Follow
Chapters
Share
Betrayal's Aftermath: Escape from False Accusation Novel Cover

Betrayal's Aftermath: Escape from False Accusation

The nurse's words echoed in my ears as I sat in the sterile examination room, my hands trembling slightly against the paper-covered table. Pregnant. After all the disappointments, the negative tests, the quiet nights of hoping—I was finally carrying Benjamin's child. "Mrs. Hill, your blood work confirms it. You're approximately six weeks along." Dr. Mitchell's smile was warm as she handed me a small folder of information. "Everything looks healthy so far." I pressed my hand against my still-flat stomach, a surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm me. A baby. Our baby.
Chapters
Share

Chapter 3

The sky was still dark when Benjamin's hand clamped around my arm, yanking me from bed with such force that my body slammed against the wall. I gasped, disoriented, as his fingers dug into my flesh with bruising intensity.

"Get dressed," he ordered, his voice a cold stranger's voice. "Now."

I blinked, trying to focus on his face in the dim light filtering through the curtains. "Benjamin, what's wrong? What time is it?"

"Five in the morning," he replied mechanically. "Perfect time for a paternity test. Before you can warn your lover."

My heart stuttered in my chest. "What? No, Benjamin, please—those records are fake. Natalie is lying to you."

His laugh was hollow, devoid of any warmth. "Natalie? Always Natalie's fault, isn't it? Never yours."

I touched my stomach protectively, thinking of our baby—our miracle—and felt tears well in my eyes. "The baby is yours. Only yours. Please believe me."

"Then you won't mind proving it," he said, shoving a dress at me. "Get. Dressed."

I complied with trembling hands, watching as he paced the room like a caged animal. The man I married was gone, replaced by this cold, calculating stranger who looked at me with such contempt.

---

The hospital corridor stretched before us like a tunnel leading to my execution. Benjamin's grip on my arm never loosened as he dragged me through the emergency room doors, his momentum nearly pulling me off my feet.

"I need a paternity test," he announced to the startled nurse at the reception desk. "Immediately."

"Sir, we don't—"

"Now!" His voice echoed off the sterile walls, making several patients turn to stare.

I pulled against his grip, desperate to explain. "Benjamin, please listen to me. This is insane. Those records are falsified. Natalie is manipulating you!"

"Shut up," he hissed, his fingers tightening until I cried out in pain.

A doctor approached, his expression concerned. "Mr. Hill, I understand you're upset, but we need to discuss this calmly. Mrs. Hill appears to be in distress."

"She's faking," Benjamin said flatly. "She's been lying to me for months. I want proof that the baby is mine."

"I can explain the appointments," I pleaded, tears streaming down my face. "They're not mine. Someone used my information—"

"Enough!" Benjamin's roar silenced the entire waiting room.

The doctor stepped closer, his voice low and urgent. "Mr. Hill, your wife is clearly distressed. I'm going to ask you to step outside while I examine her."

"She's not my wife," Benjamin spat. "Not anymore."

Something inside me shattered at those words. I reached for him, my hand outstretched. "Benjamin, please..."

But he turned away, his face a mask of disgust.

---

The pain hit without warning—a sharp, tearing sensation that doubled me over. I clutched my stomach, a primal scream tearing from my throat as I collapsed to the floor.

"Help her!" someone shouted. "She's bleeding!"

The world tilted sideways as medical staff rushed toward me. Through the haze of agony, I saw Benjamin standing frozen in the doorway, his face pale with shock.

"Save my baby," I gasped, reaching toward him one last time. "Please..."

Darkness closed in as they lifted me onto a stretcher. The last thing I heard was the doctor's urgent voice: "We need to perform an emergency D&C. She's losing the baby."

---

I woke to the sterile smell of hospital sheets and the steady beep of monitors. My body felt hollow, emptied of more than just my child. The doctor's words came slowly, each one a fresh wound.

"...severe trauma... excessive force... irreparable damage..."

I barely registered her presence as she explained that not only had I lost my baby, but the damage was so extensive I would never conceive again.

"Mrs. Hill, I'm so sorry," she said gently. "The physical trauma, combined with the emotional stress..."

I turned my face to the wall, unable to speak. What was there to say? My marriage was over. My child was gone. My future—empty.

Hours passed. Nurses came and went. No Benjamin.

"He hasn't asked about you once," a kind-faced nurse whispered as she checked my IV. "I'm so sorry, honey."

I closed my eyes, too exhausted for more tears.

The door opened with a soft click, and I tensed, hoping against hope it was Benjamin. Instead, Natalie's perfume filled the room before she did.

"Eden," she said softly, settling into the chair beside my bed. "Oh, you poor thing."

I turned to look at her, too broken to even hate her anymore.

"You know," she whispered, leaning close enough that I could feel her breath on my cheek, "he'll never choose you over me. Not now. Not ever."

Her mask slipped then, revealing the cold calculation beneath. "He believes you manipulated him with a fake miscarriage. Did you think I wouldn't cover all my bases?"

I stared at her, finally seeing the monster beneath the beautiful facade.

"He'll never come back to you," she continued, her voice barely audible. "And now you'll never have his children either."

As she rose to leave, she paused at the door. "Oh, and Eden? Those scars on your wrists? They're nothing compared to what I've done to your life."

Keep Watching!
The story is getting intense! Switch to App to continue reading
Unlock All Episodes
Open the Official Website

You may also like

After My Groom Became My Nemesis Novel Cover
8.4
I wasn't supposed to find it. The small blue Tiffany & Co. box receipt was tucked behind Marcus's collection of silk ties, partially hidden beneath a stack of cufflinks I'd gifted him over our three years together. My fingers trembled as I held the paper, the distinctive robin's egg blue header unmistakable even in receipt form. I hadn't been snooping—not really. I was simply looking for my grandmother's pearl earrings that I'd misplaced somewhere in our shared walk-in closet when I noticed the drawer wasn't fully closed. Something in me knew before I even pulled it open. A woman's intuition, perhaps. Next to the receipt was a confirmation for Le Bernardin—tonight at eight. The most exclusive restaurant in Manhattan, where reservations were secured months in advance unless you had the right connections.
After My Husband Framed Me With His Sister Novel Cover
9.0
The voices stopped me cold halfway up the stairs. I froze, my hand still on the railing, heart hammering against my ribs. The light from the nursery spilled across the hallway—soft, yellow, peaceful. Too peaceful for what I was hearing. Claire’s voice, hushed but trembling. I had never heard my sister-in-law speak in such a tone. “We can’t keep doing this, Michael. She’ll find out. And if the child grows up and looks like you—” Then Michael, my husband’s—steady, controlled, that same low tone he used in board meetings. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll take care of her if she finds out.” I didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. My sister-in-law. My husband. They were siblings. How could they?
Bleeding On His Carpet Before Taking His Company Novel Cover
9.7
The freezing rain mixed with the copper taste of blood on my lips as Julian’s heavy leather boot pinned my wrist to the concrete driveway. "Sign the papers, Chloe, or I’ll let Mia drive over the other hand," he sneered, his voice cutting through the thunder. He tossed the crumpled divorce agreement into the muddy puddle where my three-month pregnancy was currently ending. He didn't even look at the dark red pooling around my shaking knees. Mia leaned against the hood of the black Porsche I bought him, laughing through her thick cigarette smoke. She flicked the ash right onto my torn nightgown. They thought they were discarding a useless, pathetic trophy wife who knew nothing but cooking and waiting. Julian built his billion-dollar Vanguard Tech empire on a revolutionary mystery algorithm. An algorithm he proudly told the press he wrote during grueling late nights in his office. He completely forgot I was the one who actually coded every single line while he slept off his hangovers. He forgot the master patent wasn't in his name, but registered to a ghost shell corporation in Geneva. I dragged my numb, broken fingers across the wet asphalt, leaving a bloody streak on the signature line. "Good girl," he spat, turning his back on me to pull my stepsister into a deep kiss. I didn't call an ambulance when their taillights faded into the violent storm. I pulled out my hidden burner phone with trembling hands and dialed a sequence of numbers I hadn't touched in three years. The line clicked open with heavy, encrypted static that made my heart hammer against my ribs. "Initiate protocol zero," I whispered, pressing my free hand against my cramping stomach to hold the tearing pain inside. "Welcome back, Madam Architect," the cold, mechanical voice on the other end replied. Tomorrow night is the exclusive Vanguard Tech Gala, where Julian plans to announce his massive global merger. He desperately needs the physical signature of his anonymous majority shareholder to close the billion-dollar deal. He expects a frail old Swiss banker to walk through those towering mahogany doors and hand him the crown. I adjust the thin silk strap of my crimson dress, carefully covering the fresh gauze bandage on my collarbone. The heavy gold insignia ring of the Vanguard board rests freezing cold against my index knuckle. I can hear Julian's arrogant voice over the microphone, boasting about his genius intellect to the crowd of investors. I signal the security detail standing in the shadows to step back. I push the massive double doors open, letting the loud ballroom music violently spill into the silent hallway. Julian turns around on the stage, his crystal champagne glass stopping halfway to his mouth.
Divorce from Deceitful Husband Novel Cover
9.0
The morning light filtered through our bedroom curtains as I blinked awake, my alarm clock still showing 5:17 AM. Our fifth wedding anniversary. I'd been planning this day for weeks. I slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake Matteo. The sheets on his side were cold—he must have gotten up early for work again. Typical Matteo, always the dedicated businessman. "Happy anniversary to us," I whispered to myself, padding barefoot into our kitchen. I prepared his favorite breakfast—Belgian waffles with fresh strawberries and whipped cream, scrambled eggs on the side, and that special blend of coffee he loved. The one that took me three trips to different specialty stores to find. The tailored suit I'd commissioned for him hung perfectly on the closet door—a deep charcoal with subtle silver threading that would catch the light just right.
I Faked My Death to Escape My Husband's Cruelty Novel Cover
8.1
I stood frozen in the hallway, my hand clutching the doorframe for support as James's cruel words sliced through me like shards of glass. "Honestly, she's like a stray dog that won't leave," he said, his voice carrying clearly from our Manhattan penthouse living room. The sound of expensive crystal clinking followed, punctuated by deep masculine laughter. "Seven years of following me around with those sad eyes. It's pathetic." My lungs constricted. Seven years. Seven years of silent devotion, of enduring his coldness, his contempt. Seven years of sacrificing everything—my family, my dreams, my dignity—all to stay close to the heart beating in his chest. Ethan's heart. "Why don't you just divorce her?" asked one of his business associates, the question casual, as if discussing the weather.
One Night With The Unstable Billionaire Novel Cover
9.2
Arla was supposed to marry Clinton Freeman, the perfect fiancé who had promised to love her and protect her five-year-old son. But instead, the cold steel of a dagger pierced her chest. As she collapsed onto the freezing basement floor, she watched her adoptive sister Blair laugh. "Look at her," Blair sneered, kicking her son's small, blue, lifeless body. Clinton stood there, calmly wiping the bloody blade on a pristine handkerchief. In her dying moments, the horrifying truth became clear. Her fiancé and her adoptive family had been plotting all along to steal her massive trust fund. To break her, they had secretly tortured her child. Clinton had watched Blair pierce the little boy's arms with sewing needles, rewarding him with candy to keep him silent. Arla's lungs burned with the taste of copper and ash. She couldn't understand why the family she trusted could be so monstrous, or why they had to brutally murder an innocent child just for money. The darkness swallowed her whole, drowning her in suffocating hatred and absolute despair. Then, she gasped for air. The concrete floor was gone, replaced by the silk sheets of a hotel penthouse suite. Arla had been reborn to the exact night six years ago—the very day Blair first dragged her son into the dark attic. This time, she picked up a solid silver letter opener, ready to burn them all to the ground.