I’m pregnant. With his children. Three of them. And he sees me as nothing more than a vault he picked open and looted. And Dulcie… she was helping him the whole time?
I slip out while they’re distracted, somehow managing not to scream, not to break, not to collapse. My heels echo faintly through the hall as I escape the dark maze beneath our estate.
Once I’m outside, the night air hits me like a slap. I clutch my stomach, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. My babies. I have to think of them. Not him. Not her. Not the betrayal boiling in my throat.
For a split second, the darkness whispers that it would be easier to disappear. To end this. But then I feel it—one small flutter in my belly.
I choke on a sob.
No. I’m not going to die.
Not for a man who sees me as a pawn.
Not for a best friend who traded me for a crown.
I return home, barely functioning. The walls feel the same, but everything inside me has changed.
Reagan is already there. Of course he is. Cool. Composed. A fucking iceberg in human skin.
“You look pale,” he says, eyes scanning me like a threat under a microscope. “Everything alright?”
“Just tired,” I mutter, voice dull.
“Dulcie’s back, by the way,” he says casually. “She’s hosting a gala this weekend and wants you there.”
I blink slowly. Dulcie wants me there? After everything I just heard?
“She said she misses you,” he adds, like poison laced with sugar. “You two have been distant lately, haven’t you? She just wants things to go back to normal.”
Normal?
I nearly laugh. He’s testing me. Manipulating the narrative already—trying to gaslight me into thinking Dulcie and I just drifted apart… not that she stabbed me in the back.
I nod. What else can I do? Say no? He’ll twist it into some emotional guilt trap.
“Sure,” I whisper.
His eyes light up like he’s just won again. He steps closer, tries to kiss me—but I turn my face at the last second, his lips brushing my cheek.
“I’m exhausted,” I say, flat.
He studies me for a second, something calculating flickering behind his perfect smile. But he doesn’t push. Just hums, then pulls me into his arms.
“You’ll see,” he murmurs, stroking my hair. “This is all for us.”
I lie there, stiff in his arms, staring at the ceiling. His breath evens out as he drifts off.
And I swear to God—I will never forget this moment.
You used me, Reagan.
You played me.
You turned my best friend into my enemy.
But you have no idea who you married.