My Fiancé Chose His Pregnant Mistress Over Our Dynasty

I watched the email arrive in my inbox with a notification chime that seemed too cheerful for the circumstances. Alexander had forwarded me Isabella's flight itinerary—a one-way ticket to London departing next Tuesday. First class, of course. Nothing but the best for the woman he was supposedly cutting from his life.

"Is this sufficient proof of my commitment?" Alexander asked, hovering behind me as I sat at my desk. His reflection in my computer screen showed an anxious smile, his hand automatically adjusting his cufflinks.

I scrolled through the details with the same methodical precision I applied to analyzing investment portfolios. "An internship at Blackwood's London office?" I raised an eyebrow. "That's your solution?"

"It's prestigious," he defended, placing his hands on my shoulders. I resisted the urge to shrug them off. "She'll be working directly under Marcus Whitley. You know how demanding he is—she won't have time for anything else."

"And she agreed to this? Just like that?" I turned to face him, searching his eyes for the truth.

"She was... reluctant at first," he admitted. "But I convinced her it was an opportunity she couldn't pass up."

Something in his voice didn't ring true. I'd spent years in boardrooms with men trying to hide their true intentions behind carefully chosen words. Alexander had that same tell-tale hesitation.

"I see," I said, closing my laptop. "Well, I appreciate you taking swift action."

He visibly relaxed, mistaking my calm for acceptance. "I told you, Victoria. You're my future. The engagement party will proceed as planned, and this... distraction... will be five thousand miles away."

I nodded, offering him a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Speaking of the engagement party, I have a meeting with the event planner at the Plaza in an hour."

"Do you want me to come?" he asked, already glancing at his watch.

"No need," I replied, gathering my things. "I know what we both want."

Did I, though? As I rode the elevator down from our penthouse, I couldn't shake the feeling that Alexander's solution was too neat, too convenient.

---

The Plaza Hotel's ballroom glittered with chandeliers that cast diamond-like reflections across the polished floor. Melissa, our event planner, greeted me with a portfolio of options for what was supposed to be the celebration of the decade—the official union of the Sterling and Blackwood empires.

"Ms. Sterling, I've sourced those rare white orchids you mentioned," she said, flipping through her tablet to show me images. "And the platinum-rimmed Bernardaud china is available. It's exquisite."

I ran my finger along the edge of the sample plate she'd brought. "It's perfect," I agreed, though my enthusiasm felt hollow.

We walked the perimeter of the ballroom, discussing seating arrangements and lighting design. I made decisions with automatic efficiency—yes to the string quartet during cocktails, no to the ice sculpture, yes to the vintage champagne Alexander's father preferred.

"And for the centerpiece of your table?" Melissa asked.

I paused by the windows overlooking Fifth Avenue. "The orchids," I decided. "White symbolizes new beginnings, doesn't it?"

"And purity," she added with a smile.

I turned away so she wouldn't see my expression. Purity. What a concept.

---

Three days later, I arrived early for the Blackwood Industries quarterly board meeting. As Alexander's fiancée and the Sterling representative, my presence was expected. I was reviewing the agenda when Alexander rushed in, looking flustered.

"Sorry I'm late," he muttered, dropping his briefcase on the table with a thud. The clasp sprung open, and papers spilled out.

I helped him gather them, my hand freezing when I spotted a small, grainy image among the financial reports. An ultrasound photo.

Our eyes met as I held it up. "What is this?"

His face drained of color. "I—I can explain."

"You keep saying that," I whispered, my voice deadly quiet as board members began filing into the room. "But somehow, I don't think you can."

I slipped the ultrasound into my purse just as Arthur Blackwood entered, his cold eyes assessing the tension between us.

"Is there a problem?" he asked sharply.

"No problem at all," I replied, my social mask firmly in place. "Alexander was just sharing some... unexpected news."

The look of panic on Alexander's face confirmed what I already knew. Isabella might be going to London, but her connection to Alexander—their connection—was growing inside her. And no amount of distance could change that reality.