Chapter 1
In five years of barren marriage, I never imagined that the man who tangled with me in the sheets night after night was not my husband—but his twin brother, Sebastian Kingsley.
I thought they’d be happy for me. Instead, they laughed. Laughed until their eyes watered, until their voices grew hoarse–as if my happiness were the funniest thing they’d ever heard.
And then I learned why.
The truth unraveled the moment I rushed to share my pregnancy test results, only to overhear raucous laughter from the fancy private lounge:
“You bastard brat! You were only supposed to impersonate your brother for a month to keep his wife company–how the hell did you knock her up?”
Five years. Five years of believing in a love that never existed. Five years of being the fool in their story, the joke they whispered about behind my back. My marriage was a lie. My life? Just another punchline.
Sebastian Kingsley–my so–called brother–in–law–leaned back with a roguish smirk, swirling his whiskey. “Who knew sweet little Julie had such a wild side? I tried drinking myself unconscious to avoid her, but she still got pregnant. But she I have to say that she tastes amazing, oh my god, so amazing!”
His friends howled, one slamming the table. “Country girls are desperate, huh? Probably scheming to lock down her place in the Kingsley family.”
“Not like our pretty little princess Scarlett–every man in this city would kill to just get a kiss from her.”
As if on cue, Scarlett Donovan lifted her wineglass, her smile saccharine. “Seb, next year when Damien takes me to Switzerland again, maybe you should remind your dear sister–in–law about condem use. Too many abortions ruin a woman’s fertility. So pathetic.”
Scarlett Donovan was a doll dipped in poison. Those shining green eyes- —so beautiful, so empty–knew exactly how to play Damien Kingsley like a fiddle. No messy emotions, no inconvenient truths. Just a pretty face and a voice like sugar, and men fell like dominoes.
Was that all it took? No heart, no honesty–just the right mask and the perfect performance?
I clutched the doorframe, my pulse a frantic staccato against my throat.
When the crowd dispersed, the butler whispered frantically to Damien: “Mr. Damien, I drugged Mr. Sebastian every night as you had requested! He never touched her–that baby is clearly yours from before your trip-”
Damien silenced him with a raised hand. “I know. But only if Scarlett thinks it’s a bastard will she stop making scenes.”
“The forged medical report isn’t enough. Give her a shot of fetal inhibitor.”
“What if Mrs. Kingsley suspects abnormalities and chooses to get abortion?”
Damien’s laugh slithered through the dark. “That stupid girl loves me enough to give birth to the baby no matter what happens,, even if it kills her. I know her too well.”
Through scalding tears, I desperately booked an abortion.
The realization came late -like a slow poison finally reaching the heart. Perhaps there had never been a ‘correct‘ choice for me, only illusions of control in a script already written.
Now, hollowed out and frail, I understood: to stay was to rot. So I would walk into the dark, even if it had no end.
The boarding pass in my hand was a pardon.
Through the grimy terminal windows, the sun mocked the city I was abandoning.
No tears. No looking back. Just the mechanical roar of engines, and the sweet, sterile smell of escape.
Later, rumors reached me–the Kingsley brothers turned the city upside down in their blood feud.
By the time the clinic’s receptionist had just confirmed my appointment, Damien’s black Maybach screeched to the curb.
He vaulted out, breath ragged as he crushed me against his Brioni suit. “Julie, why aren’t you answering your calls?”
The panic in his eyes almost convinced me he cared.
Then his driver opened the trunk–a waterfall of blush peonies cascaded onto the sidewalk, cream garden roses nestled against lavender sprigs, wrapped in ivory lace.
A second van disgorged a small army: nutritionists, maids, masseuses bowing in unison. “Congratulations, Mrs. Kingsley!” Chapter 1
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Bystanders whipped out phones, captions already blooming across social media:
[Damien Kingsley’s GRAND ROMANTIC GESTURE! Juliette Kingsley is LIVING THE DREAM!]
The spectacle that once made my heart flutter now reeked of farce.
I stayed silent.
Damien’s grip tightened around my frozen fingers. “The doctor says the baby is fragile. You’ll need…. special injection shots.”
My hand drifted to my abdomen. Five years of IVF needles. Countless herbal tonics gulped between vomiting fits. I can still feel the injections. Not just in my hips where the bruises bloomed, but in my dreams where the needles never stop. Five years of this. Five years of bargaining with my body for a life he never intended to give me.
All for this baby he’d casually condemn.
Now, looking at him is like staring at a smudged photograph. The man I loved exists only in the faulty film of my memory.
Did you ever love me? The question burned my tongue–but the cameras were rolling.
I couldn’t speak a single word. Speech abandoned me–proof that some sorrows run too deep for words. I remained motionless, a hollow figure adrift in the noise, my silence louder than any scream.
His gaze sharpened at my hesitation. “Why pull away?” He hauled me closer, voice dropping to a possessive growl. “I want the world to see how much I cherish you.”
Then I saw her.
Across the street, Scarlett Donovan lounged against her convertible, blowing me a kiss, like a sweet snake.
And suddenly, I understood.
Five years of marriage Was just another one of Scarlett Donovan’s vicious pranks.
Thoughts back to when I was in the college, the time when my mother’s brain tumor diagnosis turned me into a sleep–deprived ghost working three jobs
Chapter 1
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