The Wife He Threw Away for His Brother's Widow

### Chapter 1

"Dad, I've had enough. Since I'm nothing but a dirty secret, a 'homewrecker,' then I'll step aside and let Dustin Delgado have his sister-in-law."

My knuckles were white around the phone. My voice trembled, but I finally said it.

"I always told you that bastard wasn't worthy of you." A sigh crackled through the speaker, followed by my father's low, steady voice. "It's not too late to leave him. I'll come get you right now."

His words loosened something wound tight inside my chest. I wiped the tears from my face. "Give me a week. I need to wrap things up here."

I hung up and slid down against the headboard until I was sitting on the floor. Every memory I'd fought to bury came flooding back at once.

A year ago, Dustin's older brother died in a car accident. His sister-in-law, Alice Dotson, lost her mind. She clung to Dustin, called him "honey," gripped him like he was the last piece of driftwood in a shipwreck.

Dustin didn't push her away.

"Cecily," he'd said, "she's carrying my brother's child. She can't be upset. Just bear with it for now. Once the baby's born, I'll tell her the truth."

So I bore it.

I bore it when I was moved out of our home and left to hide alone in a hotel. I bore it when they appeared everywhere together, playing the loving "husband and wife" for the whole world. I bore it when sneaking a weekend visit with my own husband made me feel like a criminal.

Until today. Alice found out I was pregnant and came at me like a woman possessed, screaming that I was the whore destroying her family. I clenched my jaw and said nothing.

Until her stiletto heel swung toward my belly, and every drop of humiliation I'd swallowed finally detonated inside my chest.

I shielded my three-month bump and snarled, "I'm not the other woman! Dustin and I have been married for three years, and your husband has been dead—"

The words died in my throat. A large hand clamped around it, squeezing until I couldn't breathe.

Above me, Dustin's face was terrifyingly dark.

"I told you," he said, each word bitten off like a verdict, "she is not to be upset. Under any circumstances."

In that instant, I looked at him and realized I didn't recognize him at all.

He didn't ask if I'd been hurt. He didn't spare a thought for the child inside me. He simply shoved me aside, pulled Alice into his arms, and murmured to her in a voice so tender it could have cradled glass: "Sweetheart, don't waste your energy on her. Let's go home."

But Alice wasn't finished. She twisted in his embrace and shrieked, "What about that bastard she's carrying?!"

Dustin's gaze drifted over my stomach, light and dismissive, like he was looking at something that belonged in the trash.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

Cold crawled up my spine. Somewhere deep inside me, something shattered.

I braced myself against the wall, coughing so hard that tears streamed down my face. I couldn't tell anymore whether they were from the pain or from the part of me that had just died.

Seven days.

I only needed seven days, and I could leave the man who had turned me into a joke. Leave this city soaked in my grief.

No more silent suffering as Mrs. Delgado. I was going to live for myself.

...

It all happened that morning. Alice used her "Mrs. Delgado" privileges to sweet-talk the hotel manager into handing over my keycard.

She swiped open my door. Before I could react, her bodyguard ripped the thin nightgown off my body. Her manicured nails raked across my face, leaving trails of burning, bloody scratches.

My husband appeared. He didn't help me. He wrapped both arms around that woman and held her tight, making me look like the real intruder—someone who deserved every blow, every insult.

Doors along the hallway swung open one by one. Strangers crowded into their doorframes, pointing, whispering, sneering.

"She deserves it. Homewreckers always get what's coming!"

"Stealing someone's husband wasn't enough—she got knocked up too! Probably trying to use the bastard to climb the ladder!"

Things flew at me. Eggs. Garbage. A half-empty water bottle someone had been drinking from. The sticky liquid dripped down my hair, and I threw my arms over my face, but someone's phone camera was already aimed right at me.

"Look at this, everyone! This is what happens to homewreckers! Let the whole world see this little tramp's face!"

I was being livestreamed.

My half-naked body. The bloody scratches on my face. The desperate way I curled around my belly. Thousands of people watched, cursed, and spat venom.

"I'm not the other woman! My baby isn't a bastard!" I screamed until my throat tore, but my voice drowned beneath the roar. "He's my husband!"

I was a cockroach dragged into the light, shaking from head to toe with humiliation.

I looked up at Dustin. Save me. My eyes begged.

His gaze landed on me for a brief moment, then slid away, weightless. Like he was watching a scene that had nothing to do with him.

Something inside me collapsed for good. Three years ago, my parents had warned me: the way Dustin looked at me held no real love—only novelty, only the thrill of the chase. I was nothing but a shiny new toy a spoiled heir had finally gotten his hands on.

But swept up in his relentless pursuit, I'd brushed their words aside like wind. To marry him, I'd cut ties with my family entirely.

Now I understood. I'd been pathetically, pitifully stupid.

Only after the abuse had nearly drowned me did Dustin give a slight jerk of his chin, signaling his bodyguards to shut down the livestreams. He'd timed it perfectly—let me suffer just enough to "learn my lesson," then tossed me a scrap of mercy like charity.

I steadied myself against the wall. Every inch of me trembled.

"Dustin, I don't understand." My voice was raw, scraped down to sandpaper. "She miscarried ages ago. How much longer do you expect me to wait? I'm not the mistress. Alice Dotson is—"

Crack.

His palm struck my face with every ounce of force he had. My skull rang. The world went black for three full seconds.

"Cecily Harding." Each syllable fell like a hammer blow, his eyes brimming with threat. "Don't forget—my wife is Alice Dotson."

Alice swept her gaze over me, triumph radiating from every pore. Then she nestled into Dustin's arms, lips curling, and held up her hand with a little wave. "Honey, I broke my fresh manicure teaching that homewrecker a lesson."

Dustin took her hand and rubbed her fingers, his expression so gentle it burned.

"It's fine," he said. "I'll get you the best nail artist in the city. A hundred new sets—pick whichever you like."

Then he took her hand and walked away.

I stood there, numb. The overhead light was blinding, but I was so cold my teeth chattered.

A long time passed before I dragged myself to the bathroom. I scrubbed the filth from my skin, cleaned the dried blood from my face, and dabbed ointment onto every wound, one by one, staring at my reflection.

The woman in the mirror was wrecked. Ugly. Unrecognizable. Tears blurred my vision as I dialed my father's number. "Dad, I'm leaving him. For good."

With his support behind me, I set out to find a divorce lawyer.

The elevator doors opened onto the underground parking garage, and my feet froze to the concrete.

Dustin's silver Maybach sat right ahead.

The window was half-down. Alice's slender arms were looped around Dustin's neck. She tilted her face up and pressed her lips to his.

Dustin paused for a fraction of a second. Then his hand found the back of her head, and he deepened the kiss.

Something collapsed inside my chest. The wall I'd built from self-deception—the lie I'd told myself for nearly a year, that he was only pretending to be Alice's husband because he had no choice.

Now I knew. There had never been any reluctance. He had wanted her all along.

Nausea surged without warning. I doubled over, gripping a concrete pillar, dry-heaving so violently I thought my insides would come up.

I staggered into my car and dialed the hospital.

"I'd like to schedule a termination."

"How far along are you?"

"Three months."

I lowered my head, pressing my hand against my belly.

This baby had been so hard to conceive—a miracle after the miscarriage six months ago. I'd believed it was the universe's way of making things right. That the three of us were finally going to be happy.

But now.

I closed my eyes. Tears slipped from the corners, unstoppable.

Baby, I'm so sorry. But Mommy can't bring you into a world with no love.

"Ms. Harding?" The voice on the other end pulled me back. "Your procedure is scheduled for two days from now. Please arrive on time."

"All right. Two days. I'll be there."

A knock rapped against the car window.

I whipped my head around.

Dustin Delgado stood outside the door. The dim garage lights stretched his shadow long across the concrete. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and the sharp planes of his face were carved into hard, cold lines by the half-light.

Those deep-set eyes—the ones that had once made me fall—were locked on me.

"Cecily." His brow furrowed. "Two days from now? Where are you going?"