My Husband Let His Mistress Kill Our Baby

The elevator doors opened quietly.

The penthouse was warm, but it smelled wrong. It smelled of gardenia perfume and roasted garlic.

I stepped into the living room and froze.

Kairi was sitting on our white sofa. Her bare feet were tucked under her thighs. She was wearing my silk robe—the pearl-white one Lawson bought me in Paris during our honeymoon. She held a small porcelain bowl in her lap, eating grapes with a silver fork.

Lawson stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows. He held a glass of scotch. He had taken off his suit jacket, but his tie was still neat. He didn't jump. He didn't look guilty. He just glanced over at me like I was a stranger who had walked through the wrong door.

"You're home early," Lawson said flatly.

I couldn't breathe. My fingers went straight to my sternum, pressing hard against the bone.

Kairi set the bowl on the coffee table. She stood up, smoothing the silk over her hips. The robe hung loose on her frame, but she wore it like she owned it. She walked into the kitchen with slow, unhurried steps.

"I was just telling Lawson," she said, her voice dripping with easy sweetness. "This place has great light. But the fridge looks so cluttered."

She reached up.

Her manicured fingers touched the silver magnet. She pulled the ultrasound strip off the stainless steel door.

My heart slammed against my ribs. "Put that back," I said. My voice was a harsh, ragged whisper. "Don't touch it."

Kairi didn't listen. She turned the strip over, looking down at the little black-and-white curve.

Then, she smiled. It was a soft, pretty smile that didn't reach her eyes at all.

*Rip.*

She tore the glossy paper straight down the middle.

The sound cut through the silence like a whip.

"Kairi!" I cried out, lunging forward.

She didn't flinch. She lined up the two pieces, folded them together, and tore them again. *Rip.* Four neat squares fluttered from her fingers and landed on the marble floor. She did it with the calm, smiling deliberateness of someone pulling petals from a dead flower.

I looked at Lawson.

"Lawson," I choked out, my voice cracking. "Stop her."

He didn't move. He didn't say a word. He took a slow sip of his scotch, his face carved out of stone. He just watched the torn paper settle on the floor by Kairi's bare feet.

Something shattered inside me. It wasn't tears. It wasn't anger. A raw, ragged sound tore out of my throat—an animal scream of pure, ripped-open grief. It clawed its way up my windpipe and filled the entire room.

Kairi stepped back, feigning wide-eyed panic. She picked up a full glass of cabernet from the counter.

"God, she’s completely unhinged, Lawson," she murmured.

Then, with a tiny, flicking motion of her wrist, she tilted the glass.

Dark red wine splashed across the pale wool of our antique Persian runner. The stain bloomed fast, soaking into the fabric like fresh blood on snow.

"Oops," Kairi sighed, looking at Lawson with a pout. "She startled me. It’s a shame to ruin such a rare piece. Don't you think the woman of the house should clean up after herself?"

I was shaking so hard my vision blurred. "Get out of my house," I gasped, clutching my sides. "Get out!"

Lawson set his glass down on the counter with a quiet clink. He walked over, his steps heavy and controlled. He didn't look at Kairi. He looked down at me, his eyes dark and cold.

"You're screaming, Ember," he said. His voice was terrifyingly calm. "You're embarrassing yourself. And you’re upsetting our guest."

"She tore our baby's picture!" I sobbed, pointing a trembling hand at the scrap on the tile. "She poured wine on my rug!"

"I saw what happened," Lawson said smoothly. He adjusted his gold cufflink with his thumb. "It was an accident caused by your hysterics. Do what Kairi asked, Ember. Clean the rug. It would be best if you did it to keep things calm."

"Lawson..."

"Now," he said. The word was cold iron.

Ten minutes later, I was out on the balcony.

It was mid-January in New York. The winter wind whipped off the East River, cutting straight through my thin sweater like razor blades. The sky was gray and heavy.

I had dragged the heavy wool runner out onto the freezing stone pavers. My hands were already numb. I filled a metal bucket from the outdoor spigot. The pipes groaned, and the water poured out near-freezing, carrying tiny slivers of slush.

I dropped to my knees on the hard stone. The bitter chill bit into my shins instantly.

I dipped a stiff bristle brush into the bucket. The water burned my raw skin. I began to scrub. My knuckles turned white, then bright red. Every breath came out in short, ragged puffs of steam.

I instinctively curved one arm around my lower stomach, curling my body to protect my belly from the biting wind. *Hold on,* I pleaded silently. *Please, just hold on.*

Through the glass sliding door, the penthouse was bright and warm.

Kairi was leaning against the kitchen island, swinging her bare feet and sipping fresh wine.

Beside her stood Lawson. His hands were shoved into his trouser pockets. He stood behind the glass door, staring out at me. He watched my shoulders shake as I pushed the brush against the wet wool over and over.

His jaw was set in a hard, rigid line. He didn't look angry. He looked entirely convinced of his own righteousness. Behind the glass, he watched me suffer and told himself it was discipline I needed.

I dipped my frozen hands back into the icy water.

The pain in my fingers faded into a deep, hollow ache. But as I scrubbed the crimson stain, something inside me went entirely cold. Colder than the winter wind. Colder than the ice.

My brother’s heart was beating inside the chest of a monster.

And for the first time, I knew no one was coming to save me.