My Husband Turned Me Into His Mistress's Surrogate

My hands moved on their own, sliding down the crisp hospital sheets to find my stomach.

Flat. Bandaged. Completely empty.

The heavy, swollen weight of the past seven months was gone. Panic seized my throat. I tried to sit up, but a sharp, tearing agony ripped across my lower abdomen, pinning me to the mattress.

Outside my cracked hospital door, hushed voices filtered into the dim room.

"Her vitals are stabilizing," a man in scrubs said. "But the trauma from the crash was catastrophic."

"Skip the medical jargon, Doctor," my father, Richard Sinclair, replied. His tone held all the warmth of a winter storm. "Did the fetus survive?"

"No. The placental abruption was complete before she even reached the operating table."

A choked sob escaped my lips, but neither man heard it over the hum of the hallway ventilation. My baby. My sweet, innocent baby.

"And the mother?" Richard asked.

"We performed an emergency hysterectomy to stop the internal hemorrhaging," the doctor explained. "Vivian will recover physically, but she will never carry a child again."

Silence stretched in the corridor. I waited for my father to express sorrow. I waited for him to ask how to break this devastating news to his only daughter.

"Are you absolutely certain the clinic followed my instructions last year?" Richard demanded instead.

"Mr. Sinclair, this hardly seems the time—"

"Answer the question."

"Yes," the doctor sighed. "Per the agreement between you and Mr. Ashford, Vivian's harvested eggs were destroyed. The embryo we implanted in her was comprised entirely of Adrian Ashford and Celeste Whitmore's genetic material."

The heart monitor beside my bed spiked, beeping in a rapid, frantic rhythm.

I stopped breathing. The sterile smell of the room suddenly made my stomach heave.

"Good," Richard stated flatly. "Adrian was paranoid the clinic might have made a mistake. He wanted a pure Ashford heir, not a Sinclair half-breed."

"She is your daughter, sir."

"She is a vessel," Richard corrected. "Or, she was."

A strange, hollow sound bubbled up from my chest. It wasn't a sob. It was a laugh. A dry, broken laugh that scraped against my parched throat.

I ripped the IV needle out of the back of my hand. A bright bead of blood welled up, smearing across the white blanket. I threw my legs over the edge of the bed. Fire laced through my surgical incisions, but the betrayal burning in my chest burned hotter.

I grabbed the metal IV pole to steady myself and dragged my bare feet across the linoleum floor.

I shoved the heavy wooden door open. It banged loudly against the wall.

Richard turned. He smoothed the lapels of his tailored suit, his expression entirely undisturbed by the sight of me in a blood-spotted hospital gown.

"You should be in bed, Vivian," he noted.

"My baby," I rasped. My fingers dug into the metal pole. "You're telling me the child I carried... wasn't mine?"

The doctor took a step forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Mrs. Ashford, please. Your stitches—"

"Shut up!" I screamed. The force of it tore at my throat. I locked eyes with my father. "Tell me the truth, Richard!"

Richard checked his gold watch, annoyed by the interruption. "There is no need for theatrics. It was a business arrangement."

"A business arrangement?" I gasped. "I am your flesh and blood!"

"You are a Sinclair," he countered sharply. "Your duty was to secure our corporate merger with the Ashfords. Adrian required an heir. Celeste's medical history made pregnancy impossible for her."

"So you let them use me?" My knees trembled. "You let my husband implant his mistress's child inside me?"

"It was the only condition under which Adrian would agree to the marriage," Richard said. "You lacked any other redeeming qualities to offer him. We provided the womb. He provided the ring."

I stared at the man who had raised me. Every memory of the last seven months flashed behind my eyes. Adrian resting his hand on my belly. Adrian buying the crib. Adrian whispering to my stomach late at night.

He wasn't talking to our child. He was talking to Celeste's.

"I loved him," I whispered, the devastating reality crushing the remaining air from my lungs. "I thought we were building a family."

"You were building a portfolio," Richard snapped. "And now you have ruined it."

"I ruined it?" I asked, my voice rising in disbelief. "Adrian drove us off a cliff!"

"And yet, you are the one who lost the child," Richard pointed out coldly. "They removed your uterus, Vivian. Do you understand what that means?"

I flinched as if he had struck me across the face.

"It means you have outlived your usefulness," he continued, his eyes devoid of a single ounce of pity. "A surrogate who can no longer breed is of no value to the Ashford family. And frankly, you are of no value to me."

"Mr. Sinclair!" the doctor objected, appalled.

"Leave us," Richard ordered.

The doctor hesitated, glancing at my pale face, but the sheer authority in my father's posture sent him scurrying down the corridor.

I stood alone with the monster who called himself my father. My entire life had been a transaction. My marriage. My pregnancy. My grief.

"Where is he?" I demanded.

"Adrian has more important matters to attend to."

"Where is my husband!" I shouted, stepping forward. Pain ripped through my stomach, but I ignored it. "Where is the man who left me trapped in a crushed car to bleed out?"

Richard raised an eyebrow. "Keep your voice down. You are making a scene."

"Tell me where he is!"

"He is on the fourth floor," Richard replied smoothly. "In the VIP recovery wing."

"He's hurt?" A pathetic, twisted part of my heart still recognized the name of the man I had loved.

"No," Richard said. "Celeste suffered a fractured wrist during the collision. Adrian has not left her bedside since the ambulance brought them in."

My grip on the IV pole slipped. I crashed to my knees on the hard linoleum.

I was bleeding to death in the wreckage. I lost my child. I lost my future.

And Adrian was holding Celeste's hand over a broken bone.

"Pathetic," Richard muttered, looking down at me. "I will inform the lawyers to draft the divorce papers. Expect a meager settlement."

He didn't offer a hand. He didn't call for a nurse. He simply turned on his Italian leather shoes and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the empty hall.

I knelt on the floor for a long time. The physical pain in my abdomen was blinding, but the agony in my chest was absolute.

They took my baby. They took my body. They took my entire life.

A nurse rushed out of a nearby room, her eyes widening at the sight of me on the floor.

"Ma'am! You need to get back in bed!" she urged, reaching for my arms.

"Don't touch me," I growled.

I forced myself up. My muscles screamed in protest, but a new, freezing energy flooded my veins.

"I'm calling the doctor," the nurse warned, backing away from the wild look in my eyes.

I didn't care. I abandoned the IV pole and staggered toward the elevator at the end of the hall. I hit the call button, smearing a bloody fingerprint on the metal panel.

The doors slid open. I stepped inside and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

I needed to see it. I needed to look the devil in the eyes.

The elevator hummed as it carried me upward. When the doors parted again, the VIP wing greeted me with plush carpets and soft lighting.

I dragged my feet down the corridor, checking the names on the doors.

Room 412. Whitmore.

The door was slightly ajar. I stood in the shadows of the hallway, peering through the crack.

Celeste lay in a massive, luxurious hospital bed, her arm wrapped in a pristine white cast. Adrian sat in a chair pulled flush against the mattress. He held her uninjured hand, pressing kisses to her knuckles.

"My poor girl," Adrian murmured, his voice thick with an affection I had never received. "I was so terrified I'd lost you."

"Adrian," Celeste sniffled. "What about Vivian? What about the baby?"

Adrian's jaw tightened. He dropped her hand and leaned back in the chair, his expression hardening into stone.

"Don't worry about Vivian," he said, his words cutting through the air like a blade. "She already served her purpose. Once the divorce is final, we'll never have to look at her again."

I placed my hand against the heavy wooden door, ready to push it open and shatter their perfect moment, when a deep, unfamiliar voice spoke from right behind me.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you."