Married the Prince While Pregnant

"Mrs. Hayes-Carlisle. It's done. She delivered."

Jasmine Hayes didn't move from her seat by the window. The late-afternoon light caught the dust motes floating around her like a constellation of tiny, dying stars. "Boy or girl?"

"A boy." Isabella's mouth twisted into something bitter. "Mrs. Beatrice Carlisle-Beaumont and Mrs. Meredith Carlisle-Beaumont are beside themselves. Won't stop gushing about how perfect the baby is. Even Mr. Lachlan, he was so thrilled he-"

She stopped cold, a hand flying to her lips as if she could catch the words and stuff them back in. A look of pure pity flickered across her face before she shook her head, sighed heavily, and retreated toward the kitchen.

Jasmine let the silence return. Her heart sank anyway, a slow and deliberate descent, like a stone dropped into deep water. The Carlisle-Beaumont household had practically emptied itself over the past week. Everyone had flocked to the hospital, orbiting Seraphina Stone like she was the center of the universe. Including Jasmine's own husband. Lachlan had barely left the woman's bedside. He hadn't called. Hadn't texted. The indifference was so complete it felt almost artistic.

The front door clicked open.

Lachlan swept into the room, and the energy shifted. He was buoyant in a way Jasmine hadn't seen in years-maybe ever. The cold, polished mask he wore at home had vanished, replaced by a boyish excitement that made him look younger, softer. It was a version of him she'd never been allowed to know.

"Sera had the baby. Seven pounds, six ounces. Perfect little cheeks. Absolutely gorgeous." He was already talking before his coat hit the chair, words tumbling out in a rush. "The kid came out stubborn as hell-gave Sera a rough time. We nearly called for a C-section, but she refused. Insisted on seeing it through naturally. You know how determined she gets."

Jasmine said nothing.

"Seeing her in that much pain-God, Grandmother and Mother were crying. It was intense." He shook his head, a tender smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. A smile that had never once been aimed in Jasmine's direction during three years of marriage.

He meant Seraphina Stone. Heiress to the Stone Group. The woman who'd married into the Carlisle-Beaumont family on the exact same day Jasmine had, three years ago. A double wedding that had captivated New York's elite-champagne fountains, senators in attendance, a string quartet flown in from Vienna. Jasmine had married the second son, Lachlan Carlisle-Beaumont IV. Seraphina had married the firstborn, Alastair.

It hadn't lasted. Alastair, a man addicted to speed, had wrapped his McLaren around a semi-truck during an illegal street race. The car folded like paper. He didn't survive.

Jasmine still remembered the wedding vows. Alastair had added a personal line, right there at the altar, promising to give up his dangerous hobbies for Seraphina. For her, he'd sworn, he'd walk away from all of it. What sent him onto that road that night was a question no one seemed willing to ask. The family closed ranks, and the official story became gospel: a tragic accident, a young widow left to mourn, a family shattered by grief.

The Stones' precious daughter became a widow. The Carlisle-Beaumonts, drowning in guilt, urged her to remarry. Seraphina refused. She would stay. She would honor Alastair's memory. She would remain a Carlisle-Beaumont.

The family rewarded that devotion. And how. They'd found a way to give Seraphina the child she claimed she needed to survive her grief. Alastair was dead, so the source of that child was his twin brother.

Jasmine stared at her own hands, delicate and still. "Congratulations."

Lachlan's smile dimmed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what I said. Congratulations."

He closed the distance between them, standing over her chair. The warmth in his expression curdled into something harder. "Jasmine. It's a happy day. Can you drop the passive-aggressive act for once?"

She lifted her chin and met his eyes. "She gave birth to a child you helped conceive. I'm offering my congratulations. Isn't that what you wanted?"

The air thickened. Lachlan's jaw tightened. "Sera went through hell to bring that baby into the world because she loved Alastair. Because she wanted something of him to hold onto. A reason to keep living. What exactly is wrong with that?"

Jasmine exhaled, so softly it was almost inaudible. "Did you ever think to ask me?"

She hadn't known. When Seraphina's pregnancy was first announced, Jasmine had assumed it was Alastair's posthumous child. She'd endured Seraphina's mood swings with patient courtesy, swallowing her pride every time the woman demanded special treatment. Only when the timeline became suspicious-impossibly suspicious-did Lachlan finally confess.

Seraphina was carrying a child conceived through artificial insemination. His frozen sperm, stored years ago at St. Jude's Fertility Clinic. The entire family had discussed it. They'd all agreed. He hoped Jasmine could understand.

The Carlisle-Beaumont machine had conspired to keep her in the dark. They'd cooked the meal, served it, and then invited her to the table to offer grace.

Lachlan dropped onto the sofa across from her. He plucked a cigarette from a silver case, fitted it between his lips, and flicked his lighter open with a sharp, practiced snap. The flame flared, illuminating the hard planes of his face for just a moment.

"I wasn't going to let you ruin this," he said quietly. "Sera needed it. The family needed it. My contribution was clinical. Minimal. I don't see why you're making it into something ugly."