He Wouldn't Stop, Even After I "Died"

I never imagined the baby had been conceived using an egg that belonged to Yvonne, frozen and stored all this time.

"Regina, why are you out of bed?" Zachary asked.

He and his friends strolled into the hospital room, acting all friendly.

"We're here to help you pack up," he added. "The doctor says you're good to go home. Oh, and we brought you some seafood chowder. Go on, have a bowl."

His affection score kept rising and falling, now stuck again at 99 percent. But when I looked closely, there wasn't a trace of love in his eyes—just that same mocking glint his friends all had.

They were waiting for me, someone with a seafood allergy, to go along with it as usual and choke it down.

I smiled and thanked Zachary, but this time, I didn't touch the chowder. I turned away and quietly packed my belongings, leaving the room before anyone could stop me.

"You take the baby," I said, tossing the words over my shoulder.

Zachary's smile froze, and his eyes darkened.

His friends started snickering, nudging him to step up, so he forced a grin. "Sure, I'll hold him."

…

When we got home, I opened the front door and saw a woman standing in the middle of the living room.

She wore a red dress, with sleek black hair and perfectly trimmed bangs. Her lips were curved in a pretty, dimpled smile.

I stood there stunned. She looked exactly like Yvonne, right down to the dimple in her cheek when she smiled.

"Regina, let me introduce you. This is Belle White. I've been sponsoring her for a while. Now, she wants to stay with us as a live-in nanny."

His friends exchanged glances, repeating the word "nanny" with knowing grins.

Zachary let out a low laugh. His gaze was fixed on Belle, and he made no effort to hide the desire and satisfaction in his eyes.

Truth be told, I'd seen scenarios like this more times than I could count.

Zachary always claimed in public that I was his girlfriend, but he never got tired of bringing home women who looked like Yvonne. He especially loved parading them in front of me.

The last time I was sick, his friends brought home a woman dressed in a nurse's uniform. While I was feverish and delirious in my room, Zachary was hooking up with that woman in the room next door.

Another time, at a banquet, he picked the starlet who looked the most like Yvonne from a lineup.

After Zachary had satisfied his desire, he would try to comfort me, saying, "You're still the best. You look the most like her."

Then, he'd casually add a few points to the affection score, like tossing a treat to a well-trained pet. So, I'd swallow the pain, force a smile, and see his latest fling out the door.

When I was pregnant, he toned it down for a while, but I always knew he kept a mistress on the side.

Sure enough, today he just couldn't resist showing her off.

"You're good at baking, right?" Zachary asked. "Belle has a sweet tooth. She's allergic to mangoes but loves chocolate. Make it with the imported chocolate. That would be nice.

He added, "Oh, and she rescued a stray cat. From now on, bring it with you."

Zachary beamed at Belle, looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

Belle's eyes filled with grateful tears. "I only mentioned it once, and you actually remembered."

"Of course," he replied smoothly, "I remember anything important."

I almost laughed out loud.

He could remember all these details about Belle, but never noticed the hives that broke out on my face whenever I ate seafood, or the fact that I'd once been scratched by a cat and had a lingering fear of them.

But why should he care? I wasn't important. I was just someone for him to toy with.

That night, I changed for bed and walked into the bedroom, only to find them already lying there.

Belle was nestled in Zachary's arms, her face flushed a bright red.

Zachary's eyes were filled with desire. He didn't even bother pretending anymore. He just glanced at me, his lips curling in a mocking smile.

"Belle didn't have anything else to wear."