My Billionaire Husband Forced Me to Kneel for His Pregnant Mistress

I barely made it fifty yards past the clinic gates when heavy footsteps stopped behind me.

It was Harris. His broad frame blocked the lanterns along the path. He didn't say good evening. He didn't ask about my mother.

“Mr. Harper wants you on the yacht,” he said. “Now.”

It wasn't an invitation. Harris stood half a step behind me the whole way to the pier.

A small private launch carried us across the black harbor water. Landon’s superyacht, *The Sovereign*, sat anchored in the bay like a floating fortress of white fiberglass and gold lights.

Harris guided me up the boarding stairs to the teak aft deck.

Landon was waiting by the double glass doors of the master cabin. He was in his white shirtsleeves, the top three buttons undone. Aitana stood pressed against his side, wearing a sheer champagne silk robe. The custom sapphire bracelet sparkled on her wrist under the deck lamps.

Landon didn't look at my face. He swirled amber scotch in a crystal tumbler, his eyes fixed on the distant shore.

“You stay out here,” Landon said. His voice was completely flat. “On your knees.”

My hands rested at my sides. I didn't blink. “Landon—”

“You heard me,” he cut in. He took a sip of his scotch. “Your mother disgraced me in front of my investors tonight. You need to remember who provides the air you breathe.”

Aitana leaned her head against his shoulder. Her eyes gleamed with a sharp, victorious hunger. She ran a manicured hand down Landon’s chest.

“Don't be too hard on her, Landon,” Aitana cooed. Her voice dripped with fake pity. “She’s tired. Maybe kneeling will help clear her head.”

Landon didn't answer her. He didn't look at me either.

“Down, Leila,” he commanded. “And don't move until I come back out.”

He took Aitana by the waist and pulled her inside. The heavy glass door slid shut, and the lock clicked into place.

I stood there for three seconds in the ocean wind.

Then, I lowered myself to the floor.

The teak deck was damp and freezing against my bare knees. The Atlantic wind whipped off the open sea, cutting right through my thin linen dress. It pulled strands of hair across my face. Salt spray settled like cold needles on my skin.

Then, the sounds began.

The yacht’s insulation was top tier, but the brass ventilation vent sat low on the wall right beside the sliding door. Every breath, every rustle, traveled straight out to the deck with disgusting clarity.

First came Aitana’s high, breathy giggle.

Then the sound of fabric tearing.

Then the heavy, rhythmic creak of the king-sized bed frame against the wooden bulkhead.

*Thud. Thud. Thud.*

Aitana’s moans grew louder, theatrical and loud. Over them came Landon’s rough, ragged breathing—the sound of a man straining his body to its absolute edge.

A month ago, those noises would have destroyed me. I would have pounded on the glass with bloody fists. I would have wept until my chest tore apart.

Now, I felt completely still.

The noise didn't hurt. It was just sound. It sounded like an animal panting in the dark.

I raised my head and scanned the open deck.

Harris and the other guards had gone up to the bridge deck to give their boss privacy. The aft deck was entirely empty.

Near the outdoor lounge chairs, Landon’s dark suit jacket lay draped over a low wicker table. He had tossed it there the moment he came aboard.

I stood up.

My knees were stiff from the cold wood, but my feet didn't make a sound. I stepped across the deck, smooth and light. The roaring wind covered the faint rustle of my dress.

I reached the wicker table.

I reached inside the left breast pocket of the jacket.

My fingers touched something hard and cool.

A brushed-steel case.

I pulled it out. My thumb found the small silver clasp and popped it open.

Inside, resting in black velvet foam, was a single glass vial. Clear liquid. A tiny grey rubber seal on top.

His emergency medication. The fast-acting vasodilator. The only thing that could keep his secret aneurysm from tearing wide open when his blood pressure spiked out of control.

I lifted the glass tube with two fingers.

It weighed almost nothing in my hand.

I snapped the steel case shut. I slid the empty case back into the breast pocket, right where he always kept it.

Then I walked over to the stern railing.

Below me, the Atlantic was an endless sheet of black foam. The massive twin engines idled deep in the hull, vibrating through the metal bars. The dark water churned and swirled in violent circles.

I held the vial out over the dark water.

I thought about Seattle. I thought about the boy who knelt in the mud for three days just to hold my hand. I thought about my mother choking on sea salt on a wooden dock while he checked his watch.

I opened my fingers.

The vial slipped into the empty air.

There was no splash. No sound at all. The dark ocean swallowed it whole.

From inside the cabin, Landon let out a loud, violent grunt. The bed frame slammed hard against the wall one more time.

I didn't smile. I didn't hurry.

I walked back to the sliding glass door.

I lowered myself onto the cold teak wood, tucking my legs beneath me. I smoothed my dress flat over my knees.

I folded my hands in my lap, turned my face toward the open black ocean, and waited.