After My Husband Forced Me to Carry His Mistress's Baby

The dress was silver. Charli picked it out. She said it would photograph well.

I stood in front of the mirror while the stylist zipped me up. The fabric was tight across my ribs. My stomach was not showing yet, but I felt it. The weight. The constant awareness.

Charli appeared in the doorway wearing white. Always white. Linen that looked expensive and soft at the same time. She smiled at me in the mirror.

"You look beautiful," she said. "Like you're glowing."

I touched my collarbone. My fingers found bare skin where the jade used to sit.

"The gala's important tonight," she continued. "There will be press. Cameras. Khai needs us to project unity. Family."

Us. Family.

I nodded.

She tilted her head. Left. "You understand how much this means to him, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Good." She reached out and adjusted the strap on my shoulder. Her fingers were cool. "I knew you would."

---

The ballroom was all gold light and marble. Chandeliers hung like frozen fireworks. Waiters moved through the crowd with trays of champagne that caught the light and threw it back in sharp little sparks.

Khai walked ahead. Charli was on his arm. I followed three steps behind.

People turned to look. They smiled at Khai. They smiled at Charli. Their eyes skipped over me like I was part of the furniture.

We stopped near the stage. A photographer appeared. Khai and Charli posed. She laughed at something he said. The camera clicked.

No one asked me to step into the frame.

---

The toast came after dinner.

A man in a tuxedo stood at the microphone and said something about community and generosity. Everyone lifted their glasses. The chandeliers turned the champagne into liquid gold.

Charli raised hers. She turned to me with a smile that was bright and warm and perfect.

"Elyse," she said. Loud enough for the people nearby to hear. "Join us."

A waiter appeared at my elbow with a flute on a tray.

I looked at the glass. Then at her.

"I can't," I said quietly. "I'm allergic."

Her smile did not move. "It's just a toast, honey. One sip. For the family."

"I can't. It's—" I stopped. My throat felt tight already and I had not even touched it. "It's severe. Anaphylactic."

Her eyes went wide. Soft. Wounded. She looked at Khai.

"She's making a scene," she murmured. Just loud enough. "Everyone's looking."

I felt the heat rise up my neck. People were looking. A woman in diamonds whispered to her husband. A man with a camera lowered it slowly.

Khai set his glass down.

He crossed to me in three steps. His face was blank. Unreadable.

He took the champagne flute from the tray.

"Khai—"

His hand closed around the back of my neck. His fingers pressed into the base of my skull. Not hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to hold.

He brought the glass to my mouth.

"Drink."

"Please—"

"Drink."

He tipped it. The liquid hit my lips. I tried to turn my head but his grip tightened. I swallowed. Once. Twice. The champagne burned going down.

He let go.

I stumbled back. The glass fell. It shattered on the marble and no one moved.

My throat started to close.

It happened fast. Faster than I remembered. My vision narrowed at the edges. My chest felt like someone was sitting on it. I tried to breathe and the air would not come.

I reached for the table. Missed.

Someone caught me.

Not Khai.

Brody.

He pulled me upright. His arm went around my waist. His other hand was already digging into his jacket pocket. He pulled out the EpiPen and did not hesitate. He jabbed it through the silver dress into my thigh and held it there.

Ten seconds.

The pressure in my chest cracked. Air came back in a sharp, painful rush.

Brody lifted me. I felt his arms under my knees, around my back. He turned and walked.

I looked over his shoulder.

Khai was standing exactly where I had left him. Charli's hand was on his arm. She was saying something. He nodded.

He did not look at me.

Not once.

---

Brody carried me through a service exit. Down a hallway. Out into the cold.

He set me in the back of his car and climbed in beside me. He reached for a water bottle in the door pocket, opened it, and held it out.

My hands were shaking too hard to take it.

He held it to my lips. I drank. The water was cold and clean and I wanted to cry.

"Breathe," he said. His voice was low. Steady. "Just breathe."

I did.

He did not say anything else. He did not say I told you so. He did not say you need to leave. He just sat beside me in the dark and held the bottle when I needed it and waited.

I touched the inside of my left wrist. Bare skin.

The pea. The whisper.

I put my hand on my stomach and closed my eyes.