I Birthed His Secret Wife’s Baby

I rolled up my sleeve, the motion as thoughtless and routine as breathing, waiting for the cold swipe of the alcohol pad. But instead of the nurse’s gentle touch, Drew’s hand clamped down hard over my forearm. The first day of every month. For over a year, this had been our ritual. This was the day I sat in a pristine leather chair and let them draw my blood—the rare antibodies in my plasma supposedly keeping his chronically ill younger sister alive. He didn't look at me. His voice was a flat, clinical drone that felt almost deliberately cruel. He told me that the woman whose life I had been sustaining month after month wasn’t his sister at all. She was his ex-wife. "Her autoimmune flare-ups have stabilized," he said, casually adjusting his cuffs. "She’s fully recovered. We don’t need your plasma anymore." I stared down at the crook of my elbow. The skin there was a constellation of tiny, faded purple dots—a roadmap of my devotion. A violent tremor started in my hands and quickly took over my entire body. "How could you?" The words tore out of my throat, raw and agonizing. "You knew I was pregnant during half those donations! You knew the risk—one wrong move, one drop in my pressure, and it could have killed the baby!" I was screaming now, but Drew’s face remained a mask of flawless, terrifying indifference. If anything, the look he gave me was laced with pity. "I was fully aware of the risks, Jolie," he said softly. "But you see, the embryo the clinic implanted... it was created using my sperm and Cheryl’s egg. You were just carrying our child." 1 "What?" The word hung in the air, impossibly fragile. A high-pitched ringing erupted in my ears. Drew pulled a silver lighter from his pocket and lit a cigarette. He looked annoyed, but beneath that annoyance was a sickening sense of entitlement. "Cheryl has a fragile constitution. Carrying a child to term would have destroyed her body. Why else do you think I married you?" He exhaled a plume of smoke, looking at me through the gray haze. "But it worked out. The boy is healthy, and her illness is in remission. If you want a divorce now, I won't contest it." He let out a long breath, as if a massive weight had been lifted from his tailored shoulders. He looked at my face—which must have been the color of chalk—and actually offered a light, breezy chuckle. "You have no idea the toll this took on me. Every time I was with you, it felt like I was having an affair. Like I was betraying her." He paused, his eyes darkening with a twisted sort of loyalty. "I never even slept with you without getting her permission first." The ringing in my ears escalated into a deafening roar. Fragments of our marriage—the tender late-night whispers, the tangled sheets, the vows we took—crashed through my mind, broken and bleeding. My lips trembled, but I couldn't form a single syllable. As if reading the devastation in my eyes, Drew let out a low, dark laugh. "Last night, when we were in bed? She was on the phone. Listening. It made her so furious she was practically screaming, calling you a whore." He shook his head, sounding almost disappointed in me. "But you were so far gone, so desperate for it, you didn't even notice the phone on the nightstand." The sheer humiliation of it, the absolute violation, surged up from my stomach and exploded behind my eyes. I lunged forward and slapped him across the face with every ounce of strength I had. "You monster!" Drew ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting the inside of his cheek. He didn't look angry. He just looked thoroughly, unapologetically rotten. "I'll admit, it was a shitty thing to do. I originally planned to keep you in the dark forever. But yesterday, Cheryl saw Toby call you 'Mommy.' She broke down. She cried for hours." He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "It broke my heart. I can't let her suffer like that." He stared right at me, and in that split second, I knew exactly what he was going to say. My body instinctively scrambled backward, pressing hard against the back of the chair. "Don't you even think about it," I gasped, terror wrapping around my throat. Drew lunged, grabbing my wrists. He looked at my tears as if they were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. "Jolie, be rational. You are not his biological mother. If we take him back now, you’ll get over it eventually. It won't hurt as much as you think." "I raised him for three years!" I shrieked, the tears spilling over, hot and pathetic and desperate. "A thousand days and nights! Do you know he’s allergic to mangoes? Do you know he ends up in the ER every spring with croup? Do you have any fucking idea that I nearly bled to death on the delivery table having him?!" For a fraction of a second, Drew’s expression went completely blank. I let out a broken, hysterical laugh. I remembered it now. He wasn’t there when I gave birth. I had been hemorrhaging. The doctors were shouting, the alarms were blaring, and I was crying so hard I couldn't breathe, begging the nurses to call my husband. I just wanted him to hold my hand. When they finally got him on the phone, his voice was like ice. “I told you, I’m closing a massive acquisition today. Women give birth every second of the day, Jolie. Stop acting like a spoiled brat.” But right before the line went dead, I had heard it. A woman’s soft, melodic giggle in the background. Pleased. Mocking. I had convinced myself it was a hallucination brought on by the blood loss. But it was Cheryl. I sobbed, my chest heaving uncontrollably. Drew watched me, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of genuine pity crossed his eyes. He opened his mouth, perhaps to offer some hollow comfort, but his cell phone buzzed. He answered it. Cheryl’s voice bled through the speaker, sharp and furious, like a wife catching her husband in a cheap motel. "Why aren't you answering my texts?! You're screwing that bitch right now, aren't you? Don't think I don't know how much you love that slut's body!" Drew smiled. It was a helpless, entirely devoted smile. "Baby, don't be mad. I'm not doing anything. I promised you I'd handle it, didn't I? Have I ever let you down?" "Then how are you going to handle it? I want her to get on her knees and apologize to me!" He poured all his attention into the phone, soothing her, validating her. He didn't even bother taking it off speakerphone. He didn't care that I was sitting two feet away, listening to them discuss how to dispose of me as if I were the mistress who had overstayed her welcome. My stomach cramped so violently I thought I might throw up. I couldn't listen to another word. Face ashen, I turned and stumbled toward the door. 2 Footsteps echoed behind me. Drew grabbed my arm, his tone dripping with annoyance. "Where are you running off to? Come back inside and apologize to Cheryl." "For what?!" I whipped my head around, my eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred. Drew flinched. He wasn't used to seeing me like this—so sharp, so jagged. He looked away, his jaw tightening. "I saved your life back then. Consider this your repayment." The world seemed to drop out from under me. A devastating sob tore itself from my chest. Through the blur of my tears, I was violently pulled back to three years ago. I was twenty, trapped in the dirt yard of a crumbling trailer park, being beaten black and blue by my stepbrother and stepmother. Neighbors had gathered around the chain-link fence, watching the spectacle. My biological father leaned against a rusted pickup truck, smoking a cigarette and offering color commentary. "That's what you get for hiding your waitress tips from us! Beat the brat!" My throat was raw from screaming. My back was a tapestry of welts and bruises from the broom handle. But worse than the physical agony was the look in the eyes of my high school classmates standing in the crowd—pity mixed with revulsion. I had prayed to die right there in the dirt. But just as I was losing consciousness, a sleek black Porsche had torn into the yard. Drew had stepped out like something from another universe. He had punched my stepbrother to the ground, scooped my bleeding body into his arms, and carried me toward his car. My father and stepmother had charged at him, screaming bloody murder. "You rich prick! That's kidnapping! Put the little bitch down!" Drew had gently set me in the passenger seat, pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from his jacket, and thrown it in their faces. His voice had been colder than the bottom of the ocean. "Listen to me very carefully. Jolie has nothing to do with you anymore. If you ever breathe in her direction again, I have enough lawyers to bury you under a prison." For months after that, Drew had built a fortress around me. And I, like a drowning girl, had clung to him as my sole savior. But life doesn't deal in fairytales. There is no such thing as a free lunch. The man I thought was my redemption was just a predator dressed in a designer suit, dragging me into a much deeper, darker abyss. The phantom pain of those old bruises merged with the very real shattering of my heart. I pressed my fists hard against my chest, trying to breathe. Drew frowned, stepping forward to pull me into a hug, to stop me from hurting myself. But before he could touch me, Cheryl materialized out of nowhere and slapped me so hard my teeth rattled. "You shameless whore! Trying to seduce my husband right out in the open!" Between the shock and the chronic anemia from being her personal blood bank, my vision went black. I slammed my hand against the brick wall of the clinic to keep from collapsing. Pedestrians were stopping. Whispers rippled through the gathering crowd, their eyes darting between us with disgust and morbid curiosity. The humiliation was acidic. I stiffened my spine and pointed a shaking finger at her. "You're lying! Drew and I are legally married! You're the mistress!" Instead of looking ashamed, Cheryl’s lips curled into a slow, terrifyingly smug smile. "Oh? Are you sure about that?" Panic flashed across Drew’s face. He reached out, trying to pull her away. "Cheryl, let's go—" She shoved him off, her eyes locked on me as she gleefully butchered my reality. "Keep dreaming, sweetie. I never signed the divorce papers. How the hell can you be his legal wife?" Gravity ceased to exist. I crashed heavily to the pavement, all expression wiped from my face. The whispers from the crowd turned into a loud, righteous buzzing. Fingers pointed at me like daggers. "Oh my god, she actually is the homewrecker. The absolute nerve of her." "Screwing a married man before he's even divorced? Trash. Someone record this and put it on TikTok. Expose her." My skull felt like it was cracking open. I opened my mouth to defend myself, to scream the truth, but looking at the sea of disgusted faces, I realized none of them wanted the truth. They just wanted a villain. My chest heaved. I let out a guttural, wounded scream. And then, a tiny, tear-soaked voice pierced through the noise. "You're mean! Stop hurting my mommy!" Toby wriggled out of the nanny's arms by the clinic entrance and ran toward me on his little toddler legs, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. "Mommy, Mommy! I'll protect you!" My heart plummeted into my stomach. Instinctively, I opened my arms to catch him. But Cheryl lunged and grabbed him by the back of his shirt. Her smugness vanished, replaced by a grotesque, manic fury. "Look at me! I am your mother! Call me Mommy! Say it!" Toby burst into terrified wails. His little face went pale with panic as he reached his chubby hands out toward me, his fingers grasping at empty air. "Mommy! Help! Mommy!" A primal, agonizing pain ripped through my chest. I scrambled up from the concrete and threw my entire body weight at Cheryl, tackling her. "Let him go!" My hands found her throat. I don't know where the strength came from—rage, motherly instinct, or pure madness—but she was entirely powerless against me. But my victory lasted less than three seconds. Hands clamped onto my shoulders and violently hurled me backward onto the ground. "Jolie, are you out of your fucking mind?!" Drew roared, his face twisted in fury. "Cheryl is sick! Why are you so evil?!" 3 Drew knelt on the ground, wrapping his arms protectively around Cheryl, his eyes filled with nothing but absolute loathing for me. I lay sprawled on the concrete. I didn't defend myself. I didn't say a word. I just dragged myself up on my hands and knees, reaching frantically for Toby to check if he had been hurt in the scuffle. But before I could even touch his hair, Drew snatched him up. "You're completely unhinged," he spat. "Cheryl and I are taking Toby. You need to go somewhere and get your head checked." Toby looked paralyzed with fear, thrashing in Drew's grip, his little arms reaching for me. "Want my mommy! I want Mommy!" "Toby!" I shrieked, stumbling after them. But the crowd of bystanders—these self-righteous strangers—stepped in my way, forming a physical wall between me and my son. "The kid belongs to the married couple, lady! Just because you babysat him for a while doesn't make him yours. You can't beat biology!" Every word they spoke was a knife twisting in my ribs. Tears blinded me. I stood there, utterly helpless, as Drew carried my sobbing child to his car, shoved him inside, and drove away. "Give him back," I whispered to the empty street. "Give him back..." The world tilted, went gray, and then completely black. When I opened my eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights of a hospital room blinded me. Drew was sitting in the visitor's chair. He looked exhausted, a rare, deep crease forming between his brows. Seeing me stir, he immediately leaned forward and tried to take my hand. "Jolie, stop fighting this. Just rest." He sighed heavily. "I wired a million dollars into your account. Consider it compensation." "A divorce settlement?" I croaked, and then a bitter laugh bubbled up my throat. "No, wait. It's a breakup fee. Five years of my youth, acting as a free surrogate and a walking blood bank... don't you think you're being a little cheap, Drew?" He watched me quietly for a moment. Then, without missing a beat, he said, "I'll wire another million." He paused. "But Toby... I need you to stay away from him." It felt like invisible hands were strangling me. My eyes burned, bloodshot and feral. "Why?" "Because a boy needs his real mother. You have no biological connection to him." His voice was void of any emotion. Fresh tears spilled hot tracks down my cheeks, but the fight hadn't left me yet. "I'll sue you. I'll go to the police. Bigamy, medical fraud, whatever it takes!" Drew blinked, his expression softening into that awful, condescending pity again. "Why put yourself through that?" he murmured. "Jolie... you know you can't win against my lawyers." His gaze dropped to my lower lip, which I was biting so hard it was bleeding. A strange, unfocused look came over his eyes. As if driven by some dark, selfish impulse, his tone shifted, dropping into a low, husky whisper. "If you really can't bear to be apart from the boy... there is another way." I shot up, grabbing the sleeve of his expensive shirt, my heart hammering. "What way?" Drew smiled. He turned his hand over and gently stroked my knuckles with his thumb. "We separate, but we don't end things. I'll buy you a luxury condo downtown. Whenever I have free time, I'll bring Toby over to see you." The silence in the hospital room was absolute. I let out two hollow, breathless laughs, then violently slapped his hand away. "You want me to be your mistress. You want me to sit quietly in some condo while you play happy family with your wife, waiting for the nights you get bored and decide you need to get your rocks off?" His brow furrowed. He maintained his maddening patience, speaking to me as if I were a petulant child. "There's no need to make it sound so ugly. It’s an arrangement that benefits us both. Toby gets the love of two mothers, and I can still take care of you. You're completely alone in this world, Jo. I’d worry about you." He spoke so softly, so tenderly, weaving a narrative where he was the benevolent protector. But I knew the truth now. It was just a pretty lie to satisfy his own insatiable greed. He wanted the trophy wife and the devoted martyr, all under his control. My stomach churned violently. I threw off the thin hospital blanket and swung my legs over the side of the bed, putting as much distance between us as the small room allowed. "Keep your money. Keep your condo." Drew’s face darkened. He had thrown me a bone, expecting the pathetic, love-starved girl he had groomed to crawl back to him with gratitude. My rejection bruised his massive ego. "Suit yourself," he snapped, standing up and smoothing his jacket. "I'm only offering this once. When reality hits you and you regret this, don't come crying to me. There are no second chances." I wrapped my arms around myself, staring blankly out the window, refusing to give him another word. The door slammed shut with a concussive force, leaving me alone in the sterile silence. That night, I didn't sleep a wink. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Toby screaming for me. At dawn, I checked myself out, packed a single suitcase from the house that was no longer mine, and left. I was sitting in a cheap motel room, trying to figure out my next move, when my phone buzzed with an Instagram notification. It was a post from Cheryl. “Baked a strawberry mango shortcake for my little prince! He threw a tantrum at first, but after Mommy force-fed him the first two bites, he gobbled it all up!” My heart stopped. The blood roared in my ears, and my fingers shook so violently I could barely type. “TOBY IS DEATHLY ALLERGIC TO MANGOES!!! GET HIM TO THE ER NOW!!!” I hit send. Two seconds later, the comment vanished. Deleted. I frantically hit her contact name to call her. Call Failed. Number Blocked. 4 I didn't think. I just grabbed my keys, sprinted to my car, and drove like a maniac. Ten minutes later, I was throwing my shoulder against Cheryl’s heavy mahogany front door until the lock gave way. I burst into the living room. Cheryl was standing there, looking annoyed. In her arms, Toby was thrashing, violently scratching at his neck. His breaths were coming in short, agonizing wheezes. When she saw me, her face contorted with rage. "What the hell are you doing?! Get the fuck out of my house!" She aggressively shifted Toby to her hip, turning her back to me to hide him. I pointed at my son, cold sweat dripping down my spine. "Are you insane?! He's going into anaphylactic shock! Call an ambulance!" "He is not! Stop making up lies!" Cheryl screamed, marching over and shoving me hard in the chest. "Get out! You psycho bitch, you're just looking for an excuse to steal my husband and my kid! If you ever come back here, I'll carve up your face!" Toby’s skin was turning a terrifying shade of red. He was sobbing, a horrific, raspy sound. He saw me over her shoulder and desperately reached out, his tiny fingers hooking into the fabric of my sweater. "Mommy... Mommy, it hurts..." Cheryl didn't even look at him. She was entirely consumed with her hatred for me, slapping at my arms and screaming obscenities in my face. Something inside my brain just snapped. I grabbed her wrist, twisted it hard, and used my momentum to throw her to the hardwood floor. "Ahhh!" she shrieked, curling into a ball and clutching her arm. I didn't hesitate. I scooped Toby into my arms and bolted for the front door. But as I crossed the threshold, I slammed directly into Drew’s solid chest. He staggered back, his eyes darting from me, to the crying child in my arms, to his wife sobbing on the floor. His face turned thunderous. "Jolie, what the fuck is wrong with you?! Put him down!" Cheryl wailed from the floor, pointing a trembling finger at me. "Drew! She broke in! She's trying to kidnap Toby! Call the police and lock this bitch up!" I gripped Toby tighter, my chest heaving. "No! I'm not kidnapping him! He's having an allergic reaction! He needs an EpiPen, he needs a hospital!" "Enough!" Drew barked. He looked at me with absolute, chilling disgust. There wasn't a shred of belief in his eyes. He stepped toward me, his sheer size intimidating. "Stop the goddamn theatrics, Jo. Hand him over." Toby had stopped fighting. His little head lolled against my collarbone, his breathing terrifyingly shallow. My heart was tearing itself to shreds. I braced my legs, preparing to run past him, to fight my way to the car. But Drew anticipated it. He lunged, blocking my path and shoving me hard by the shoulders. I lost my balance and crashed onto the porch. Drew ripped Toby from my arms. I scrambled forward, sobbing, gripping the leg of Drew's trousers. "Look at him! Just look at him, Drew! He's losing consciousness!" A sharp kick caught me in the shoulder. Cheryl had scrambled up and thrown herself on top of me, her nails digging into my scalp as she beat me. "Stay away from my son, you fucking psycho!" Neighbors were stepping out onto their lawns, their phones out, murmuring in horror. "Is she trying to kidnap the kid? Jesus." "Someone call the cops! Hold her down!" I screamed, a sound of pure agony. Hearing it, Drew frowned. He looked down at me with a flicker of hesitation. For a fraction of a second, his grip loosened. And in that moment, the child in his arms—limp and boneless as a ragdoll—slipped downward. Drew froze. A terrible buzzing filled his ears. Slowly, agonizingly, he looked down at the boy in his hands. And what he saw made his heart completely stop.

? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "432246", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel