His Barren Luna is a Pregnant Billionaire

Doria POV:

"By the Gods, Doria. What is this pathetic display?"

The cruel words sliced through the heavy, incense-laden air of the bedroom the moment the heavy oak door swung open.

Jaden Sheppard—my husband of seven years and a powerful young Exarch—stood in the doorway, bringing a biting chill into the room. He froze, his gaze sweeping over me. I held my breath, praying for a flicker of surprise, a spark of the desire I so desperately craved.

Instead, his handsome face twisted into a mask of stark bewilderment, which rapidly curdled into a sneer of pure, undisguised mockery.

A sharp, cruel laugh erupted from his chest. "Did you honestly think that by draping yourself in red silk, you could become her? You look like a clown."

I stood frozen near the edge of the bed, my hands clenching the slippery fabric until my knuckles turned white.

He was right. It felt entirely wrong. For the past few months, Jaden had been utterly captivated by another woman—Concetta Payne, a renowned, glamorous courtesan. To win back even a fraction of his attention, I had done the unthinkable. The scandalous, blood-red robe I wore was a direct imitation of Concetta's signature style. It was a vibrant, dangerous color I never wore; my own wardrobe consisted of simple cottons and linens in muted shades of gray and blue, colors that perfectly matched my quiet, invisible place in this grand house.

But Tess, my loyal maid, had practically begged me to try this. "Master Jaden only has eyes for women like her now, My Lady," she had said, her voice tight with shared frustration and pity for my sake. "Women who bloom like blood-red flowers—dangerous and tempting."

So, I had tried. And I had failed spectacularly.

Jaden stalked forward, his tall frame towering over me, casting a suffocating shadow. "Putting on a courtesan's clothes doesn't give you her fire," he sneered, his brown eyes filled with surgical contempt. "It just makes you look like a desperate caricature."

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, and suddenly took a sharp inhale. Instantly, he recoiled, waving a hand in front of his nose with an expression of visceral revulsion, as if he were choking.

"And this stench," his upper lip curled in disgust. "Are you burning Meccai leaves? It smells like cheap brothel perfume on you. It makes me want to vomit."

My blood ran ice-cold. The sheer, devastating irony of his words felt like a knife twisting in my gut. Cheap perfume? It was the exact same rare, expensive incense he spent a fortune importing for Concetta. It was rumored to make a Vorrath man's blood stir with desire. Tonight, it only made my husband gag.

"I only wore it because it's what you like!" The words tore from my throat, a pathetic, broken whisper of defense. "I am only trying to be what you want..."

"What I want?" He cut me off, his tone turning razor-sharp and merciless. "Save your little tricks from the Conrad estate. Don't forget your place, Doria. You were merely a tribute offered by conquered territories. It was my father's mercy that saved you from the rotten fate of slavery."

He paused, his gaze raking over my exposed leg—not with lust, but as if looking at a piece of trash. "Imitating a courtesan? You're not even a fraction of what she is. At least Concetta knows her own value. You... you just reek of desperation. You make me sick."

My mind went entirely blank. Humiliation washed over me in a burning, suffocating tide. I felt as if I were standing stark naked in the Grand Plaza, being judged and ridiculed by the entire world.

He turned his back on me, heading for the bathroom as if my very presence was a contamination.

"Take that ridiculous thing off. And air out this room before I come out." He didn't even glance over his shoulder as he delivered the cold order.

Bang.

The bathroom door slammed shut. The heavy thud sealed him away, and with it, the very last shred of my hope.

Slowly, agonizingly, I turned to look at the full-length mirror.

The woman staring back was a ruin. Her makeup was slightly smudged, the blood-red robe a glaring mockery of a love that didn't exist.

I finally saw it clearly. It wasn't the dress that disgusted him. It wasn't the incense.

It was me. It was simply me he despised.

A single tear escaped, landing hot on the back of my trembling hand before slowly turning cold.