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After My Husband Tried to Steal My Baby Novel Cover

After My Husband Tried to Steal My Baby

At 3:33 AM, a chilling message from the future shatters her world: her husband Malcolm never loved her. He wed her solely to control his grandfather, while his real desire burns for Valery Hoffman. The warning paints a grim path ahead—losing her baby, her sanity, and dying forgotten in a psychiatric ward. With her child's fate teetering, she must decide whether to trust the cryptic prophecy or expose the dark secrets hiding behind her penthouse's gilded walls before time runs out.
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Chapter 4

My phone buzzed at 3:33 AM on a Wednesday.

I already knew who it was. My heart knew before my hand did.

*Tomorrow night. Grandfather Crawford's study. His servants will hold you down and force a sterilization drug into your mouth. You almost died from the reaction. I lost a baby I didn't know I was carrying. Get out of the house tomorrow — or at minimum, don't swallow. Use wax. Do whatever you have to. This is the moment that broke me. Don't let it break you.*

I read it until the words blurred.

Malcolm slept beside me. His breathing was slow and even. I pressed my palm flat against my stomach and felt nothing. No flutter. No sign. Just skin, and the fear underneath it.

Running was easy. I could pack a bag and be in Vegas by noon.

But then they'd know I knew. And I wasn't done counting.

---

The summons came at seven the next evening. A servant in gray stood at the estate's guest suite door.

"Mr. Crawford wishes to see you in his study."

"Is Malcolm there?"

"Mr. Crawford wishes to see *you*, ma'am."

I asked for one minute. I closed the door.

In my makeup bag was a small disc of dental wax. I'd bought it that morning at a pharmacy in Queens, paid cash, kept my head down. I softened it between my fingers. Then I pressed it high inside my cheek, behind my back molar. It tasted like nothing. Like candle smoke.

I checked the mirror. My face looked normal. Scared, maybe. But they expected me scared.

---

The study smelled like leather and cedar. A fire popped in the grate. Grandfather Crawford sat behind his desk like a judge.

He didn't ask me to sit.

"You have been married to my grandson for three years," he said. "And still you have not had the decency to leave."

"I love him."

"That is not my concern." He opened a drawer. He set a small glass vial on the blotter. One white pill rolled inside it. "This is."

The door shut behind me. The lock clicked.

Two servants. Big men. One on each side.

"What is that?" My voice cracked. I didn't have to fake it.

"Insurance." He uncapped the vial, calm as a man signing a lease. "You will never bear a Crawford heir. See to it."

The hands came fast. Fingers dug into my upper arms. My shoulder twisted back. I kicked. I screamed. I let it be loud and ugly, because a quiet girl would make them suspicious.

A third hand gripped my jaw. Thumb on one side, fingers on the other. It squeezed until my mouth opened.

The pill hit my tongue.

I shoved it back with my tongue, hard, into the wax. Pressed it there. Trapped it. A hand clamped over my mouth and nose. I couldn't breathe. Water splashed against my lips.

"Swallow," the old man said.

I swallowed the water. Only the water. But the coating had already started to melt. Bitter. Chalky. It burned down my throat in a thin line.

They let go.

I dropped to my knees on the Persian rug. I clawed at my throat. I made my body shake, and then I didn't have to make it. My stomach cramped like a fist. Cold sweat ran down my spine. The room tilted sideways.

I fell. My cheek hit the carpet.

Above me, Grandfather Crawford checked his pocket watch.

"Call a car," he said. "Not an ambulance. Discreet."

---

The hospital lights were too white.

I lay curled under a thin blanket. My teeth chattered. A nurse had taken my blood twice. Dr. Wells, a woman with tired eyes, kept asking what I'd taken. I kept saying I didn't know.

In the bathroom, before they put the IV in, I'd spat the wax into a tissue. The pill was still pressed in it, half dissolved. I'd folded it into my bra.

The bitterness wouldn't leave my tongue. I kept swallowing, and it kept coming back.

The door was open a crack. Footsteps in the hall. I knew those steps. Expensive shoes. Unhurried.

Then a second set. Lighter.

"Is she going to be okay?" Valery whispered. "Malcolm, I feel terrible."

"Don't. This isn't on you."

A pause. Fabric rustled. I pictured his hand on her arm. Easy. Like a thousand times before.

"I only brought her to family events to make the old man angry enough to give in," he said softly. "You're the only one I've ever wanted. It's almost over. Once he accepts you, I'll get rid of her."

"You promise?"

"I promise, Val."

I waited to feel something break.

Nothing broke. There was nothing left to break.

I had kept one small flame for him. Even after the cane. Even after the painting. A stupid little light that said, *maybe he doesn't know.*

It went out. Quietly. Like a candle in a closed room.

The footsteps moved away. He didn't come in. He didn't even look.

I slid my hand under the pillow. My phone was cold. My fingers were steady.

I typed to Thomas Reyes.

*Accelerate everything. Full asset review, inheritance documentation, security arrangements — two weeks.*

Three dots appeared at once.

*Done. Are you safe?*

I looked at the IV in my arm. The bruise on my jaw. My other hand, resting on my stomach, waiting for an answer it couldn't give me yet.

*No,* I typed. *But I will be.*

Outside the window, it started to rain.

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