Betrayal in the Marriage War

My hands trembled as I raised the paddle again. "Two million dollars," I called out, my voice steadier than I felt. The auction room, with its polished mahogany and crystal chandeliers, suddenly seemed airless.

"Two million one hundred thousand," a silky voice countered from the back of the room.

I turned, already knowing who I'd see. Giselle Silva sat there, legs crossed elegantly, a mocking smile playing on her perfectly painted lips. She hadn't even bothered to raise her paddle—just called out the bid as if buying a coffee.

"The bid is at two million one hundred thousand," the auctioneer, Elena Rodriguez, announced. Her eyes flickered between us, sensing the tension crackling in the air.

I swallowed hard. The experimental medication was my last hope—Reid's last hope. Three days ago, I'd accidentally discovered his medical files while searching for insurance documents. Terminal cancer. Three months to live. He hadn't told me. Hadn't trusted me with the truth.

"Two million two hundred thousand," I countered, mentally calculating how much I could liquidate from my business account. My best friend would understand—this was life or death.

"Two million three hundred thousand," Giselle called out immediately, examining her manicure with feigned boredom. "For my darling Whiskers. Poor thing is so sick."

Whiskers? Her cat? She was bidding against life-saving cancer medication for a cat?

I hesitated, paddle half-raised. This was every penny I could access. Everything I had.

"Two million three hundred thousand going once," Elena called, her gaze fixed on me with what almost looked like sympathy.

"Two million four hundred thousand," I said, my voice barely audible.

The room fell silent. Giselle's smile faltered.

"Two million four hundred thousand going once... going twice... sold to bidder number forty-three!"

The gavel came down with a crack that seemed to echo through my bones. I'd done it. I'd secured Reid's chance at survival.

As the crowd dispersed, I clutched the receipt to my chest, making arrangements to collect the medication from the secure pharmaceutical vault. My hands shook as I signed the final paperwork, authorizing the transfer of funds that would empty nearly every account I had access to.

"Quite the determined bidder, aren't we?" Giselle's voice slid over me like ice water as I stepped outside into the afternoon sun.

I turned to face her. "What do you want, Giselle? Why would you bid against me for cancer medication for a cat?"

She laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "Oh, Tessa. Sweet, naive Tessa. There is no sick cat."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"I just wanted to see how far you'd go." She stepped closer, her perfume cloying in the crisp air. "How much you'd pay. It's almost touching, really."

"You're sick," I whispered.

"No, but I am pregnant." Her hand drifted to her flat stomach. "With Reid's baby."

The world tilted beneath my feet. "You're lying."

"Am I? Ask him yourself. In fact, you can ask him tonight. He's invited me to stay with you both." Her smile widened. "I need proper care during my delicate condition, and Reid wants to be close to his child. Isn't that sweet?"

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The medication in my purse suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

"He's waiting for you at home," she continued, savoring each word. "Helping me move in. Don't worry—I'm sure we'll all get along famously."

I drove home in a daze, tears blurring my vision. This couldn't be happening. Not after everything we'd been through together. Not when he was dying.

When I arrived, the front door was propped open. Inside, I found Reid carrying a designer suitcase up our staircase—toward our bedroom.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice hollow.

He barely glanced at me. "Giselle's staying with us for a while. Her things go in our room."

"Our bedroom? Reid, I just spent every penny we have on medication that could save your life." I pulled the package from my purse, holding it out like an offering.

He looked at it, then at me, his eyes cold in a way I'd never seen before. "Giselle's pregnancy is complicated. The doctor says she needs constant care. That's more important than whatever you think you're helping with."

"More important than your life?" I whispered.

"She's carrying my child, Tessa." He turned away, continuing up the stairs. "Make up the guest room for yourself. And don't make this difficult. Giselle doesn't need the stress right now."

I stood frozen in our entryway, the life-saving medication clutched in my trembling hands, as my husband carried another woman's belongings into our marital bed.