After My Husband Chose His Mistress Over Our Baby

The guest wing became my prison. Three days after the failed ritual, I woke to Cameron standing in my doorway. The morning light from the window behind him turned his silhouette into something skeletal.

"You poisoned me." His voice was flat, mechanical. "All those teas. Those needles. You've been making me sick."

I sat up slowly, my hand instinctively moving to my stomach. "Cameron, that's not—"

"Ava explained everything." He stepped into the room, and I saw the gray creeping up his neck like frost on glass. He didn't notice. "You're a witch. You've been cursing me for years, keeping me weak so I'd depend on you."

The words were Ava's. I could hear her honey-sweet poison in every syllable.

"Since I stopped your rituals, I've been getting stronger." He held up his hand—the one with the split finger. The wound had spread, the edges of the tear now reaching his knuckle. The skin around it had the texture of old parchment. "See? It's healing. Ava says it's my body purging your toxins."

I stared at the necrotizing flesh he believed was healing. "Cameron, please. Look at yourself. Really look."

"I am looking." His eyes were wild, unfocused. "I'm looking at my wife, who's been sabotaging me. Who's jealous of Ava and our baby." He leaned closer, and I smelled the rot beneath the sage oil. "Stay away from her. Stay away from us. If anything happens to that child, I'll know it was you."

He left. I heard him return to the master bedroom, heard Ava's delighted laughter through the walls.

My phone buzzed. Jax. *I found something. Meet me at the shop. Now.*

---

The club was called Velvet, tucked into a basement in the Meatpacking District. Jax stood in the alley behind it, a crowbar in one hand and a leather messenger bag in the other.

"You broke in?" I asked.

"Ava's locker." He handed me the bag. "Look."

Inside, I found invoices from a theatrical supply company. *Prosthetic pregnancy belly—silicone, medical grade. $2,400.* Receipts for bulk orders of hallucinogenic sage oil from an underground herbalist I knew dealt in illegal substances. And printouts of text messages.

I read them twice, my hands shaking.

*Marcus Sterling: Once the baby's born, we move. Declare him incompetent. You get the wife's share, I get the company.*

*Ava: And if the wife doesn't leave quietly?*

*Marcus: Then we make sure she has an accident.*

Jax's hand was on my shoulder, warm and steady. "We go to Cameron. Show him this. End it now."

"He won't believe me."

"Then I'll make him believe." His voice was steel wrapped in silk. "Get your things. You're not staying in that penthouse another night."

We drove in silence, the evidence bag sitting between us like a bomb. When we reached the building, the doorman's face went pale.

"Mrs. Brooks, Mr. Hamilton—Mr. Brooks left instructions. You're not to—"

Jax walked past him. I followed.

The elevator ride felt endless. When the doors opened to the penthouse, Cameron was waiting.

He looked at Jax, then at me. Something dark and possessive twisted his features. "You brought him here. Into our home."

"Cameron, we need to talk." I held up the bag. "It's about Ava."

"No." He moved fast, faster than a dying man should be able to. He grabbed my wrist, his fingers ice-cold and unnaturally strong. "You're having an affair. That's what this is. You and your childhood sweetheart, plotting against me."

"Let her go." Jax's voice dropped to that dangerous softness.

Cameron's grip tightened. I felt bones grind. "She's my wife. Mine. Not yours."

"Cameron, please." I tried to pull away. "Look at the evidence. Ava's pregnancy is fake. She's using you."

"Liar." He shoved me backward. I stumbled, caught myself against the wall. "You're the liar. You and your rituals and your cold hands. Ava warned me you'd try this."

Jax stepped between us, his body a shield. "Touch her again, and I'll—"

"You'll what?" Cameron's laugh was unhinged. "Fight me for her? She's not worth fighting for. She's barren. Cold. Dead inside."

The word hit like a slap. Dead. He called me dead while his own flesh rotted off his bones.

"I'm pregnant." The words came out before I could stop them. "Twelve weeks. I'm carrying your child, Cameron. The real heir."

Silence. Cameron stared at me, his face cycling through confusion, disbelief, rage.

"You're lying," he said finally. "You're lying to compete with Ava."

"I'm not—"

"Liar!" He lunged. Jax caught him, and they crashed into the coffee table. Glass shattered. Cameron's fist connected with Jax's jaw, and I heard the crack of bone.

I screamed. Ran forward. Cameron's elbow caught me in the stomach.

The pain was immediate, blinding. I doubled over, my hands clutching my abdomen. Something warm and wet spread between my legs.

No. No, no, no.

Jax was shouting. Cameron was backing away, his face pale with dawning horror. I sank to my knees on the marble floor, watching my miracle bleed out in a spreading crimson pool.

"June." Jax's arms were around me. "Stay with me. Stay with me."

But I was already gone, falling into the dark where my little spark had been.