I was six months into my second marriage, carrying a belly that felt like a heavy secret, when my ex-husband crawled back into my life. He looked at me with a sickening mix of nostalgia and regret. “Erica, you were right,” Derek sighed, his voice thick with a staged kind of epiphany. “Amber was only ever after the money. She didn’t pass the test you set for her.” His gaze dropped to the curve of my stomach, and a sudden, delirious smile broke across his face. “I see it now. You’re the only one who ever truly loved me. We can put this behind us. From now on, it’s just the three of us—a real family.” Eight months ago, this man stood in our living room and confessed his affair with a girl barely out of her teens. Ten years. We had spent ten years building an empire from the lint in our pockets. We started in a studio apartment where the heater rattled like a dying ghost, sharing a single dollar-menu burger as our only meal for the day. And once the bank account finally reflected the blood, sweat, and tears I’d poured into his dreams, he told me he’d rather die than stay married to me. He wanted her. I wasn’t going to let a decade of my life be handed over on a silver platter to a home-wrecker. So, I played the long game. I looked him in the eye and lied through my teeth. “She only loves your net worth,” I had told him back then. “If you don’t believe me, sign everything over to me. Leave with nothing but the shirt on your back. If she stays with you through two years of struggle, I’ll admit it’s true love. I’ll give the assets back then.” He was so drunk on his own ‘epic’ romance that he believed me. He signed the papers. He walked away with zero. Now, snapping back to the present, Derek reached out, his hand trembling with an unearned intimacy, intending to touch my belly. I slapped his hand away. My voice was a blade of ice. “You don’t get a second chance, Derek. I have a husband. A real one. And unlike you, he actually knows how to take care of his family.” 1 Derek let out a soft, dismissive chuckle, the kind he used to use when he thought I was being ‘difficult.’ He opened his arms as if expecting me to fall into them. “I was a jerk, okay? I broke your heart. But let’s drop the act, Eri. I know you’re just saying this to hurt me.” He took a step closer, his eyes softening into that manipulative puppy-dog look. “I know I messed up. Stop being stubborn.” In Derek’s mind, I was a well of infinite forgiveness. He was convinced that no matter the scale of the betrayal, a few sweet words and a lowered head would bring me back to heel. He didn’t realize that infidelity wasn’t just a mistake; it was a scorched-earth policy. He had worked very hard to ensure there was nothing left of my love to salvage. “Derek, look at me,” I said, my tone hardening. “I am married. Do you not understand English?” He continued to smirk, that arrogant, lopsided grin he’d used for a decade to end every argument. He’d keep it up until I cracked a smile, until the tension broke, and he was off the hook again. It had always worked. He looked at my protruding stomach, his confidence swelling. “Alright, alright. Enough. You’re practically due. I’m not an idiot, Eri. Don’t use a fake marriage to pick a fight with me.” What he didn’t know was that I was carrying twins. At six months, I looked like I was ready to pop any day. He’d done the math in his head—the wrong math—and decided this child was his parting gift to me. “I’m having twins, Derek. I have a husband. I have a new life. This baby? Not yours. Not even close.” He didn’t even flinch. His ego was a fortress. “You always were a terrible liar,” he said, sounding almost proud. “You’d never carry another man’s child. You’re mine, Erica. In this life and the next. I know how much you love me. I’ve never doubted it for a second.” A cold, bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat. Love? Mentioning children to me was like twisting a serrated knife in an old wound. In ten years of marriage, I had been pregnant three times. I had lost all of them. The first time was because of his mother. I was seven months along. She’d decided, based on some archaic old-wives’ tale about the shape of my bump, that I was having a girl. Without a word to me, she started slipping abortifacients into my food. I didn’t just lose the baby; I almost bled out on the kitchen floor. When I demanded a divorce, Derek didn’t leave—he just cried and begged me to forgive her. I didn’t. I called the police and watched them haul his mother to a cell. The second time was our fifth year. Derek got into a bar fight with a competitor, nearly killing the man. He was sentenced to two years. I was three months pregnant, drowning in legal fees and stress, running myself ragged to keep his reputation alive. The baby didn’t survive the chaos. The third time was our ninth year. Two months along. That was when Amber appeared. She pushed me during an argument at the top of the stairs. I spiraled down, and the life inside me flickered out. Derek didn’t even raise his voice at her. Ten years of shared breath, shared poverty, and shared dreams… all discarded for the giggle of a nineteen-year-old girl. 2 I reached into my bag to call my husband, but Derek’s phone buzzed first. From the corner of my eye, I saw the lock screen. It was Amber—a filtered, pouting selfie. Derek darkened the screen instantly, his face shifting into a mask of hurried business. “I have to handle something,” he said, dismissive as ever. “Send me your new address. I’ll come over later tonight so we can talk about coming home.” And just like that, he ran off. After the divorce, I hadn’t just moved; I had purged. I sold the company. I sold the mansion I had spent years decorating. I sold the luxury cars he had hand-picked. He knew I’d liquidated everything, but he had no idea I’d remarried within eight weeks. I wondered what his face would look like when he realized the ‘test’ for Amber was a lie, and the ‘clean break’ was the only thing that was real. On the ride home, my phone chimed. An anonymous message. A video. It was filmed in the corner of a crowded, dimly lit bar. Derek was there, his arm wrapped around a heavily made-up Amber. She was sporting a small, tell-tale bump of her own. “Only a year and a half to go,” Amber whined, leaning into him. “Then we get the money back. I don’t want you crawling back to that old woman. Can’t we just wait?” Derek’s fingers traced her jawline with a sickening tenderness. “You’re pregnant, babe. I don’t want you and the kid living like paupers. Just let me get back with Erica, and as soon as the assets are back in my name, you’ll be back in silk and diamonds.” Amber’s face soured. She balled up her fist and tapped his chest playfully, though her eyes were sharp. “You better not be lying. If you hadn’t listened to her and signed everything away, we wouldn’t have to do this. You actually let her make you doubt me!” Derek caught her hand and kissed it, though his voice held a new edge of sternness. “I said I’d take care of it. Just stay quiet. I’ll tell you the truth—I regret the divorce, but only because it was messy. Once I’m back with her, she’ll do the work, and you’ll get the reward.” Amber wasn’t mollified. She hit her own stomach lightly. “I’m the one carrying your legacy! Do you even care? I think you’re still obsessed with her.” Derek grabbed her wrist, his voice dropping an octave. “I told you. If you don’t make a scene, you get whatever you want. I need Erica. She’s the only one who can actually run the business side of things. I’m tired of being broke. Just stay out of my way while I reel her back in.” Amber looked cowed by his tone. She nodded, her eyes welling with fake, practiced tears. “So you’re just using her for the money? You promise I’m the one who matters?” Derek wiped her cheek, his expression softening into something like pity. “You’re both important in different ways. Erica is… she’s my first wife. It’s been hard without her. But she’s the one who makes the money. You’re the one I enjoy it with. Just don’t mess this up for me.” Then, he leaned in and kissed her. I stared at the screen, a cold, sharp smile spreading across my face. It didn’t matter what his motives were. He was never getting back in. 3 He was right about one thing: I was the only one who could help him. From age twenty to thirty, I was his everything. I was his maid, his chef, his CFO, and his shield. When we were starving, I’d give him the larger half of the bread. When his stomach ulcers acted up and he couldn’t drink at business dinners, I was the one who went shot-for-shot with investors until I was hospitalized with alcohol poisoning, just to close his deals. He used to hold me and sob, promising me the world. “A virtuous wife lifts her husband to the clouds; I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never touch the ground.” He swore he’d never betray me. But then Amber smiled at him, and suddenly I was “old” and “boring.” He forgot the girl who bled for his bank account. I watched the city lights blur outside the car window. I felt nothing—no sadness, no joy. Just a clinical sense of satisfaction. I had traded my youth for a fortune. And as for a husband? I had found a significant upgrade. The following weekend, I was at a high-end prenatal center for a class. To my absolute disgust, I ran into Derek and Amber. It was a “Couples’ Bonding” session. My husband, Beckett, was supposed to be there, but he’d been injured in a car accident during a business trip in London a week ago. He was stuck in a hospital bed across the Atlantic, so I was attending alone. Derek’s eyes widened when he saw me. In a room full of people, he tried to play it cool, acting like he didn’t know me. I returned the favor, treating him like background noise. The entire hour was a performance. Amber made sure to moan “Husband” or “Honey” at every opportunity. During the tactile bonding exercises, she hung off him, throwing triumphant, venomous glances my way. She looked like she’d won the lottery. I didn’t give her the satisfaction of a second glance. As I walked toward my Maybach in the parking lot afterward, Derek caught up to me, breathless. “Eri, wait. Let me explain.” He reached out to grab my arm. I yanked it away, my eyes flashing. “I am not your wife, Derek. Your life is none of my business. If you’re here to talk about the assets—” “Derek!” Amber appeared, a fake, sugary sweet smile plastered on her face. She stepped up to us and looked at me with mock sympathy. “Erica, hi! Look, I wanted to say… I’m going to be so good from now on. I know I’m younger, and you were here first. It’s only right that you’re the ‘Head Wife’ and I’m the ‘Second.’” She patted her stomach and then pointed at mine. “Since we’re both pregnant, the kids can be best friends! It’ll be like one big happy family.” She was a better actress than I gave her credit for. Derek looked at me with a terrifyingly sincere expression. “I was going to break up with her, Eri. I swear. But she’s pregnant. I have to be responsible. But I’m never leaving you again. We’ve been through too much. These last few months… I realized I’m nothing without you. Amber will be quiet. She’ll stay in her place. Just… be the bigger person, okay? For us?” I wasn’t angry. I was genuinely amused by his delusion. “Derek, for the last time. I. Am. Married. And this child is not—” Amber interrupted with a tinkling laugh. “Oh, Erica, stop with the ‘playing hard to get’ act. If you were married, where’s your husband? Why are you at a couples’ class alone? I’m literally offering to be the mistress just so Derek can have you back. Please, just accept it.” Derek patted my shoulder with nauseating condescension. “Alright, enough with the temper tantrum.” His phone rang—a client. He glanced at the ID and then back at me. “Wednesday. I’ll pick you up. We’re going to the courthouse to get remarried. Don’t be late.” He didn’t even wait for an answer. He assumed my silence was submission. 4 Suddenly, Amber doubled over, clutching her stomach and gagging. Derek, who had already turned to leave, pivoted back instantly, fussing over her. Amber looked up at him with teary eyes. “It’s the morning sickness, honey. Taxis always make it worse. Can we…?” Without a word of transition, Derek reached into my hand and snatched my car keys. “I’m taking Amber home,” he said, already steering her toward the passenger side of my car. “I have meetings and I need the wheels. You can just call an Uber, right, Eri?” He helped her into the seat before I could even process the sheer audacity. He climbed into the driver’s seat, closing the door with finality. For ten years, he had been conditioned to ignore my feelings. He truly believed that whatever he said, I would simply do. I stood there, stone-cold, as he started the engine. “That car is mine, Derek. If you pull out of that spot, I’m calling the police.” He frowned, his lips moving as if to argue, but Amber let out a sharp cry of pain from the passenger seat. “Derek, it hurts! I think the stress is getting to the baby!” All of Derek’s focus shifted back to her. “I’ve got you, babe. Hang on.” He floored it. My car sped out of the lot, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust. I didn’t hesitate. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. The rest was handled by my legal team. Derek was arrested for grand theft auto and sentenced to fifteen days in county jail. When he got out, he went on a rampage trying to find me, but I was a ghost. Until, that is, the night of the Lawson wedding. My husband, Beckett, and I were invited to the gala of the season. I was sitting in the lounge area, sipping sparkling water, while Beckett stepped away to use the restroom. That’s when I saw them. Derek and Amber had somehow gained entry—likely by crashing or begging an old contact. Derek was working the room, trying to project his old aura of success, but he looked frayed at the edges. When he spotted me, he marched over, his face a mask of suppressed rage. “Erica.” He pulled a chair so close our knees were almost touching. “I cannot believe you did that. You actually had me locked up over a car?” He let out a sharp, self-deprecating laugh. I remained composed. “I told you I would. Maybe now you’ll learn that ‘No’ is a complete sentence. Stop harassing me, Derek.” His expression darkened. He leaned in, his voice a low hiss. “Is that what this is? Fine. If I make Amber get an abortion and cut her off completely, will you finally come home?” I looked him dead in the eyes. “This is about the money, isn’t it? You want the assets back. Well, let me be very clear: You are never seeing a dime of that money again.” He blinked, stunned. “All is fair in love and war, Derek,” I continued. “You taught me that. I played you.” A bitter, broken smile touched his lips. He still didn’t believe I was capable of being as cold as him. “I care about the money, sure. But I care about us. I don’t know how to live without you. I know you’re mad about the cheating, but if you take me back, she’s gone. I mean it this time.” He sounded so sincere. To anyone else, it would have been moving. To me, it was just another Tuesday. Ten years of his lies had turned my heart into armor. “I’ve told you,” I said, patting my bump. “I’m married. I have a husband. I have a life. This child is his.” Derek laughed, a arrogant, hollow sound. “Where is he then? This mystery man? This imaginary husband who lets his pregnant wife sit alone at a wedding?” I looked past him. I saw Beckett walking toward us—tall, imposing, and looking every bit like the billionaire he was. “My husband,” I said, nodding toward the man behind Derek, “is right there.”
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “454694”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel
Leave a Reply