Marriage for Sweet Revenge

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled my nostrils as Dr. Sharma smiled warmly at me from across her desk. My fingers nervously tapped against my knee—a habit I'd developed since childhood whenever anticipation built within me.

"Everything looks perfect, Josephine. You're eight weeks along, and both you and the baby are healthy."

Eight weeks. The words echoed in my mind, sending ripples of joy through my body. I pressed my hand against my still-flat stomach, marveling at the miracle growing inside me. Ian and I had been trying for nearly a year.

"Would you like to hear the heartbeat?" Dr. Sharma asked, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

Minutes later, as the rapid flutter filled the examination room, tears welled in my eyes. Our baby. Our future. One week before our wedding, this felt like the universe's blessing on our seven years together.

"I want to surprise him," I told Marcus, my assistant, as he drove me back toward the financial district. "Drop me at Ian's penthouse instead."

Marcus raised an eyebrow in the rearview mirror. "You never show up unannounced."

"That's what makes it a surprise," I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in months.

The doorman greeted me with familiar warmth as I entered Ian's building. In the elevator, I rehearsed how I'd share the news, imagining the look of wonder that would transform Ian's face. My key slid into the lock with practiced ease.

"Ian?" I called out, my voice lilting with excitement as I closed the door behind me. "I have something amazing to tell you!"

Silence greeted me, but his Tesla was in the garage, so I knew he was home. Perhaps he was on a call in his office or taking a shower. I climbed the spiral staircase, my hand gliding along the cool metal railing.

"Ian, where are—"

My voice died in my throat as I reached the bedroom doorway. Time seemed to fracture around me, each second stretching into an eternity as my mind struggled to process the scene before me.

Ian's naked body was tangled with another's—familiar curves, familiar golden hair splayed across the pillows. My sister. My twin. Shiloh.

They hadn't heard me. I stood frozen, a ghost in the doorway, as Shiloh's hand moved to rest on her slightly rounded belly.

"Don't worry about Josephine," she purred, her voice a knife twisting in my gut. "Once you give her those pills, her pregnancy will be gone. A tragic, natural miscarriage."

My blood turned to ice in my veins.

Ian chuckled, the sound so casual it made me sick. "She'll never suspect a thing. She's completely bought the PTSD story. Poor, naive Josephine, always so eager to help, so trusting." His fingers traced lazy circles on my sister's skin. "Your baby will be my only heir. Just as we planned."

I backed away silently, my hand pressed against my mouth to contain the scream building in my chest. The world tilted and swayed around me as I descended the stairs on trembling legs. Somehow, I made it outside before the first sob escaped me.

Seven hours later, I sat in my apartment, hollow-eyed and eerily calm. The initial shock had crystallized into something cold and hard within me. When my doorbell rang at precisely 7:00 PM, I knew exactly who it was.

I opened the door to Ian's smiling face, his blue eyes—eyes I once thought held the universe—now revealing nothing but emptiness to me.

"Hey beautiful," he said, kissing my cheek as he entered. "How are you feeling?"

"A little tired," I replied, my voice steady despite the hurricane raging inside me. The small recording device tucked into my sweater pocket felt heavy against my ribs.

"I brought your vitamins," he said, producing a small bottle from his jacket. "The doctor says these prenatal ones are the best for early pregnancy."

My hands didn't shake as I accepted them. "That's so thoughtful. What would I do without you taking such good care of me?"

His smile widened, and I saw something predatory in it now. How had I never noticed before?

"That's what I'm here for," he said, watching intently as I pretended to swallow one of the pills that would kill our child—the pills that could have killed me.

I smiled back at him, already plotting my revenge.