My Husband Denied My Pregnancy to Protect His First Love

The smell of roasted jalapeños and heavy chili powder filled the dining room.

Isabella sat at the head of the long glass table. She pushed a stray blonde curl behind her ear and sighed. "I'm just so stressed, Enzo. My stomach is in knots. I really needed something flavorful."

She opened a plastic takeout container. Steam rose from the spicy beef fajitas. She pushed a plate of extra-hot enchiladas toward him. "Eat with me? Please? I hate eating alone."

Enzo looked at the red sauce pooling on the plate. He swallowed hard. Without my bland, organic meal prep, he had nothing else to eat. And he couldn't say no to his precious first love.

"Of course," he said smoothly. He picked up his fork.

I sat at the opposite end of the table. I slowly chewed on a crisp green apple. The loud crunch echoed in the quiet room. Enzo shot me a dirty look. I just smiled and took another bite.

He cut a piece of the enchilada and put it in his mouth. I watched his throat work as he swallowed. Almost instantly, a bead of sweat popped out on his temple. His knuckles turned stark white around his silver fork.

"Is it good?" Isabella asked breathily.

"Delicious," Enzo lied. His voice sounded strained. He took another bite.

I leaned back in my chair. For three years, I had carefully peeled his tomatoes. I tracked his flare-ups on a calendar. I spent hours making sure his stomach lining wouldn't bleed. Seeing him willingly destroy himself for a woman who didn't even know his medical history was hilarious.

"Enjoy," I said lightly. I tossed my apple core into the trash and walked out of the room.

It took exactly three hours for the spice to tear through his stomach.

I was in my bedroom reading a book when I heard the loud crash. It sounded like glass shattering. Then came a high, piercing scream.

I marked my page and walked out to the hallway.

Enzo was on the living room floor. He was curled into a tight ball. His hands clawed at his stomach. His face was the color of dirty snow. He let out a low, agonizing groan.

Isabella stood a few feet away. She was completely useless. She pressed her hands to her cheeks and shrieked. "Enzo! Oh my god! What's happening? Somebody help!"

She didn't touch him. She didn't kneel beside him. She just stood there, horrified by the messy reality of a sick man.

I pulled my phone from my pocket. I calmly dialed 911.

"My husband is having a severe ulcer flare-up," I told the operator. My voice was completely steady. "He might be bleeding internally. We need an ambulance."

I gave them the address and hung up.

Enzo cracked an eye open. He looked at me. His dark eyes were filled with pain and panic. He reached a shaking hand toward me. "Blaire..." he gasped.

I stepped back. I kept my hands firmly in my robe pockets. "The ambulance is on the way."

Ten minutes later, paramedics flooded the penthouse. They loaded Enzo onto a stretcher. He was barely conscious.

"Who is riding with him?" a paramedic asked. He looked between me and Isabella.

Isabella looked at the blood on Enzo's shirt. She took a step back. "I... I can't look at blood. I'll faint."

I looked at the paramedic. "She will ride with him. She's his favorite."

Isabella gasped. "Blaire! You're his wife!"

"And you're his true love," I replied coldly. "Have fun."

I turned away and went back to my room to change. I took my time picking out a warm sweater.

When I finally drove myself to the hospital, the rain was coming down in sheets. The emergency room waiting area was freezing. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. It smelled like bleach and stale rain.

Isabella was pacing near the double doors. She was crying on the phone to our mother. I ignored her and sat in a hard plastic chair in the corner. I rubbed my arms, shivering slightly in the damp chill.

"You look cold."

The voice was low, deep, and incredibly smooth.

I looked up. A man was standing in front of me. He was tall. Broad shoulders. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit. His dark hair was slightly damp from the rain. His eyes were a striking, piercing gray.

Caleb Bryant.

Enzo's fiercest corporate rival. The billionaire who had been trying to crush Enzo's company for years.

Before I could say a word, Caleb took off his suit jacket. He stepped closer and draped it over my shoulders. The heavy fabric was warm. It smelled like expensive cedar and fresh rain.

I blinked in surprise. "Mr. Bryant? What are you doing here?"

He didn't answer right away. He sat in the empty chair next to me. He held out a large paper cup. Steam rose from the lid.

"Warm decaf coffee," Caleb said softly. "With a splash of oat milk."

I stared at the cup. How did he know my exact order? We had only met briefly at a few stuffy charity galas. Enzo always made sure to steer me far away from him.

I took the cup. The warmth seeped into my freezing fingers. "Thank you."

Caleb watched me. His gray eyes were intense, but his gaze was incredibly gentle. It wasn't the cold, empty look Enzo always gave me. It felt like he was actually seeing me.

"You shouldn't be sitting alone in a freezing hospital," Caleb said. His voice held a strange, protective edge. "Especially not for a man who doesn't deserve you."

My breath hitched. I gripped the warm cup tighter.

Isabella suddenly noticed us. She dropped her phone. Her eyes went wide as she stared at Caleb sitting so close to me.

I looked back at Caleb. He didn't even glance at my sister. His entire focus was locked on me. And for the first time in three years, the ice in my chest started to melt.