After My Husband Pushed Me Down the Stairs

The invitation arrived like a death sentence—heavy cream cardstock with gold embossing, delivered by Cayson's personal assistant.

"The Kelly Tech Charity Gala," I read aloud, my fingers tracing the raised letters. "Black tie. Tomorrow evening."

Cayson stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against Seattle's skyline. He didn't turn when I spoke.

"You'll be wearing this." He gestured to a garment bag draped over the chaise lounge.

I unzipped it slowly, revealing a midnight blue gown with a high neckline that would cover my throat but plunge low enough to expose my collarbones. The fabric was heavy silk that would skim my body without revealing its curves—perfect for hiding the slight rounding of my abdomen that only I knew about.

"Do you like it?" His voice was deceptively casual.

"It's beautiful," I lied, running my fingers along the intricate beadwork.

"It cost more than most people's monthly salary." He finally turned, his eyes cold. "I want you to look perfect tomorrow night."

I understood the subtext: I was his possession, and possessions should be displayed to maximum advantage.

"Elowyn will be there," he added, watching my reaction carefully.

My stomach clenched. "I thought this was a charity event."

"It is." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "She's my date."

"And what am I?" The words escaped before I could stop them.

His laugh was soft, dangerous. "You're my wife, Juliet. My barren, disappointing wife who couldn't give me an heir."

I touched my abdomen reflexively before catching myself.

"If you make a scene tomorrow," he continued, stepping closer, "if you embarrass me in any way—I'll pull the plug on your father tonight. Do you understand?"

---

The ballroom of the Grand Hyatt sparkled with crystal chandeliers and the diamonds of Seattle's elite. I stood beside Cayson at the entrance, his hand pressing into the small of my back with bruising force.

"Smile," he hissed through clenched teeth.

I forced my lips upward as cameras flashed around us.

"Dr. Sullivan!" A reporter thrust a microphone toward me. "How does it feel to attend with your husband's pregnant girlfriend?"

Before I could respond, Cayson's grip tightened painfully. "My wife is thrilled for us," he said smoothly. "Aren't you, darling?"

"Of course," I managed, the words like glass in my throat.

Across the room, Elowyn held court, her hand resting protectively over her barely visible bump. Her red dress clung to every curve, designed to showcase what I lacked.

"Look at her," Cayson murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "That's what a real woman looks like."

I watched as Elowyn leaned in to whisper something to a reporter, who nodded eagerly. The headline tomorrow would be brutal.

"Let me get some air," I whispered.

Cayson's fingers dug deeper into my waist. "No. You stay where I can see you."

The room spun slightly—the combination of pregnancy, stress, and lack of food making my vision blur at the edges.

That's when I saw him—Jax, standing by the bar in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. Our eyes met across the crowded room. No one else would notice, but I saw the slight incline of his head, the almost imperceptible nod.

Help was there. If I could just reach it.

---

"Mrs. Kelly, could you comment on your husband's expecting mistress?" Another reporter, another microphone.

"I have no comment," I said quietly.

Elowyn's laugh cut through the crowd. "Poor thing," she said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "She's been trying for years to give Cayson a baby. Some women just aren't meant to be mothers."

The room fell silent, all eyes on us.

Then, with theatrical precision, Elowyn swayed dramatically and collapsed toward the champagne tower.

"Help!" someone screamed. "She's fainting!"

Instinct took over. I rushed forward, kneeling beside her prone form. "Everyone back!" I commanded, checking her pulse with practiced fingers.

Elowyn's eyes fluttered open—just enough for me to see the calculation there.

"Get off me, bitch," she whispered, her lips barely moving.

Before I could react, Cayson was there, his face contorted with rage.

"Don't touch her!" he shouted, shoving me violently away from Elowyn's body.

I stumbled backward, colliding with a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes. Glass shattered around me as I fell, the golden liquid soaking through my carefully chosen dress.

Seattle's elite gasped in horror—not at Elowyn's fake collapse, but at my public humiliation.

As I looked up from the floor, I caught Jax's eye again. Behind his glasses, I saw something I hadn't seen in years.

Hope.