His Faked Infertility, My Sweet Revenge

Ainsley POV: I shoved him away with a strength that surprised us both. He stumbled back, his hand falling from my face. The spot where he'd touched me felt contaminated, burned. "So you're afraid she'll find out?" I sneered, my voice trembling with a rage so profound it felt like a physical illness. "Afraid your perfect, fertile little victim will be disgusted by your 'defect'?" His eyes darted away, unable to meet mine. "That's between us, Ainsley. It's private." He tried to regain his footing, to appeal to a history I no longer recognized. "You were the one who took me to all those specialists. The best in the world. You said we'd find a cure." "We will, Damian," he added, his voice softening into a weak, pathetic plea. "We'll have our own children one day." Casey, ever the master of timing, chose that moment to speak, her voice a soft, wondering murmur. "That's so strange. Everyone in my family says I'm a 'hyper-fertile' type. You know, a baby magnet." She preened, touching her flat stomach. "I had five boys, and the doctors said each one was a miracle. They said I could probably get pregnant even if my partner had… issues." The implication was as subtle as a sledgehammer. I watched Damian's face. A flicker of something-a desperate, ugly hope-flashed in his eyes before he quickly suppressed it. He took a step toward me, his movements stiff and unnatural, and wrapped an arm around my waist, a performative act of loyalty for Casey' s benefit. "Ainsley is the only woman I will ever call my wife," he declared, his voice loud and hollow. The words were meant to reassure me, but all they did was confirm my deepest fear. He was framing this as my failure. As if I were the one who couldn't give him a child. A wave of nausea washed over me, so intense I had to grip the back of a chair to steady myself. The last six months replayed in my mind in sickening, high-definition clarity. The trip I took to a remote Swiss clinic, chasing a radical new treatment for him. The countless hours I spent on calls with researchers, pulling every string my family name could reach. And while I was doing that, he had brought her here. Into our home. Casey glided into the kitchen and returned with plates of food. The steak was charred on the outside and raw in the middle. The asparagus was limp and grey. It was the kind of meal a professional chef would be fired for. Damian took a bite without a word, chewing mechanically. Then, my eyes caught something on Casey' s wrist. A delicate diamond bracelet. My bracelet. The one Damian had given me for our fifth anniversary. I hadn't seen it in weeks and had assumed it was misplaced. Every night for the past two weeks, he had come to bed late, long after I was asleep, smelling faintly of a cheap, sweet perfume. I took a deep, steadying breath. The COO in me took over, shutting down the heartbroken wife. The time for emotion was over. "Damian," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "This is your last chance. Fire her. Now." "For God's sake, Ainsley!" He pushed me away, his patience gone. "Stop being so paranoid! You're ruining everything with your insane jealousy!" He sneered, his lip curling. "You're always trying to trample on my dignity." My back hit the sharp corner of the sideboard. A hot, searing pain shot through my lower back. I gasped, stumbling forward. He rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Don't start pretending to be some delicate flower now. I've seen you take a punch from a construction worker and not even flinch." He was talking about the time, years ago, when a drunk heckler had tried to start a fight with him outside a bar. I had stepped between them without a second thought. My strength, which I had used to protect him, was now another weapon he used to hurt me. I dodged his attempt to touch me, to offer a fake apology. "Don't," I said, my voice low and filled with disgust. "You're filthy." His face hardened. He clenched his fists at his sides. "Is it impossible for you to have a normal conversation?" "There is nothing normal about this," I said, turning my back on him. "It's her or me, Damian. That's it." I started walking towards the grand staircase, my steps heavy. He started to follow, his mouth open to say something, but Casey stopped him. Her performance began anew. Soft, choked sobs filled the room. "Damian, it's my fault," she whimpered. "I'll leave. It's what I deserve. My ex-husband used to beat me, you know. He said I was worthless. Maybe he was right." She took a dramatic step towards the wall. "Maybe I should just end it all!" "Casey, no!" Damian rushed to her side, pulling her away from the wall as if she were about to dash her head against it. His eyes were filled with a raw, protective tenderness I hadn't seen directed at me in years. "You're not worthless," he murmured, stroking her hair. "You're the sweetest, kindest woman I know." She looked up at him, tears miraculously gone, replaced by a doe-eyed smile. "Really?" "Really," he said, his voice softening. Then, he deliberately raised his voice, ensuring I would hear every word as I paused on the stairs. "Unlike some people, you're not a cold-hearted, ball-busting bitch who only cares about power and money." Casey glanced past him, her eyes meeting mine over his shoulder. A triumphant smirk flickered across her face before she buried it in Damian's chest. Something inside me snapped. The world went red. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, painful rhythm. I turned, marched back down the stairs, and snatched the heavy crystal vase from the console table. With a scream of pure, undiluted fury, I hurled it at them. "Get out," I roared, my voice raw and broken. "Get out of my house!"