My Husband Carried His Mistress While I Bled Out

The kitchen was dead quiet.

I stood by the island and looked down at my phone. On the screen was a spreadsheet. It had ninety-nine rows. Each row had a date, a woman’s name, and a hotel address.

Five years ago, I gave up everything for Silas Bennett. I walked away from my family, my name, and the Hawkins billions. I lived in a tiny Brooklyn studio with him. I took a hit from a truck to save his life, losing my uterus and our unborn child in the crash. In return, he gave me ninety-nine reasons to hate him.

Eight years ago, my father made a deal with me. Reuben Hawkins told me I was blind. He said Silas would destroy me. I wouldn’t listen. So my father made a pact.

*“Count his betrayals, Sutton,”* he had said. *“When you reach one hundred, you come home.”*

I tapped the screen. I typed in the final row.

Row one hundred. *Tonight. Cielo Martin. Our penthouse.*

I closed the file. I set the phone face-down on the cold marble. The contract was fulfilled. Tonight was my last night here.

The front door chimed. Footsteps echoed in the hall, followed by a woman’s soft giggle.

Silas walked in. His dark hair was slightly messy, and his tie was loose. Cielo Martin was hanging on his arm, wearing a tight red slip dress and high heels. She looked like she owned the place.

Silas didn’t look at me, even though I was standing six feet away. He grabbed a bottle of red wine, poured two glasses, and handed one to Cielo.

“You have great taste in wine, Silas,” Cielo purred. She looked around the living room and curled her lip. “Though I hate this kitchen island. The black marble feels so depressing. When I move in, we should replace it with white quartz.”

Silas laughed. He kissed her forehead. “Whatever you want, baby.”

I watched them. I waited for the usual ache in my chest, but there was nothing. The pain had turned into stone.

“Silas,” I said.

My voice was quiet, but it cut through the room.

Silas stopped laughing. He finally looked at me, his eyes full of irritation. “Sutton, don't start. I had a long day at the office. Don't make a scene.”

“We’re done,” I said. “I’m leaving.”

He rolled his eyes and took a sip of his wine. He deployed the same line he had used a hundred times before. “Stop being dramatic, Sutton. Where would you even go? You have no family. You have no money. You’re lucky I keep a roof over your head.”

Cielo smiled, taking a step forward. “Excuse me, honey,” she sneered. “You’re in my way.”

She shoved past me, hard, heading for Silas.

Her shoulder caught mine. My heel slipped on the slick floor. I lost my balance and tumbled backward.

My lower abdomen slammed straight into the sharp marble corner of the island.

A white-hot burst of agony ripped through my gut. It hit right where the old scar was—the scar from the car accident that took my child.

I hit the floor. The breath left my lungs in a sharp gasp.

Warmth spread between my thighs immediately. I looked down. Red soaked through my light gray pants. It poured out of me, thick and dark, pooling across the white floor tiles.

I curled in on myself, clutching my stomach. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe.

Silas looked down at me. He scoffed, his face twisted in disgust. “Really? You’re faking an injury now? Get up, Sutton. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Silas...” Cielo suddenly gasped.

She dropped her wine glass. It shattered on the floor. Cielo clutched her own flat belly and leaned against the counter, whimpering.

“My stomach,” Cielo cried softly. Tears welled in her big eyes. “Silas, it hurts so bad... The baby. Please, something is wrong with the baby!”

Silas’s face went pale. The cold annoyance vanished, replaced by sheer panic.

He didn’t look at me again. He didn’t look at the dark pool of blood spreading around my waist. He dropped everything and rushed to Cielo’s side. He scooped her up into his arms like she was made of glass.

“Hold on, Cielo,” Silas said, his voice shaking with fear. “I’ve got you. I’m taking you to the ER right now.”

He turned toward the door. As he stepped over the shattered glass, he threw one last look over his shoulder.

“Clean yourself up, Sutton,” he snapped. “And wipe down the floor before we get back.”

The front door slammed shut.

The penthouse went dead silent.

All I could hear was my own shallow, ragged breathing. The pain in my stomach was blinding. Black spots danced across my eyes. I knew what internal bleeding felt like. I was dying on this floor.

*Not like this.*

I bit my lip until I tasted copper. I used my elbows to drag my body across the sticky, red tiles. Every inch felt like fire tearing through my insides.

I reached the island. My fingers trembled as I reached up and blindly grabbed my phone.

It slipped into my bloody palm.

My vision was fading fast. I smeared blood across the screen and opened my contacts. There was only one number saved under favorites.

I tapped it.

It didn’t even ring twice. It connected on the first ring.

A voice came through the speaker. Deep. Powerful. Steady as a mountain.

“Come home,” my father said.

A single tear slipped down my cheek, mixing with the blood on the floor.

Then, everything went black.