My tenth year with neurasthenia, he choose mistress

"Mr. Carter," I said, reading the name off the sleek business card resting on the mahogany table.

William Carter leaned back in his chair. The entire city of New York knew his name. His new-money empire had warred with Johnson’s family legacy for over a decade.

"Emily," William said. His tone lacked the sharp edge I expected from a corporate shark. He slid a thick gray folder across the table. "I tracked the wire transfer. Johnson emptied your medical account to buy real estate."

I stared at the bank logo printed on the top page. "Why are you showing me this? Are you using me to get to him?"

"I am offering you a way out." He tapped a second document. A Swiss Rehabilitation Center confirmation letter. "I will cover the deposit right now. You leave tomorrow."

My fingers brushed the edge of the paper.

"You have seven days," William pressed, his gaze locking onto mine. "The person you need to save most is yourself."

"No," I told him.

William narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"I will not accept this." I pushed the folder back across the polished wood.

Ten years of history anchored me to Johnson. A decade of shared apartments, late-night promises, and quiet moments.

"He is playing you, Emily," William warned.

"Johnson made a mistake," I argued, my voice tight. "Jenny manipulated him. I need to speak with him face to face."

William’s jaw hardened. He did not argue further. "Suit yourself."

I took a cab straight to Harrison Group headquarters.

The door to the CEO's office stood ajar. I stopped in the carpeted hallway.

"Look at this one, Johnson," Jenny said.

I peered through the narrow crack. Jenny sat sideways on Johnson's lap, holding up a silver tablet.

"A platinum crib?" Johnson asked, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Only the best for my son."

He stroked her hair. I watched his hand move. He had not touched me with that kind of gentleness in five years.

Jenny giggled, then pouted her lips. "What if Emily finds out? You took all her treatment money for our baby's house."

Johnson kissed her forehead. "She will not leave me."

"Are you sure?" Jenny asked, tracing his lapel. "She needs that money for her brain."

"She has loved me for ten years. She is completely dependent on me." He waved a hand in the air dismissively. "Once the baby is born, I will buy her a nice purse. I will coax her a little. She will forgive me. She always does."

The words slammed into my chest. My hands balled into fists.

"But she is so weird," Jenny whined. "Her reactions are so slow."

"That just makes her easier to handle," Johnson replied.

"Oh!" Jenny suddenly shrieked. She dropped the tablet. It shattered against the hardwood floor. She clutched her stomach. "Johnson, it hurts! The baby!"

Johnson shot up from the chair, nearly knocking the heavy oak desk over. "Jenny! Hold on, I've got you."

He scooped her into his arms and sprinted for the door.

I stood frozen in the hallway. Johnson burst through the opening. His shoulder slammed into mine, spinning me backward. He did not even turn his head. He just kept running toward the elevators.

"Hold on, Jenny! I am taking you to the hospital!" he yelled.

A folded piece of paper fluttered from Jenny's coat pocket and landed by my shoes.

I bent down and picked it up.

An official hospital ultrasound report.

I smoothed out the creases. My eyes scanned the black-and-white image, then dropped to the medical notes printed at the bottom.

*Gestational age: 14 weeks.*

My thumb traced the number. Fourteen weeks.

Three and a half months ago, Johnson had taken me to a rooftop restaurant. He had presented a diamond ring and asked me to marry him.

"You are my forever, Emily," he had told me that night.

He was already sleeping with Jenny. He had planted a child in her womb while promising me a wedding.

My vision blurred. I crushed the paper in my fist.

I followed them to the hospital, taking a separate cab.

The pristine white walls of the emergency corridor felt suffocating. I stood near the waiting area, staring down at the crumpled ultrasound report in my hand.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out and answered. "Hello?"

"Miss Dawson," the receptionist from the Swiss Rehabilitation Center said. "I am calling to confirm the cancellation of your spot."

I gripped the phone tighter. "Cancellation? I did not cancel anything."

"We received the official request ten minutes ago," she explained. "Your spot has been given to the next patient on the waiting list."

"Who authorized that?" I demanded, my voice rising.

"The paperwork was submitted by your fiancé, Mr. Johnson Harrison."

"Can I reapply?" I asked, desperation bleeding into my words. "Can I get the spot back?"

"I am sorry, Miss Dawson. The roster is locked."

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone. Johnson had not just stolen my money. He had actively destroyed my only chance at a cure. He made sure I could not go, even if I found the funds somewhere else.

A bright flash of light caught my attention.

A massive digital screen hung above the hospital reception desk, broadcasting the afternoon financial news.

The anchor's voice echoed across the quiet lobby. "Breaking news in the corporate sector. Carter Group CEO William Carter has just announced a hostile takeover of Harrison Group's core development projects."

The screen cut to a live press conference.

William stood at a podium, adjusting his microphone. He wore the same tailored black suit from the café.

"The Harrison family has operated on borrowed time," William told the crowd of reporters. "By the end of this week, we will strip them of their most valuable assets."

He paused. He lifted his chin and stared directly into the camera lens. It felt as though he was looking straight through the screen, right at me standing in the sterile hospital lobby.

My phone vibrated against my palm.

A new text message appeared on the screen from an unknown number.

I tapped open the notification.

*Now, do you still believe he will go with you to Switzerland?*