My Husband Denied My Pregnancy to Protect His Mistress

I sat on the velvet sofa in the penthouse. Outside, a grey rain washed over the Manhattan skyline. The massive apartment was dead quiet. I liked the silence. I held my phone in my hand and scrolled mindlessly through Instagram.

Jane’s face popped up on my screen. She was smiling brightly, her blonde hair perfectly styled. She was sitting at a rustic wooden table in a trendy restaurant. A massive plastic bib covered her designer blouse. In the center of the table sat a mountain of red, oily Cajun seafood boil. I stared at the thick crab legs, the jumbo shrimp, and the dark, blistered slices of ghost pepper sausage. The food was drenched in a thick chili sauce.

The caption read: *Finally home 🌶️🔥.*

I looked at the little flame emojis. I remembered Axel’s stomach ulcer. It was severe and highly reactive. A single drop of basic hot sauce usually left him in agony. For three years, I spent hours reading grocery labels. I made sure his food was perfectly bland. I steamed his vegetables. I poached his chicken. I sacrificed my own taste buds just to keep him healthy.

Now, Jane was feeding him ghost peppers.

I locked my screen. I set the phone face-down on the glass coffee table. I picked up my book and found my page. I didn't feel a thing. I told myself I didn't care at all. If he wanted to burn his stomach lining for a photo op with his true love, that was his business. I had a baby to protect now.

Two days passed. I didn't cook a single meal for Axel. I didn't lay out his suits. I treated him like a ghost in his own home.

On Tuesday afternoon, my phone rang. The caller ID showed David, Axel’s executive assistant. I answered it slowly.

“Violet! Thank God,” David panted. He sounded frantic. The chaotic noise of an emergency room echoed behind him. “Axel is at Mount Sinai. He had a severe gastric hemorrhage. He collapsed in the boardroom and threw up blood.”

I traced the edge of my book with my finger. “Is that so?”

“It was that seafood place,” David rushed on, his voice cracking with panic. “He ate some insanely spicy Cajun food over the weekend. His ulcer completely ruptured. You need to come right now. He’s asking for water, but the doctors won't let him drink. He needs you, Violet.”

David expected me to panic. He expected the old Violet. The devoted wife who would drop everything, cry, and run through traffic to hold Axel’s hand.

I looked down at my flat stomach. I placed a protective hand over my womb.

“Okay,” I said. My voice was perfectly even. Cold. “I'll be there.”

I hung up. I didn't rush. I finished reading my chapter. I placed a bookmark between the pages. Then, I slowly put on my coat and my boots.

The hospital smelled like bleach and cold metal. I walked down the sterile white hallway. My heels clicked softly against the linoleum floor. I didn't hurry.

I pushed open the heavy wooden door to Room 412.

Axel lay in the narrow hospital bed. The great, powerful CEO looked incredibly small. His skin was the color of old paper. A clear IV tube ran into his left arm, pumping fluids into his veins. The heart monitor beeped a slow, weak rhythm next to his head.

I looked around the private room. The leather visitor chair was empty. There were no flowers. There was no Jane. She got her perfect Instagram photo, and then she vanished the second things got messy.

Axel opened his eyes. He saw me standing there and let out a long, shaky breath. A flicker of relief crossed his pale face. He thought I was there to save him. He thought I was there to fix it, just like I always did.

I didn't walk to his side. I didn't reach out to touch his face. I stood exactly at the foot of his bed. I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Violet,” he croaked. His voice was weak and raspy. He reached a trembling hand out toward me. “My stomach... it's killing me.”

I looked at him. I felt the baby resting safely inside me. I thought about the divorce papers he threw at me. I thought about him lying about a vasectomy just to call me a cheater.

“I see the Cajun boil was everything you hoped for,” I said.

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

Axel flinched. His dark eyes widened in shock. His hand dropped back onto the blanket. “What?” he whispered.

“Ghost pepper sausage,” I said flatly. “A very bold choice for a man who can't even handle black pepper. Did Jane enjoy it?”

His jaw tightened. A flash of anger mixed with the pain on his face. “Violet, please. I'm bleeding internally. Don't do this now. Just get me some ice chips.”

“I'm not doing anything, Axel,” I replied. “I'm just agreeing with your choices. You chose Jane. You chose her lifestyle. This is the result.”

I didn't sit down. I didn't press the call button for the nurse. I just watched him suffer. For three years, I kept him healthy. He threw it all away for a spicy dinner and a woman who didn't even bother to show up to the ER.

“Where is she?” I asked softly.

Axel looked away. His knuckles turned white against the thin hospital blanket. He didn't answer. He couldn't.

“Get well soon,” I said.

I turned on my heel and walked out. I didn't look back.

I stepped into the busy corridor. My chest felt incredibly light. It was like dropping a heavy backpack I had carried for seven years. I took a deep breath of the sterile hospital air. It tasted like freedom.

I was looking down at my purse, searching for my car keys, when I turned the corner. I slammed right into a solid wall of muscle.

“Careful,” a deep, smooth voice rumbled.

Large, warm hands gripped my shoulders to steady me. The scent of expensive cedar and bergamot washed over me. I looked up.

It was Corbin Freeman.

He was Axel’s worst nightmare. The ruthless billionaire rival who made it his life's mission to destroy Axel’s company. He wore an immaculate charcoal suit. His tie was perfectly straight. He looked like a predator strolling casually through a petting zoo.

He was here to gloat. He came to enjoy his enemy's misery.

Corbin looked down at me. His hands lingered on my shoulders for a second longer than necessary. His grip was firm but surprisingly gentle. His sharp blue eyes scanned my face.

I waited for him to sneer. I was Axel’s wife, after all. I was the enemy by association.

But Corbin didn't sneer. He did a subtle double-take. His gaze dropped to my eyes, then to the stubborn set of my jaw. He hadn't seen me up close in years. Back then, I was just a quiet, shrinking shadow standing behind Axel at corporate galas.

Now, I stood tall. I met his intense stare head-on. I didn't apologize. I didn't look away.

Corbin’s eyes darkened. A slow, dangerous spark lit up in his pupils. He noticed the change immediately. He saw the fire I had finally let out of the cage. He saw the ice in my veins.

He didn't say a word. He just watched me. The busy hallway faded away. The noise of the rushing nurses and the beeping machines vanished. There was just the heavy, electric weight of his stare pinning me in place.

“Excuse me,” I said quietly.

I stepped out of his grip and walked around him. He didn't try to stop me. But as I walked down the long hall, I could feel his eyes on my back. They were burning right through my trench coat. He didn't look away until I pushed through the double doors and disappeared into the rain.