Chapter 5
632words
My doctor friend kept asking if I was sure about terminating this pregnancy—a miracle we'd struggled so hard to achieve.
Marcus probably had no idea about his low sperm motility.
All these years, his reluctance wasn't about timing—it was his fertility. I'd kept it secret to protect his ego.
I tried to speak into the phone, but my throat closed up.
After years of silent hoping, our miracle had finally happened—only to become the cruelest irony.
Since Mom died, only two things had given me purpose: Marcus's false warmth and now this child growing inside me.
But Marcus never loved me.
A knock broke the silence.
Five days of icy silence between us.
"Natalie, we need to talk."
I opened the door, my swollen eyes betraying hours of tears. Something like guilt flickered across his face.
"Look, divorce never crossed my mind. I know you're upset about Melanie Sinclair. I can explain everything."
Explain what, exactly?
How he tricked me out of a kidney for her sake, making me betray my mother's dying wish?
Or how he pocketed 800,000 under the guise of studying abroad, when he was really playing nurse to Melanie overseas?
Or maybe he'd explain how this baby was just an inconvenient accident—never part of his plan for us.
He reached for my arm, but I stepped back.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration evident, before forcing his voice to soften.
"Fine. Keep the baby if that's what you want. I won't fight you on it. Just stop with the drama."
"I've just landed the GM position. I can't afford distractions right now."
His irritation was palpable.
So distracted he answered his ringing phone with a sharp "What?" without checking the caller.
The caller hesitated.
"It's me, Marcus."
His entire demeanor transformed in an instant.
"God, I'm sorry, I was just…"
"I understand. You've got a lot on your plate."
"I hated to bother you, but if we wait any longer, this mess could jeopardize the Tianran deal. I don't know if my sister's misinterpreted our relationship, but…"
He hung up and immediately checked his notifications, his face darkening with each swipe.
"Did you do this?"
He thrust his phone at me, displaying viral videos and speculation.
I glimpsed headlines about Marcus Morgan's mysterious secret wife.
The internet was buzzing over cozy photos of him and Melanie Sinclair at recent events.
Some commenters suggested Melanie wasn't his secret wife but his mistress.
The scandal was already threatening the design partnerships Melanie had been cultivating.
I stared at him, incredulous.
"Will this nightmare ever end?"
"How many times do I have to tell you? We work together. That's it. You're obsessed with her because of ancient history between your mothers, aren't you?"
"She was thirteen, for God's sake—same as you. It's not fair to blame her for your mother's death."
"These childish tactics prove you're jealous and trying to force her out of the company."
His voice rose with each word as he paced, hands on hips, face contorted with anger.
"I married you, didn't I? Now I'm letting you keep this baby. What more do you want from me?"
"Are you trying to make me choose between Melanie and everything I've built? All because of your petty vendetta?"
"Are you finished, Marcus Morgan?"
My voice was ice despite the tears streaming down my face.
The man I thought I knew faded before my eyes.
Somehow, in his mind, I'd become the villain of this story.
But one thing was crystal clear: whenever Melanie Sinclair was involved, he lost all reason, ready to sacrifice anything for her.
No wonder Melanie had been so confident betting on my child's future.
"It wasn't me," I said quietly. "But you'll believe what you want to believe."
