I stared at the small white plastic stick resting on the polished wood of my vanity. Two stark, undeniable pink lines glared back at me.
I didn't need to ask whose it was. I had been locked in a sterile psychiatric ward for the last twenty-four months, fed pills that made my tongue heavy and my mind blank. I certainly hadn't been the one taking pregnancy tests.
It was Colleen’s.
She had left it there on purpose. Placing it right next to the framed photograph of my late father wasn't an accident; it was a calculated, vicious strike. It was her way of marking her territory, of looking me in the eye without even being in the room and saying, This is my house now.
I thought the hospital had burned away every ounce of feeling I had left for Evans. I thought I was completely hollowed out.
But staring at that test, a sudden, sharp ache pierced through my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs.
Before the betrayal, before the hospital, Evans and I had spent a year trying for a baby. I had tracked my temperature, taken vitamins, and cried over countless single pink lines. Evans had held me while I wept, kissing my forehead and promising me that our time would come.
Now, I realized he had given that time to my sister. They had created a life in my bed while I was locked behind barred windows, surrounded by strangers in white coats.
"Louisa, what's taking so long?"
Evans’s voice broke through my thoughts. I didn't turn around as his heavy footsteps crossed the threshold of the bedroom.
"The chef is making lobster risotto, and you know how he gets when it sits too—"
He stopped abruptly. I could feel his presence just over my shoulder. The silence in the room stretched, thick and suffocating, underneath the heavy stench of Colleen's vanilla and rose perfume.
Slowly, Evans reached past me and snatched the plastic stick off the vanity.
I finally turned to look at him. I expected to see guilt. I expected him to pale, to stammer, to try and invent some ridiculous lie to cover his tracks.
Instead, he just looked profoundly annoyed.
He let out a harsh, irritated breath and tossed the pregnancy test into the small woven trash can by my desk.
"She wasn't supposed to leave that there," he muttered, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "I told the maids to clear out all her junk yesterday. They must have missed it."
"Her junk," I repeated, my voice barely a whisper. The sheer audacity of his casual tone made my head spin. "You got my sister pregnant."
Evans frowned, stepping closer to me. He reached out, grabbing my shoulders with a firm, commanding grip. "Listen to me, Louisa. It was an accident. She got careless with her pills. But it doesn't matter, okay? I already handled it."
"Handled it?" I asked, staring blankly at his handsome, ruthless face.
"I gave her a check," he said, as if this were a simple business transaction. "A very large one. I told her to get rid of it and move back to her mother's house. I told you in the car, I cut things off with her completely. I'm marrying you."
He said it with such conviction, as if choosing me over the mother of his unborn child was some grand, romantic gesture I should be grateful for. He truly believed his money could erase a human life and buy my submission all at once.
A wave of nausea washed over me. I stepped back, forcing his hands off my shoulders.
"You're a monster," I whispered.
Evans’s jaw clenched. The charming fiancé mask slipped, revealing the cold, controlling man beneath. "Don't start this again, Louisa," he warned, his voice dropping to a dangerous octave. "I am fixing things. I am putting our lives back on track. Do not ruin this by acting crazy again. You know exactly where that gets you."
He was threatening to send me back. To the white walls, the locked doors, the pills that made me forget my own name.
Before I could respond, the sound of the front door opening echoed up the grand staircase.
Evans froze.
"Evans? Honey, are you upstairs?"
The voice was sweet, melodic, and entirely too familiar.
My blood ran cold.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps began to ascend the marble stairs. Evans turned pale, his eyes darting toward the bedroom door. He had told me he kicked her out. He had told me he paid her off.
But as the figure appeared in the doorway of my bedroom, the lie shattered into a million pieces.
Colleen stood there, wearing one of Evans’s oversized dress shirts that barely concealed the unmistakable, rounded swell of her five-month pregnant belly. She held a spare key in her hand, dangling it with a smug, triumphant smile.
"Oh, good," Colleen purred, her eyes locking onto mine with malicious delight. "You're both here. Evans, darling, didn't you tell my sister the good news? The doctor says it's a boy."
