My Husband Drugged Me to Carry His Mistress’s Baby

The meal Luke had specially prepared for me sat untouched on the dining table. Eight months pregnant, I'd been craving something warm and nourishing, but the moment I took the first bite, something felt wrong.

"Luke, this tastes..." My words died in my throat as heat erupted across my tongue. Not spicy—something else. Something that sent my pulse racing with primal fear.

"It's a special blend," Luke said, his voice oddly distant as he watched me from across the table. "I had the chef add some extra... flavoring."

My skin erupted in angry red welts before I could even push back from the table. The familiar burning sensation spread from my lips to my throat, then across my chest and arms. I knew what was happening—an allergic reaction, but worse than anything I'd experienced before.

"Luke," I gasped, clutching at my neck as my airway began to constrict. "Help me."

I reached for my wrist, fingers frantically touching the delicate skin there—my childhood habit whenever panic threatened to overwhelm me. The room tilted sideways as I slid from my chair onto the polished floor.

"Someone call an ambulance!" I tried to scream, but it came out as a strangled whisper.

The household staff hovered in the doorway, their faces blurring as tears filled my eyes. No one moved quickly enough. No one seemed particularly concerned.

"Mrs. Castillo said not to interrupt dinner," our housekeeper muttered to someone behind her.

"Please," I begged, my vision darkening at the edges. "The baby..."

Finally, someone called for help. As consciousness slipped away, I caught Luke's face above mine, his expression unreadable as he checked his watch.

---

I woke to the steady beep of monitors and the antiseptic smell of hospital sheets. The VIP ward of City Hospital was unnaturally quiet—no nurses chatting outside my door, no doctors making rounds. Just me and the machines tracking my vital signs.

A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the room temperature. Something felt wrong. Where was Luke? Where was my medical team?

Carefully, I pushed myself upright, one hand protectively cradling my swollen belly. The baby—our baby—was still there, still moving. That small miracle gave me strength.

"I need to find a nurse," I whispered to myself, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

The floor was cold against my bare feet as I shuffled toward the door. My hospital gown hung loose around my shoulders, making me feel even more vulnerable. The hallway beyond my room was dimly lit, with only a few patient rooms showing light beneath their doors.

"Hello?" I called softly, my voice still raspy from intubation. "Is anyone there?"

No answer came. Just the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant sound of voices from somewhere down the corridor.

I followed the sound, my bare feet silent on the polished floor. As I approached a partially open door marked "Staff Lounge," I recognized Luke's voice—casual, relaxed, completely unlike the concerned husband I'd expect to find at his pregnant wife's bedside.

"You should have seen her face," Luke was saying, followed by laughter. "Like a fish out of water."

More laughter joined his—his inner circle of medical school friends who always seemed to be around when I wasn't feeling well.

"How much longer do you think you'll keep this charade going?" someone asked.

"As long as necessary," Luke replied. "The drugs are working perfectly—her allergies are so severe now that even I can't touch her without causing a reaction."

My blood turned to ice. Drugs? He was drugging me?

"And she still has no idea?" another voice asked.

"None whatsoever," Luke said proudly. "She thinks it's just her condition getting worse. Poor thing even apologizes to me for making me sleep in the guest room."

I pressed myself against the wall beside the door, my heart hammering so loudly I feared they would hear it.

"The best part," Luke continued, "is that she's finally pregnant with Clare's and my child through artificial insemination. She thinks it's ours naturally."

The world stopped spinning. Artificial insemination? Our baby?

"And then the live stream of the delivery?" someone prompted.

"Clare will be famous overnight," Luke confirmed. "The pioneering medical expert who successfully delivered a high-risk pregnancy despite severe maternal allergies. It's perfect."

"And Mya?"

"She'll have served her purpose," Luke said coldly. "Clare and I will finally be together properly."

My legs gave way beneath me as I slid down the wall, one hand still protectively covering my belly. The child inside me—not mine and Luke's, but Luke's and Clare's. A child created without my knowledge or consent.

I was nothing but an incubator. A vessel. A pawn in their twisted game.

As their laughter continued from within the lounge, I pressed my fist against my mouth to stifle the sob threatening to escape. My entire marriage, my entire life—all of it built on lies and manipulation.

And now I knew the truth.