Julian went to answer the door.
The instant I heard the lock turn, every muscle in my body went rigid. A familiar scent floated into the room — the same perfume I’d worn for years.
His voice dropped low. “You weren’t supposed to come until tomorrow morning. Where’s the baby?”
“With the nanny,” Seraphine replied quietly. “She’s safe. I just… I can’t spend another night in that hospital. It’s freezing there. And I hate sleeping without you.” Her voice quivered. “Being away from you even a few hours is torture.”
Julian softened immediately. “Hey, stop that. You just had stitches. You shouldn’t cry, it’s bad for you.”
I stayed motionless on the couch, fingers grazing the faded paint mark on my old sweatpants, pretending I was mentally wandering through some unfinished painting.
“Julian,” I called loudly, deliberately. “Who’s there?”
So this was a performance now. Fine. I’d play along.
He led her inside a moment later. His hand closed over mine — warm, heavy, possessive.
“This is Seraphine,” he said. “I hired her to help out around the house. And with the baby.”
Their baby.
“She used to work for me as my secretary,” he added smoothly. “Got married last year, had a child, and now she’s back.” Then, like he was doing me a favor, “She’s had some trouble with her vision too, so she understands what you’re dealing with. Until she recovers, she’ll help you get around.”
My vision. The word scraped raw.
Seraphine stepped closer. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Whitmore. I’ll be managing everything from now on. You… and the baby.”
The way she lingered on that last word wasn’t subtle. It was a challenge.
I inclined my head. “Alright. Thank you.”
Nothing for her to latch onto. That clearly irritated her, because seconds later I heard the damp sound of a kiss. Then another. The soft rustle of clothes shifting.
The couch creaked beneath them.
My stomach rolled. I remembered how Julian used to pull me down onto that same sofa, how the fabric would rub my skin raw. One night we’d even stayed up sewing a cover together, laughing about how ugly it was.
I’d thought that meant something.
Without a word, I stood and started upstairs. My foot caught on the second step and I stumbled into the bedroom, collapsing onto the floor. I curled inward, hands pressed against my abdomen as nausea surged.
I gagged, violently.
Footsteps rushed in. Julian filled the doorway. “Elara, what’s wrong?” He touched my shoulder and the sickness doubled.
Then Seraphine’s voice sliced in, sharp with interest. “Wait… are you pregnant? I thought she had the implant.”
Julian froze. “Elara,” he said slowly, “did you get your period this month?”
I shook my head.
“It’s always on time,” I whispered. “I’m probably just stressed.”
He stepped away from me as though I were dangerous. “That shouldn’t be possible. I was careful. The doctor said—” He cut himself off, then straightened. “We’re going for tests tonight. If you are pregnant, we’ll deal with it before it becomes an issue.”
Seraphine let out a soft, delighted laugh.
So he could ruin me for her child — but mine wasn’t allowed to exist.
“Why would it be an issue?” I asked quietly.
He hesitated. “Because I promised someone I wouldn’t have children of my own until her daughter grows up.”
That was his excuse.
“I’m not pregnant,” I said flatly. “If you’re that obsessed, buy a test. I’m going to sleep. Both of you, leave.”
I heard them go. I sank into the bed like I weighed a thousand pounds.
I was exhausted.
And for the first time in days, my dreams were empty.
---
Morning light filtered through the curtains when I woke. My stomach growled, so I headed toward the kitchen.
As I passed the guest room, I stopped cold.
Muted moans. A man’s murmur. A woman laughing breathlessly.
In broad daylight.
My hunger vanished. I turned back to my room, poured a glass of cold water, and forced it down, trying to keep the sickness from rising again.
I didn’t care what they were doing. I just needed Julian gone so I could leave this house unseen.
The bedroom door opened suddenly.
I stiffened. “Who is it?”
Seraphine’s voice floated in, sickly sweet. “It’s just me.”
My fingers tightened around the glass. “What do you want?”
She walked in as if she owned the place. “Julian changed already. He’s heading to the hospital to bring the baby home. I thought I’d check on you.”
Her tone said the opposite. She wasn’t here to help. She was here to enjoy this.
“I don’t need anything,” I said, turning away. “You can go.”
She ignored me, stepped closer, and seized my wrist. Her nails dug into my skin.
“Want to know what we were doing on your sofa last night?” she whispered. “Or what just happened in the guest room?”
Her smile was sharp. “Julian says he likes women who take chances — not fragile little birds trapped in gilded cages.” She leaned closer, her breath cold against my ear. “And the baby he’s bringing home? She’s mine. Congratulations. You’re going to raise my child now.”
