Betrayed By Him, Claimed By His Brother

“He loves me, Doctor.”

The voice coming from Kyra Butler's laptop is somewhat distorted, a hoarse and anonymous disguise. She is a psychiatrist, and this is the voice of one of her clients who calls herself "Jane Doe."

“He’s just stuck in a marriage. And we have a child. A son who can inherit everything.”

These words, carrying a morbid sense of victory, fell like stones into the silence of Kyra's study in her Upper East Side home.

Kyra maintained a steady voice, her usual composure used to navigate the turbulent waves of others' lives. "So, how does that make you feel?"

A dry, weak laugh came from the speaker. "That makes me feel like I've won."

Kyra's stomach tightened. She was a professional, trained to remain detached, but a sharp, uncomfortable wave of nausea rose in her throat. Instinctively, she placed her hand on her protruding belly. Seven months pregnant.

“He bought me an apartment downtown,” Jane continued, her tone tinged with pride. “He turned down boring business dinners for me. And when his wife was pregnant, he chose to stay with me.”

Kyra's heart sank painfully. She guided the consultation to a professional close, her voice calm, like a tranquil surface on a turbulent sea of ​​disgust.

“Jane, our time is up for today. I’ve already scheduled our next consultation for the same time next week.”

The other person chuckled mockingly, seemingly unconcerned, "See you then, Doctor."

The connection was then lost.

Silence filled the room. Kyra pushed back from her desk, taking a deep breath, trying to dispel the client's toxic sense of satisfaction. She walked to the window, overlooking the green expanse of Central Park, but the view did not bring her peace.

Her phone vibrated. The screen displayed: Leah Foster. Her best friend.

Kyra answered the phone with a slight smile. Leah's energy was always a welcome remedy.

“I have something to tell you,” Leah said, her voice a low, almost secretive whisper.

Kyra laughed, the tension on her shoulder easing slightly. "What is it?"

"Jordin Rosario".

The name was like a needle, instantly piercing Kyra's sense of ease.

“She’s back, Kyra.” Leah’s voice trailed off. “I swear to God, I saw her near Lincoln Center.”

Kyra's smile froze. The gleaming wooden floor beneath her feet suddenly felt cold. Her fingers gripped her phone tightly, her knuckles turning white.

"Jordin?"

“Kyra? Are you alright?” Leah’s tone turned worried. “I know she’s a thing of the past for Kieran, but I just… I thought you should know.”

Kyra took a breath, forcing herself to sound calm. "I'm fine, Leah. Thank you for telling me. It's all in the past, right?"

But that peace shattered after the call ended.

Her husband's old flame returned to the city with a child.

These thoughts were like two parallel lines that refused to intersect, yet they created a dizzying, unbearable static in her mind.

She walked into the living room, her gaze falling on the wedding photo on the wall. Kieran Padilla, handsome and charming, looked at her with adoring eyes.

He loves her.

Jordin is the past. She repeated it to herself like a mantra.

But the word "child" was like a thorn, deeply embedded in her skin.

That night, the front door opened. Kieran came home. He was wearing a perfectly tailored Armani suit, and his smile was as warm and gentle as ever.

When he saw her, he immediately came forward and hugged her from behind. His hands gently rested on her pregnant belly.

"How are my two favorite people doing today?" he whispered in her ear in a deep voice, a familiar and intoxicating mix of weariness and love.

Kyra leaned against his chest, his familiar scent temporarily soothing her tense nerves. Her anxiety seemed to subside.

He turned her to face him, his gaze tender, and kissed her forehead. "Sorry, I might be late tonight. There's an urgent project in the office."

Kyra nodded, swallowing the urge to ask Jordin for news. She wouldn't be that kind of wife. That suspicious, insecure wife.