I Pretended to Carry His Child to Ruin Them

The hospital bracelet was still cutting into my wrist when the taxi pulled up to the curb of the Meridian Heights building. My left arm throbbed inside the sling, a dull, rhythmic reminder of gravity and Mrs. Burns’s malice. But physical pain was manageable. It was a distraction. The real agony was the calculated dismantling of my life that Sebastian had set in motion long before he boarded that plane.

I paid the driver with my left hand, fumbling the bills, and stepped out into the biting Seattle wind. This building wasn't where Sebastian and I lived. This was *my* investment—a penthouse bought three years before I ever said "I do," paid for with an inheritance from my grandmother. It was my safety net. My sanctuary.

My key didn't turn in the lock.

I tried again, jamming the metal into the cylinder until it scraped. Nothing. A cold knot tightened in my stomach. I stepped back and pounded on the door with my good hand.

"Open up!"

The door swung inward. It wasn't a maintenance man or a confused tenant. It was Uncle Ray—Sebastian's uncle on his father’s side, a man whose primary occupation seemed to be drinking cheap beer and complaining about the government. He was wearing a stained undershirt and holding a can of lager. Behind him, on my pristine white Italian leather sofa, sat two of Sebastian's cousins, boots up on the coffee table.

"Well, look who it is," Ray slurred, leaning against the doorframe. "The runaway bride."

"Get out," I said, my voice low and trembling with a rage I had to fight to keep contained. "This is my apartment. You have five minutes before I call the police."

Ray laughed, a wet, hacking sound. He fished a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket and waved it in my face. "Seb said otherwise. 'Gift of Deed,' sweetheart. Signed, sealed, and delivered before he took his little vacation. Said family needed looking after since you weren't doing it."

I snatched the paper. It was handwritten, messy, barely legible—but Sebastian’s signature was unmistakable at the bottom. It was legally dubious at best, a napkin promise, but to these people, it was gospel.

"This is garbage," I spat, crumpling it. I pushed past Ray into the foyer. "Get out! Now!"

One of the cousins, a beefy man named Dale, stood up. He crossed the room in three strides, grabbing my good arm. His grip was bruising. "You heard Ray. Seb gave us the place. You ain't welcome here, Skyler."

He didn't hit me. He didn't have to. He just marched me backward, my heels skidding on the hardwood, and shoved me out into the hallway. The door slammed shut inches from my nose. The sound of the deadbolt sliding home echoed like a gunshot.

I called the police. Two officers arrived twenty minutes later, looking bored and tired. They looked at the crumpled note, looked at the locked door, and shrugged.

"It's a civil matter, ma'am," the older officer said, handing the paper back. "If he signed it over, even informally, you need a court order to evict them. We can't just kick out family members with a claim to residency."

I stood in the hallway long after they left, listening to the muffled sound of the television and the crack of beer cans opening inside my apartment. I wasn't crying. I was calibrating.

***

The diner was forty minutes south, a neon-lit relic near the industrial district where truckers and insomniacs went to disappear. I slid into the booth at the back, wincing as my fractured arm jostled against the table edge.

Felix didn't look up when I sat down. He was focused on a tablet, the blue light reflecting in his glasses. He looked like a graduate student—unassuming, quiet, blending into the beige upholstery. But I knew better. Under the table, his leg was bouncing with a nervous, kinetic energy.

"They're in the apartment," I said, skipping the greeting.

"I know," Felix replied, his voice a soft monotone. He turned the tablet around. "I've been tracking Ray's phone. They ordered pizza ten minutes ago using your credit card on file."

"Let them eat," I said coldly. "It adds to the narrative. The poor, abandoned wife, stripped of her home by the vultures."

Felix tapped the screen. A map of the Caribbean popped up. A red dot pulsed near St. Lucia. "Izabella posted a story an hour ago. Rum punch on the beach. I pulled the metadata. They're at the Jade Mountain Resort. Room 4B."

He swiped to the next tab. It was a draft email. Subject: *URGENT: Outstanding Debt - Final Notice*.

"I need you to send this to Sebastian's personal account," I said, sliding the crinkled demand letter from Romano across the table. "Attach a photo of the loan shark's threat. Make sure he sees the $100,000 figure. He needs to feel the noose tightening. He needs to think I'm drowning, and that the sharks are swimming toward him next."

Felix scanned the document, his jaw tightening. "This guy Romano... he's dangerous, Sky. You're playing with live ammunition."

"Fear is the only thing Sebastian respects," I countered. "When he thinks the money has run out, when he thinks the debt collectors are coming for *him*, he'll get desperate. And desperate men make mistakes."

Felix looked at me then, really looked at me. There was no pity in his eyes, only a dark, mirrored recognition. "We launch the Lottery Trap tomorrow. The notification will look like it came from the state commission. Fifty million dollars. Unclaimed ticket purchased at the gas station he used to stop at every Friday."

"Good," I whispered. "He's greedy. He won't be able to resist coming back to claim it before the 'deadline' expires."

***

The house smelled of lavender and pot roast—the scent of my childhood. My parents looked up from the dining table as I walked in, their faces crumbling into masks of horror at the sight of my sling and the bruising blooming across my cheekbone.

"Oh, honey," my mom gasped, rushing over. "What happened?"

"I slipped," I lied smoothly, hugging her with my good arm. "Clumsy. You know me."

My dad stood up, his face reddening. "Did he do this? Did Sebastian—"

"No, Dad. It was an accident." I pulled away, forcing a bright, brittle smile. "But that's not why I'm here. I have news. Good news."

I reached into my purse and pulled out the envelope. Inside were two first-class tickets to Europe and a voucher for a three-month luxury river cruise down the Danube.

"I got a bonus," I said, the lie tasting sweet like candy. "A massive one. And I realized... you two haven't had a real anniversary celebration in years. The ship leaves in forty-eight hours. Non-refundable."

My mother stared at the tickets, her hands trembling. "Sky, we can't take this. It's too much. And with your arm..."

"I'm fine," I insisted, pressing the envelope into her hands. "Talia is staying with me. I need you to go. Please. Do it for me. I need to know you're happy."

It wasn't about their happiness. It was about removing them from the blast zone. When the Burns family realized they were destitute, when the police started asking questions about dead bodies, my parents needed to be an ocean away. They needed to be safe.

My dad looked at me, searching my face for the cracks in the veneer. I held his gaze, widening my eyes, projecting nothing but innocent excitement. Finally, he sighed and smiled.

"Okay, sweetheart. If you insist."

I hugged them both, burying my face in my mother's shoulder. I breathed in the lavender, memorizing it. When they came back, their daughter would be gone. The woman standing here was just a ghost waiting to fade.