The Fake Marriage, the Real Mistress, and the Baby He Wants Me to Abort Chapter 8
Blood soaked through Chloe’s white dress, spreading in a slow, dark stain. Her face had gone white as chalk
“Julian… the baby…”
“Please save the baby -”
Julian didn’t look at her. Not once. He was staring at me like Chloe didn’t exist, like the blood spreading beneath her didn’t exist – just waiting for me to speak.
“Julian, you think my mom’s still sitting around waiting for you to track her down?”
“She left days ago.”
“Your threats don’t work anymore.”
I turned and walked through the boarding gate. Julian lunged after me, but security closed ranks and held him back.
I found my seat. I buckled in. I sat perfectly still until the wheels left the ground. Riverton shrank beneath me – the buildings, the bridges, all of it shrinking to nothing – and only then did it hit me.
I was actually gone. The city that had taken everything I had was disappearing below the clouds.
Seven hours later, I stepped off the plane in the Caribbean. The heat hit me like a wall thick, tropical, alive – and for the first time in half a decade, the ache in my chest loosened.
I stayed for six months. I stopped checking the news, stopped looking over my shoulder. I let myself live. I let myself feel something other than pain.
Then a group of tourists from the States checked into the bed-and-breakfast where I was staying. The first day, I caught them staring.
I told myself I was imagining things. A few days later, they pulled out their phones and started taking pictures of me.
I walked over, ready to say something – but they were already on the phone.
“Is this Vance Enterprises?”
“Yeah, we found her the girl you’ve been looking for. She’s here, in the Caribbean.
The name hit me like cold water. Vance Enterprises. Six months of distance, six months of silence – I’d almost convinced myself it was over.
One phone call and it all flooded back. I packed my things that night and was gone before sunrise.
A week passed. Nothing. A month passed. Still nothing.
I was starting to believe I was safe. Then Julian showed up at my door.
He was standing in the middle of my little fruit shop, his black suit cutting sharply against the ripe colors.
and sweet air completely wrong, like a stain on a painting.
“Claire.”
“How’ve you been?”
His voice should’ve sounded familiar. It didn’t. It sounded like something from another life.
I didn’t answer. I picked up the crate of fruit I’d been sorting and walked past him toward the door.
His hand closed around my wrist. When he spoke, his voice was shaking.
“Claire, I’m falling apart.”
“My own mother – my real mother-colluded with my rivals to take everything from me. My company, my inheritance – all of it.”
“Isn’t that hilarious?”
His laugh was hollow, his eyes raw-rimmed. His hand drifted toward his pocket – reaching for a cigarette on instinct.
I stepped back. His hand froze. The cigarette slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor.
“I won’t smoke – I’m done, I’m quitting.”
“Right now. Starting today.”
The words came tumbling out. I gave him nothing back.
“Claire, my entire life has been a lie. Every piece of it.”
“My parents’ marriage – fake. Their love for me – fake.”
“You were the only thing that was real, Claire.”
“The only real thing I ever had.”
“I know I was wrong. Come home with me – please.”
“Chloe’s gone. I took care of it. She won’t be a problem ever again.”
“This time, I swear on my life – it’ll just be us. No one else. Ever.”