My billionaire husband never touches me. But I’m pregnant. To avoid him discovering the green hat I presumably forced on his head, I filed for divorce and ran to another state to book an abortion. Later, he tore my dress apart. His kisses fell like rain, his tone dark and dangerous. "Don't cry. I haven't even started yet." "Be good. Once I become your first love, you won't want to leave." 1 I stared at the two pink lines on the pregnancy test. My vision went black. I’d taken a dozen tests, and the result was always the same. But I hadn't slept with my husband. How was I pregnant? I replayed the last few months in my head. I hadn't even touched a male dog, let alone a man! Wait. Was it my birthday? The night I got blackout drunk? That night, Declan promised he’d be there. But I waited until midnight, and he never showed. Declan Sterling was forced to marry me. He disdained touching me. He was always cold, maintaining a polite, icy distance. I had hoped my birthday would bridge the gap. But he ghosted me. He didn't answer my calls. My best friend, seeing me heartbroken, joked she’d hire a guy to keep me company. I drank too much. The next morning was a blur. I thought the soreness in my body was from falling down the stairs. I didn't think I’d actually slept with someone! Suddenly. The sound of an engine cut through the silence. Declan was home. Oh god. How was I going to explain this accidental infidelity? 2 I frantically swept all the pregnancy tests into the trash can. I rushed downstairs. Declan looked exhausted, carrying the chill of the night air. I noticed a smear of blood on his white dress shirt and gasped, stepping forward. "You're hurt?" I tried to check him. Declan dodged my hand, his voice cold. "Don't touch me." I almost forgot. He hated my touch. I retracted my hand, feeling the sting of rejection. I was about to get the first aid kit when he spoke. "It's not my blood. It's from a subordinate." "He sold me out. I handled it. He’s on a one-way trip to nowhere." "Traitors deserve to die, don't you agree?" "..." I hid my trembling fingers behind my back, my throat tight. They said Declan Sterling was ruthless in the business world, a man who burned bridges to build empires. If he knew about the green light flashing over his head... My fate would probably be worse than that subordinate’s. Declan studied me, frowning. "You look pale. Did the blood scare you? I'm going to shower." He started up the stairs. I looked at his tall, imposing back. I couldn't help but ask: "Declan, why didn't you come to my birthday?" "..." Declan stopped, his back to me. He didn't answer for several seconds. It seemed like a difficult question. Actually, I knew. That day, his childhood sweetheart returned from Europe. He went to her welcome party. Sloane had posted on Instagram, saying nothing had changed. In the photo, they stood together, a bond so tight no one could squeeze in. "I had work. Didn't I send a gift? You didn't like it?" "No, it was fine." My chest felt heavy. I knew I was just a wife in name only, less important than his Sloane. But his clumsy lie made me feel even more pathetic. The "gift" was a designer bag his assistant picked out. Expensive, but not my color. I couldn't help but think... If he had come that night, maybe I wouldn't be pregnant right now. 3 Declan and I slept in separate rooms. Most of the time, he was away on business. Maybe he just didn't want to see the wife who occupied a space that wasn't hers. My phone pinged with an anonymous message. It was a photo of Declan and Sloane shopping together. In the picture, his eyes were glued to the beautiful woman beside him. Declan never shopped with me. He said it was a waste of time. Even our wedding rings, I picked out alone. I was the "good girl." My father was new money—a lottery winner turned investor. Without the old-money pedigree, I was always ostracized by the socialites. In high school, during a track meet, someone soaked my shirt with water. It was thin. My bra showed. The crowd laughed. One person handed me a jacket and pointed to the locker room. I looked up, but the tall figure was already walking away. The name tag on the jacket read: Senior Class A, Declan Sterling. I started watching him. I never thought I’d become his wife. I secretly hoped he might eventually fall for me. But reality was harsh. He wouldn't. There was only one person in his heart. If Sloane hadn't needed to flee the country due to a family scandal, he never would have married me. 4 I deleted the photo and went down to dinner. Seven o'clock. Declan wasn't back. When he wasn't traveling, he usually came home for dinner. I waited a long time, only to get a call. "I'm not coming home tonight. I was in a meeting, forgot to text." In the background, a woman's voice. Soft, sweet, telling him to get in the car. It was Sloane. I swallowed the lump in my throat, playing the role of the understanding wife. "Okay. Remember to eat." I was about to hang up. He suddenly asked: "You aren't going to ask why?" "I know you're busy." Busy dating your childhood sweetheart. I knew Sloane sent the photo. She was hinting that it was time for me to leave. Declan seemed bothered by my calm tone. "What's wrong with you lately? Is this about your birthday?" "..." So what if it is? His devotion to Sloane was common knowledge in New York. My silence made him panic, which was rare. "Harper, don't overthink that night. I'll explain when I get back." "Okay." I hung up. I picked up my fork, but nausea hit me instantly. I ran to the powder room to avoid the maids and vomited. Looking at my pale reflection, seeing the faint spots from pregnancy... I wasn't as pretty as Sloane. Now, I wasn't as "clean" either. If Declan found out... What would he think? He’d probably be disgusted.
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