The Fake Marriage, the Real Mistress, and the Baby He Wants Me to Abort Chapter 3
I came to on an operating table. The room stank – mildew, rust, and something chemical that burned the back of my throat.
Julian’s voice was right beside me, low and flat.
“Get it out of her.”
“And make it quick – I need to get back to the apartment to my wife tonight.”
I tried to fight. My arms wouldn’t move. Hands pressed down on my stomach, rough and hard, and something wrenched inside me.
“Well, that’s a first- never had anyone roll up in a Maybach for a back-alley job.”
“The guy in the suit said she’s a homewrecker. Figured this dump was all she deserved.”
They both laughed – ugly, sneering. Something tore through my abdomen, white-hot.
“God, I can’t stand homewreckers.”
“Wait she’s a homewrecker?”
“And here I was starting to feel bad for ewrecker a lesson.”
Auto-added to the Library
The numbness in my stomach cracked open moram, scaring point screamed.
A hand shoved a rag into my mouth – oily and foul.
“Shut up, slut.”
“You don’t get to scream.”
She dug her fingers into my lower abdomen and pressed hard. I flinched, gasping through the rag – and that was when Chloe’s voice cut through the wall, sharp and upset.
“Julian, this is too far!”
“You can’t send Claire to a place like this – this is barbaric!”
“I couldn’t help falling for you – yes, I chased after you, I admit it.”
“But I never wanted to hurt Claire. I just… I just wanted you, even if it was only once.”
Chloe pressed her face into Julian’s shoulder, sobbing, then pulled away and started toward the operating room.
Julian caught her arm, pulled her back, and lowered his head close to hers.
“Chloe, stop. You’re my wife – Claire’s just a homewrecker.”
“This is exactly what she deserves.”
“Don’t make a scene. You know I don’t like scenes.”
The last line came edged with warning- not a request.
Chloe went still. Then she turned, rose onto her toes, and kissed him.
“Don’t be mad, Julian. You’re right I’m sorry.”
“Tonight, whatever you want… I’m yours.”
From the operating table, I could see them through the glass – their silhouettes pressed together, mouths
locked. Something in my chest collapsed. I couldn’t breathe.
The cold had spread everywhere now my hands, my chest, behind my eyes. The edges of the room softened and blurred.
“What the what’s happening?!”
“She’s hemorrhaging!”
“Get him in here – get the guy who brought her! Now!”
Someone was screaming by my head. I rolled my head toward the window. The hallway was empty. Julian was gone.
“Where the hell did he go?!”
“The bleeding won’t stop call 911!”
Monitors shrieked somewhere above me. My vision fractured – moments, faces, fragments of the life I thought I had.
I don’t know how long I was out. Sirens pulled me back close, closer.
“Move – get her on the stretcher!”
“What the hell were you doing at a place like this? Were you trying to get yourself killed?!”
The paramedic was cursing under his breath, hands pumping against my chest.
“Who’s your emergency contact?!”
A medic grabbed my phone and held it up to my face to unlock it.
She found the contact labeled [Fiancé] and hit call. The line picked up.
What came through the speaker wasn’t words. It was moaning – a man and a woman, unmistakable,
rhythmic, obscene. The paramedic’s jaw tightened, but he kept pumping my chest.
–
Miss is there anyone else we can call?”
“Miss
The phone was still connected. Their sounds filled the ambulance – every gasp, every moan. I had no tears left.
My fingers found a number I hadn’t dialed in years.
“Mom… I’m so sorry.”