He Stole My Womb, Lost All

Pregnant.

Camille Perry was pregnant with Kayson's child.

The man who had avenged my miscarriage with such theatrical brutality had been sleeping with my attacker the entire time. The man who had held me while I wept for our lost baby had been creating a new life with the woman who had killed it.

A bitter, corrosive acid filled my throat. I stumbled back from the door, my hand instinctively going to my own flat stomach. A phantom ache throbbed deep inside me, a hollow echo of what I had lost.

The memory of it was visceral. The sudden, sharp cramp. The gush of warmth. The sight of red, so much red, staining my white dress, pooling on the cold marble floor. A Rorschach test of my own personal hell.

I remembered Kayson's rage. It had been epic, terrifying, a force of nature. "I will make her pay," he had roared, his face a mask of fury. "I will curse her to the deepest pits of hell for what she's done to you, to our child."

I remembered him ordering his men to break her legs. I remembered the cold satisfaction in his voice when he described the tattoo artist branding her face. I remembered seeing the news report, a blurry photo of a disheveled figure being cast out into the slums, and feeling a sick, guilty sense of relief.

It was all a lie. A performance. An elaborate, sadistic play staged for my benefit.

A single, hot tear of pure rage slid down my cheek. I wiped it away with the back of my hand, my fingers clenching into a fist.

A smile stretched my lips, but it was a dead thing, cold and devoid of any warmth. It was the smile of a predator.

For so long, I had played the part of the gentle, loving fiancée. I had sought a quiet life, a normal life, away from the chaos of my past. I had let myself be soft, pliant, trusting. I had buried the girl who had survived the wilderness, the girl who knew how to be ruthless.

I had forgotten that a cornered wolf is the most dangerous animal of all.

And I had just been backed into the corner of the universe.

I turned and walked away from the study, my steps measured and silent.

"Miss Pace?" a young housemaid asked, her eyes wide with surprise at seeing me. "Is everything alright? Can I get you something?"

My gaze drifted past her, to the magnificent centerpiece of the grand hall. Suspended from the ceiling, shimmering under the soft light of the chandeliers, was my wedding dress. A custom-designed Vera Wang, flown in from New York, adorned with thousands of hand-stitched pearls. It was a fairy-tale gown, a symbol of the perfect future Kayson had promised me.

I remembered the day it arrived. I had twirled in front of the mirror, laughing, feeling like a princess. Kayson had held me from behind, his chin on my shoulder, whispering, "You will be the most beautiful bride the world has ever seen."

Now, the sight of it made me want to vomit. Every pearl was a lie. Every thread was a stitch in the web of deceit he had woven around me. The beautiful white silk was a shroud, not a wedding dress. It was a tool designed to humiliate me, to cement Camille's victory.

A sharp, metallic taste filled my mouth. I had bitten the inside of my lip, hard. The pain was a grounding force in the swirling chaos of my mind.

"Miss Pace?" the maid repeated, a flicker of concern in her voice.

I turned to her, my cold smile still fixed in place. "That dress," I said, my voice as calm and flat as a frozen lake. "It's dirty."

"Dirty? But... it's perfect."

"Get rid of it," I commanded. "Burn it. I don't ever want to see it again."

She stared at me, her mouth agape in disbelief. "But... Miss Pace... the wedding is tomorrow..."

I didn't bother to answer. I simply turned and walked up the grand staircase, leaving her standing there, a statue of shock and confusion, beneath a wedding dress that was already a ghost.