My stomach lurched. She drifted past me as if I were invisible, no more significant than a lamp in the corner.

“To be honest,” she said with a casual shrug, “this house always felt far too empty for just one woman rattling around inside it.”

I whipped my gaze toward Dominic. “Tell me she’s lying.”

He gave me nothing. Not a word.

That silence thundered louder than a shouted confession.

I didn’t argue when Dominic announced Daniela would be moving in.

“She’s eight months pregnant,” he reminded me, as though I could forget. “She’s carrying our baby. It’s safer if she’s here with us. That way we can watch her closely and make sure everything goes smoothly.”

We. The word hit like a slap. As if my opinion mattered anymore.

His explanation? She had no family nearby, and she’d feel more comfortable in the mansion. That was his noble justification.

And me? I simply nodded.

What else could I do? Refuse, and look like the cruel, jealous wife? It wasn’t as if I could parade the truth around town: Oh, by the way, my husband has been secretly tampering with my medications for years so I’d never conceive, and now I suspect he’s sleeping with the surrogate carrying our child.

No. I swallowed my outrage. I said nothing.

---

During the first few days of her stay, I avoided her as much as I could. She spent her hours lounging in the sunroom, flipping through parenting guides, sipping delicate cups of herbal tea, humming little tunes like some glowing Madonna. Dominic prepared a room for her on the second floor—conveniently situated across from ours.

Too close. Far too close.

I kept telling myself I was being ridiculous. Overly sensitive. Emotional. Hormonal—even though I wasn’t the one swollen with pregnancy. But deep down, I knew something else was happening. Daniela wasn’t there just for the baby. Dominic wanted her there for himself.

And he doted on her in ways he never did for me.

He massaged her feet in the evenings while they watched television together—on the couch I had chosen. He fetched her blankets and tucked pillows under her side when she napped. He asked about her cravings, then instructed me to prepare the dishes she wanted. When she complained about her aching back, he turned to me with that authoritative tone: “Run her a bath. Use the lavender salts.”

Bit by bit, I faded. A ghost wandering my own home. A servant taking orders.

“Lorraine, can you warm her milk before she sleeps?”

“Lorraine, Daniela’s hungry again—make that soup she likes.”

“Lorraine, go buy her prenatal vitamins. Not the ordinary ones, the imported brand.”

I obeyed. Every time.

Because the rare moments I hesitated, he’d look at me with disdain, as if I were the selfish one, the unstable one, the woman unfit to be a mother.

I felt like a maid trapped in some twisted Victoral court—watching Dominic, the king, and Daniela, his pregnant queen, play house with my life.

And worst of all? He wasn’t even hiding it.

---

Then I stumbled across the photo.

I had only been searching Dominic’s desk for a pen. But buried beneath a tangle of old receipts and business papers was a picture—creased at the edges, but clear enough.

Dominic. And Daniela.

Younger. Smiling. His arm draped across her shoulders like it had always belonged there.

My stomach turned to lead.

That night, when I confronted him, I didn’t scream. I didn’t shed a single tear. I simply held up the photo. My voice steady. “How long?”

He didn’t even flinch. Just exhaled heavily, leaning against the dresser with arms crossed, as though I were asking about a late meeting instead of betrayal.

“It was years ago,” he said flatly. “A fling. Nothing important.”

“I thought she was your cousin’s friend.”

“So what? She’s just the surrogate now. That’s all this is. You’re imagining things again.”

Again. The word stung like a lash. Always dismissing me as the irrational wife who blew everything out of proportion.

I wanted to hurl the photo in his face. Instead, I turned on my heel and walked away.

---

That night, sleep eluded me.

The bed was cold, sheets untouched on his side. Dominic never returned. He had murmured something earlier about an “urgent meeting” with foreign investors.

“Don’t wait up,” he’d said smoothly. “It’s business.”

And like the fool I was, I believed him. Like I always did.

But hours ticked by. Midnight slid past. The house was too silent. My chest tightened. I needed air.

I rose, padded down the hall. Passed the balcony doors. Then—Daniela’s room. Her door wasn’t shut. A narrow gap gave me a view inside.

What I saw stopped my heart cold.

Dominic.

Completely bare.

Driving himself into Daniela from behind. Her swollen belly heavy between her arms as she held herself up on hands and knees.

And he wasn’t quiet.

“Yes—harder, Dominic,” Daniela moaned, her voice drenched in pleasure. “I love it when you lose control with me.”

He gripped her hips, pulling her back with brutal force.

“This cunt is perfect,” he groaned. “You were made for me.”

She twisted her head, smiling over her shoulder. “Eight months pregnant with your baby, and I still want you every night. Doesn’t that make you insane with desire?”

His hand cracked across her ass. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

“And your wife?” Daniela’s laugh rang out, sharp and cruel. “That little fool asleep down the hall?”

He chuckled darkly. “She’s nothing. Just a name. You’re the one I love. You’re the one I fuck.”

“Say it again,” she begged breathlessly.

“I love you, Daniela,” Dominic growled, voice raw. “I fucking love you. I’ve been with you for three years—while married to her.”

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

I wanted to rip the door open, to scream, to burn everything to ash. But my body betrayed me, rooted to the spot.

I just stood there, watching the man I had given my life to tear it apart without hesitation.

And Daniela reveled in it.

She moaned louder, clawing the sheets. “You’re not going back to her. Not after this. Not when I make you this desperate. I own you now.”

“You do,” Dominic gasped, driving harder. “I’ll keep fucking you until you can’t take anyone else.”

Each thrust slammed into me like a hammer, splintering what little remained of my heart.

My stomach turned, bile rising. Because suddenly everything aligned—every excuse, every lie.

Those urgent late-night calls.

The endless “business trips abroad.”

The hushed conversations that ended the second I stepped into the room.

The supposed year-long project that required him overseas.

Three years.

Three of the four years we were married… he had belonged to her.

I wasn’t his wife.

I was a mask. A convenient front.

A pawn he kept around to make everything look proper, while he built his true life—with her.

That evening, I didn’t shout. I didn’t hurl anything across the room. I didn’t storm into Daniela’s chamber, rip away her sheets, or pour bleach all over Dominic’s clothes still hanging in our closet.

Instead, I slipped back into my room in silence. Like a shadow fading back into its tomb.

I closed the door softly behind me and collapsed onto the cold floorboards.

The tears didn’t come instantly. I was too stunned, too hollow for that kind of release. I simply sat there, my back against the wall, staring at nothing. Their voices replayed inside my skull like a curse. “You belong to me.” “She means nothing.” “Three years.”

Three years.

They had been bound together longer than some marriages lasted. All the while, I lay in his bed, cooking him breakfast, begging heaven for a child with every piece of my soul—while he gave all that devotion, all that intimacy, to her.

Eventually, my trembling hands reached for my phone.

There was only one person I trusted enough to call. Only one who would never sugarcoat the truth.

I pressed dial.

“Lorraine?” Dr. Elira’s voice was thick with sleep, rough at the edges. I had woken her. “What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

I forced a swallow past the knot in my throat. “I… I need your help.”

“What happened?”

“I need you to run a DNA test on the surrogate. Quietly. Quickly. Please… can you manage that?”

There was a sharp silence on the line. Then she asked gently, “Are you alright?”

“No,” I admitted. “But before I collapse completely, I need to know the truth.”

She didn’t demand explanations. She didn’t press further. Only said, “I’ll reach out to some contacts. Give me a little time.”

By the next morning, she called me back.

“I got access to Daniela’s file.”

I answered from the garden, watering the roses with a steady hand that disguised the storm inside me. Dominic was indoors, cheerfully eating breakfast with her.

My pulse thundered in my ears. “And? What did you discover?”

Her voice lowered, a cautious whisper. “Lorraine… there are no IVF records. No documentation of egg retrieval. No implantation logs. Not even a surrogate agreement under your name. Nothing exists.”

I clutched the stone bench as though it might anchor me. “What does that mean?”

“She was never engaged as your surrogate, G,” Elira murmured, careful but firm. “She isn’t carrying your child. That embryo doesn’t belong to you.”

My mouth went dry.

“She and Dominic… they conceived on their own.”

The world froze.

The breeze halted.

Birdsong cut out.

Even my pulse stopped echoing.

“Lorraine?” Elira called again, worry lacing her tone. “Are you—”

I ended the call. Breathing felt impossible.

Everything inside me had been stripped away.

I didn’t wait for him to come to me.

That night, once Daniela had floated upstairs—after Dominic kissed her cheek, stroked her belly, and whispered “my queen” against her skin—I confronted him in his office.

He glanced up, startled. “You’re still awake?”

I shut the door with a click. “I talked to Elira.”

A flicker of shadow crossed his eyes.

“She reviewed Daniela’s records.”

Dead silence.

“There was no embryo transfer. No hormone cycles. No legal contracts. Nothing at all.”

He exhaled slowly. “So?”

“So you lied to me.”

“I shielded you.”

“No!” My voice trembled, rising. “You deceived me. You let me believe SHE WAS CARRYING MY CHILD!”

His gaze didn’t even flicker. “I needed a Beaumont heir of strength. Your body couldn’t produce one. Hers could.”

The words cut colder than ice. Delivered without remorse.

“You don’t even hear yourself,” I whispered, horrified.

“I did what was necessary.”

“You stole four years of my life. You let me drown in shame, thinking I was defective, that I was failing you.”

His jaw clenched hard. “You were never strong enough to bear a child.”

My palm flew before I could stop it. The crack of the slap echoed like thunder. He didn’t flinch.

“I gave you everything,” I breathed, voice breaking. “My devotion. My trust. My body. My soul. And all you offered back was betrayal.”

He stood tall, expression unreadable. “You have security. Status. You wear the Beaumont name. That alone should satisfy you.”

“It doesn’t.”

He stepped toward me. “You’re emotional. I understand. But let’s not destVictor what we’ve built. The baby is nearly here. We can move forward.”

I stepped back, shaking.

“No more lies. No more pretense. I’m done. I want out.”

His eyes narrowed. “Out?”

“I want a divorce.”

He let out a low, chilling laugh. “You won’t be leaving.”

“You can’t trap me.”

“Oh, I can,” he murmured. “And I will. For your safety, naturally.”

And just like that, the mansion transformed into a gilded prison.

Guards were stationed at the gates. My phone was tapped. Every call traced. The car keys stripped from me. My credit cards frozen. He told the staff I was spiraling, unwell.

“Just until she recovers,” he assured them. “She’s under heavy stress.”

And night after night, he entered my room, pretending nothing had shattered. Pretending we were still husband and wife.

But I said nothing. I didn’t meet his gaze.

The truth was, I had already left.

Only my body remained inside those walls.

My mind, my heart—they were already charting their escape.

And I swore to myself, with every breath I had left…

If he thought I was fragile before, he hadn’t seen the storm yet.

---

Sleep brought no peace. I woke each morning with that heavy stone of grief wedged deep in my chest. The bed felt like ice, untouched for days. Dominic never crossed that threshold anymore. I knew where he was—comforting Daniela, basking in the glow of her prize pregnancy.

The house, once mine, now felt foreign. Like a museum of my past life where I wandered as an intruder. The staff, once warm, now eyed me like glass that might crack without warning. Just yesterday, one of them dared to address her as “Mrs. Beaumont.”

I hadn’t corrected it. What was the point of fighting shadows?

Daniela drifted through those halls as though they had always been hers. She wore my silk robes, drank my imported tea, and carried herself with that smug smile as if the war was already won.

Perhaps it was.

That morning, I found her in the kitchen. She had claimed the brightest patch of sunlight, lounging like a pampered cat. She wore one of my sweaters—stretched tight across her growing belly—and cradled a cup of my imported tea like it was her birthright.

When I entered, she didn’t even flinch. Just raised her eyes lazily, smirk tugging at her lips.

“Did you enjoy the little performance the other night?” she asked.

My heart stumbled. “What are you talking about?”

Her head tilted, mock innocence dripping from her tone. “Me and Dominic. Upstairs. The moans. The headboard slamming. Tell me, Lorraine… you were listening, weren’t you? Pathetic.”

Air deserted my lungs.

Her grin stretched wider, wicked and gleaming with triumph.

“You pathetic little thing,” she purred. “Still holding onto scraps of hope as if they were ever worth anything.”

My throat tightened, but I forced words out through the shaking.

“How? How did you and Dominic even manage this? All those months—you pretending to be my surrogate. All those fabricated stories. Were you laughing at me behind closed doors the entire time?”

She shrugged, slow and poised, as though she were delivering a performance.

“Oh, darling, you should ask Dominic. He was the one spoon-feeding you the fantasy, night after night.”

Then she leaned in, lowering her voice until it dripped like poison into my ear.

“But between us? Playing you was child’s play.”

“You lied to me,” I whispered, trembling.

Her smirk sharpened. “Not a lie. A role. I acted. You chose to swallow it whole because you were starving for it.”

My chest threatened to cave in. I wanted to scream, to shake her until her smugness shattered, to claw the grin off her face. But my body betrayed me—I stood motionless, unraveling thread by fragile thread.

Her hand caressed her swollen belly in a slow circle.

“This life,” she said, her tone almost reverent, “was never meant for you. This is ours—mine and Dominic’s. Conceived in passion, built on real desire. The kind of fire he only pretended to feel with you.”

The world tilted. I should’ve hurled something at her. Should’ve silenced her with my hand. Instead, I stared, rage hardening into something even heavier—sorrow, perhaps.

She leaned closer, lips curling. “Do you really think Dominic stayed because of you? His loyalty is to blood. Not to broken promises… and certainly not to barren wives.”

I left before the fury in my bones dragged me into something I couldn’t undo.

---

That afternoon, the air itself felt different—dense, threatening, like the house was holding its breath. I sensed the coming storm before it began.

“Dominic!” she called suddenly, her voice deliberately loud, carrying down the hallways where staff lingered. “Your miserable wife can’t stop staring at me. She keeps glaring at my stomach like she wishes the baby would disappear!”

I froze, heat flooding my chest. “Don’t start with me.”

She cocked her head, mock pity dripping from every syllable. “What’s wrong? Jealous that I slip into your clothes better than you ever managed?”

My fists tightened until my nails cut into my palms. “You’re delusional.”

She glided forward, smile stretching wider, crueler. “Be grateful Dominic didn’t toss you aside years ago. Most men wouldn’t have tolerated such a broken woman past the second year of disappointment.”

Something inside me snapped clean in two.

I stepped forward, close enough for her to see the fire in my eyes. I didn’t touch her. I swear I didn’t.

“You don’t have the right to speak about things you’ll never comprehend.”

But her gasp pierced the air. She stumbled back, collapsed to her knees with a practiced sob, clutching her stomach as if struck.

“Dominic! She shoved me! The baby—oh God, it hurts!”

My heart stopped. “What? That’s a lie, I didn’t—”

And then Dominic came thundering into the room.

Time fractured into pieces.

He saw her trembling on the ground, crying into her hands. He saw me standing above her, my hands trembling, my face twisted in shock.

“What have you done?” His voice was low, monstrous, unrecognizable.

“I never touched her—”

“Enough!” he roared. “You couldn’t bear it, could you? That my legacy, my future, is inside another woman.”

Tears blurred my vision. “Dominic, listen to me—”

But he didn’t.

Daniela clung to him like a child, burying her face into his chest, wailing. “She hates the baby! She said she wanted it gone—dead!”

Every word was venom. Lies, all of it. But the walls swallowed my protests.

Dominic’s gaze burned through me. He really looked at me then, as if seeing me for the first time in weeks.

And then his hand struck.

It was fast. Brutal. A crack across my face that split the air. My head whipped sideways, pain exploding white-hot. Blood gushed from my nose, filling my mouth with iron. My lip tore against my teeth. The marble floor blurred as the room spun violently out of control.

I staggered backward, barely catching myself.

Daniela’s theatrical cry rose again. “Dominic! No—don’t hurt her. She’s confused, she’s sick… maybe we should—”

“Enough,” he growled, his eyes still locked on me. “She hurt you. No one hurts my woman.”

My stomach lurched.

His woman.

Not me.

Her.

Blood dripped from my chin, warm against my freezing skin. The copper taste mixed with betrayal until I thought I might choke.

“She’s not well,” Daniela whispered, her false sympathy slithering through the air. “But tossing her out? It’s freezing tonight…”

His jaw set like stone. “Let her feel it. Throw her out!”

The guards obeyed without hesitation.

This time, they didn’t guide me—they dragged me. My feet scraped against the polished floor. My fingers clawed desperately at the walls, catching for one last anchor, but there was none.

The night swallowed me whole.

The door slammed shut with the cruel finality of a tomb.

The wind howled, merciless, carrying icy shards that sliced through my skin. Snow had begun to fall—slow at first, then thick, heavy flakes, burying the world in silence.

I had no shoes. No coat. Only the thin sweater—the same one Daniela had flaunted that morning—now soaked and heavy as snow clung to it.

Each breath seared like knives. Blood streamed down my face, freezing on my skin. The trees doubled, blurred, as I stumbled step by step across the frozen ground.

Once, my knees gave out. Then again. But I crawled forward.

Lights flickered in the distance, hazy and unreachable.

I had been Lorraine Beaumont. Now I was no one.

The road bent. My vision collapsed.

Headlights tore through the night—blinding, merciless, too fast to stop.

Impact.

Metal screamed. My body lifted, shattered, and crashed against the frozen ground with a sound that split the silence. Blood spread across the snow, blooming like an unholy flower.

Through the frost-fogged window of the estate, Dominic turned.

He saw me. My body twisted, bloodied, broken.

“Lorraine!” His voice cracked as he lunged for the door.

But before he reached me—

Daniela’s shriek filled the halls. She bent over, clutching her stomach, her face contorted.

“Dominic! The baby—it’s coming! Oh God, I think I’m in labor!”