He Killed Our Baby for His Mistress , Now I'll Destroy Him

To make sure Betty could deliver his child first, he'd let my baby be killed in my womb.

A ten-million-dollar check.

But I was tired of these games.

"Antony, I need to talk to you about something—"

"Antony!"

A bright, lilting voice cut through the air.

Betty walked over cradling a swaddled infant, a gentle smile on her face. When she noticed me, a flicker of surprise crossed her features.

"Lauren, you're out of the hospital?"

I turned to Antony. "Why is she in our home?"

Throughout my entire pregnancy, I had accepted the tangled relationship between Antony and Betty.

My only request had been simple: don't bring her here.

Even during our worst fights, our coldest silences—

Antony had never once brought her home.

But now.

Betty had moved in like she owned the place.

She was wearing my silk pajamas, sleeping in my master bedroom—the one I'd chosen for its perfect morning light.

Antony seemed displeased with my reaction. His brow furrowed.

"Betty just gave birth. She's weak. That rental she was staying in isn't suitable anymore."

"Besides, her son is the eldest child of the Gilbert family. There's no reason for him to be raised somewhere else."

"Betty will be living here from now on. If you want to be a proper Mrs. Gilbert, Lauren, you'll learn to get along with her."

"Otherwise—"

He let out a cold scoff, his eyes glinting with the casual contempt of a man who believed he held all the leverage.

"You can move back to the Gilbert estate yourself."

Silence from me.

Betty seized the opening, her voice dripping with false concern.

"Lauren, am I causing trouble by moving in?"

"I never meant to disrupt your home. I just wanted to be close to Antony so badly. And now that we have his child together, I only want to be near him."

Antony wrapped an arm around her waist, tender and indulgent.

"Why did you come downstairs? Let the nanny handle the baby. Go rest."

Watching them play house, perfectly in sync, perfectly rehearsed—

The word divorce climbed to the tip of my tongue. I swallowed it back down.

I nodded calmly.

"Fine. I'll move to the estate."

I turned and walked away without a backward glance.

Antony clearly hadn't expected me to agree so easily. He froze for a beat before finding his voice.

There was a note of bewilderment beneath his tone, threaded with something almost like frustration.

"Lauren, stop throwing a tantrum."

A tantrum?

I used to throw them. I used to argue, cry, beg.

I begged him to cut ties with Betty.

I begged him to think of the baby in my belly, to hold on to the last shred of dignity between us.

But all he ever saw was a nuisance. A woman too emotional, too clingy, unworthy of the title Mrs. Gilbert that he loved to lord over me.

Now that I'd stopped fighting, he didn't know what to do with me.

My feet stilled. I lifted my gaze to meet his, perfectly composed.

"I'm not throwing a tantrum, Mr. Gilbert. I told you—I can walk away with nothing."

Antony stared at me, the color slowly draining from his face.

He was probably remembering that day in the delivery room, when I had abandoned every last scrap of my pride, nearly on my knees before him.

Please. Please, spare our baby. I'll give everything to Betty—

Something clenched hard around his chest.

He was still standing there, frozen, when I disappeared down the hall.

While I packed, the housekeeper hovered nearby, visibly uneasy.

I kept my voice light. "Just a few changes of clothes. That's all I need. Leave everything else."

None of it would matter soon. Betty would claim every corner of this place.

Anything I left behind would only be an eyesore to her.

The driver asked quietly, "Ma'am, are you really going back to the estate?"