My CEO Husband Chose His Pregnant Mistress and Cast Me Aside

Clara's POV

She shrugged, lips curling with satisfaction. “Still more than you’ll ever have.”

That did it.

I knocked the phone out of her hand. It skidded across the floor and cracked loudly against the marble.

Before my mind could catch up, my body moved. I surged forward, fingers closing around her throat, rage roaring through me so fast it stole my breath.

The small black bottle slipped from Nina’s grip and struck the floor with a dull, hollow sound. The cap rolled. And then—

The smell hit.

Gasoline.

Sharp. Acrid. Violent. It flooded the air in an instant, searing my nose, burning my throat as it spread across the room like a living thing.

We struggled—hands shoving, nails clawing, bodies crashing into furniture. She kicked wildly, heel striking something metallic. Maybe it was a lighter. Maybe it was a spark from metal scraping stone.

Either way, the fire didn’t hesitate.

Flames exploded outward, hungry and fast, licking the curtains, racing along the walls like they’d been waiting for permission. Heat slammed into my skin. Smoke poured in, thick and black, swallowing the room whole.

My body—still weak, still recovering—betrayed me. My lungs seized. I collapsed, coughing so hard it felt like my chest might split open. The world tilted, spinning through fire and shadow.

The last thing I saw before everything went dark was the ceiling igniting, flames crawling across it like something alive.

“Clara!”

A voice tore through the smoke.

“Sir, it’s not safe! Security is on the way—you can’t go in there!”

“Move!” Mark shouted. “She’s still inside!”

I tried to open my eyes. Was it real? Or was my mind playing cruel tricks on me? Had he really said my name? Had he actually come for me?

“N-Mark,” Nina cried weakly. “I’m here too. Please—save me. Save our baby.”

For a heartbeat, hope flared inside me. Pathetic. Fragile. Dangerous. I wanted to believe—just for a second—that he’d fight for me. That I still mattered enough to run into fire for.

Then reality crashed down.

He hadn’t charged in because of me. He hadn’t come because he cared. He came because people were watching. Because the press would hear about it. Because a billionaire CEO couldn’t afford to look like a coward.

And the moment Nina called out?

He didn’t hesitate.

He lifted her like she was priceless, shielding her from the smoke, carrying her out while I lay choking on the floor, fire and darkness closing in.

Time blurred. Minutes—or maybe longer—passed.

After ensuring she was safe, he tore through the estate, shouting my name, searching every wing.

But I was already gone.

I still don’t know how I made it out.

The fire was everywhere, roaring in my ears, stealing the air from my lungs. Smoke shredded my throat, dizziness crashing over me in brutal waves. But something raw and desperate took over—pure instinct.

I crawled. Dragged myself. My fingers brushed against my bag. I grabbed it with shaking hands, clutching it to my chest like it was the last thing tethering me to life.

I stumbled toward a window already cracked from the heat and threw myself through it.

Glass tore at my skin as I hit the lawn outside, rolling hard, gasping. My legs collapsed beneath me. My chest burned. But I was alive.

I didn’t look back.

One of the service corridors must’ve been untouched—or maybe the fire just hadn’t reached it yet. I don’t remember much. Just staggering through smoke-free darkness, barely upright, until I found the rear exit.

Cold night air hit my face as I fell outside, coughing violently, body shaking uncontrollably.

No one saw me.

No one followed.

And I didn’t stop.

Not when my knees buckled. Not when I had to grip street signs, lean against parked cars, drag myself forward inch by inch. I kept going because I knew—deep down—that if I stopped, if I let myself be found again, I wouldn’t survive a second time.

I disappeared into the city.

Hours later, I boarded a flight bound for the Northern Territories.

Just before takeoff, my phone vibrated.

A message from Mark.

[Stop playing games, Clara. I don’t have time for this.]

I stared at the screen, feeling nothing.

Then I powered the phone off and leaned back in my seat as the plane began to move—finally, mercifully, carrying me away.