, and dialed a familiar number.
My voice was steady when I spoke.
"I want to invite you to my wedding in seven days. But this time, I want you to be my groom."
