He Stole My Womb, Lost All

I ignored the frantic whispers and shocked gasps of the staff as I ascended the staircase. Their opinions were irrelevant. They were pieces on a board I was about to flip over.

I was in our bedroom, staring out at the city lights, when Kayson finally came in. It was well past midnight. He moved silently, a predator in his own home, and wrapped his arms around me from behind, burying his face in my neck.

"I missed you," he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

I closed my phone, shutting off the screen that displayed a crisp, clear video file just sent to me by a private investigator. The file was labeled: Kayson & Camille. The Study. Tonight.

"What's this I hear about you wanting to burn your wedding dress?" he asked, his tone light, teasing.

I didn't turn around. I kept my gaze fixed on the endless stream of headlights below. "It was dirty," I said, the words clipped. "Something had... contaminated it."

He went still. I could feel the change in him, the sudden tension in his arms. He was a master of reading people, and he knew something was wrong. "Eliza, baby, what is it? Are you having second thoughts?" He turned me around to face him, his hands cupping my face. "Don't be nervous. It's just you and me."

He leaned in to kiss me.

The image of him kissing Camille, of his hands on her body, flashed in my mind. The scent of her perfume, a cloying, sickly sweet fragrance I now recognized, clung to his expensive suit. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but to my heightened senses, it was like a physical assault.

A wave of nausea so powerful it buckled my knees washed over me.

I choked, a dry, heaving sound.

I shoved him away, stumbling back. "Don't touch me," I gasped, the words tasting like bile.

Another violent heave wracked my body. I clamped a hand over my mouth and ran for the en-suite bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before my body violently expelled the contents of my stomach. I retched and sobbed, my body trembling, until there was nothing left but a raw, burning emptiness.

When I finally emerged, weak and shaking, the bedroom scene had transformed. Kayson was no longer alone. The head housekeeper and a dozen other servants stood in a line, their heads bowed, their faces pale with fear.

Kayson was lounging in an armchair, calmly polishing a silver letter opener with a silk handkerchief. His face, however, was anything but calm. It was a thundercloud of controlled fury.

"So," he began, his voice dangerously soft. "None of you thought to check on your mistress? None of you noticed she was unwell?"

The Alexander household ran on fear. Kayson paid his staff exorbitant salaries, but the price for any mistake, no matter how small, was severe. A single misstep could mean instant dismissal, blacklisting, and in some cases, a trip to a discreet "correctional facility" from which people returned... changed.

"Sir," the head housekeeper, a woman who had been with him for a decade, stammered. "We... we were preoccupied with... the dress situation. Miss Pace's health is our utmost priority, you know that."

Kayson's hand shot out, grabbing the housekeeper by her hair and yanking her forward. He pressed the tip of the letter opener to her cheek.

"Don't lie to me," he hissed.

He didn't need to do anything more. Two of his personal bodyguards materialized from the shadows, grabbed the screaming woman, and dragged her from the room. The heavy oak door slammed shut, cutting off her pleas.

A suffocating silence descended. No one dared to breathe.

"It seems you all need a reminder of your duties," Kayson said, his gaze sweeping over the remaining staff. "Perhaps a month's salary docked for everyone? Or something more... memorable?"

"Kayson, stop," I said. My voice was weak, but it cut through the silence.

He was at my side instantly, his expression shifting from cold fury to tender concern so quickly it gave me whiplash. The performance was flawless.

"My love," he whispered, pulling me into a hug I couldn't escape. "You see how they neglect you? I can't allow it." He turned his head to the terrified staff. "Your mistress has interceded on your behalf. You are spared... for now. Get out."

They scrambled from the room as if the devil himself were at their heels.

The next morning, every single servant in the mansion had been replaced.