Not Her: The Shadow Bride's Great Escape

Ava POV

My life as Mrs. Cole was a series of golden rules and velvet ropes.

The estate was a labyrinth of marble and silence, filled with servants who obeyed my every command but never met my eyes.

I tried to be the perfect wife.

I learned the social protocols.

I hosted the charity dinners with a painted-on smile.

I waited for Ethan to come home every night, sometimes until the sun bled into the sky.

He was intense when he was there.

His touch was demanding, his passion in the bedroom overwhelming.

He made me feel worshipped-physically, at least.

But emotionally, there was a wall I couldn't climb.

There was a hallway in the east wing that was always locked.

"Storage," Ethan had said once, his tone flat, shutting down any further questions before they could even form.

I let it go.

I focused on what I could control.

My father visited once a month.

He looked older, more tired, the weight of our family's precarious position etched into his face.

"You must give him an heir, Ava," he whispered to me in the garden, looking over his shoulder as if the roses were listening. "That is your only safety. A son secures your place."

"I am safe, Papa," I said, hurt coloring my voice. "Ethan loves me."

My father just squeezed my hand, his fingers bony and cold.

I wanted a baby.

I wanted a piece of Ethan that was purely ours, something that would bridge the silent gap between us.

Two months later, I stared at the plastic stick on the bathroom counter.

Two pink lines.

Joy bloomed in my chest, so bright it made me dizzy.

I was pregnant.

I spent the afternoon preparing a special dinner.

I lit candles.

I wore his favorite silk dress, the one that shimmered like liquid moonlight.

When Ethan walked in, he looked exhausted, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder.

He stopped dead when he saw the table, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"What is this?"

"I have news," I said, walking toward him with a trembling heart.

I took his hand and placed it on my flat stomach.

"We're going to have a baby."

Ethan went still.

Absolute stillness.

He stared at my stomach, his face unreadable.

Then, a slow smile spread across his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes.

It was a smile of victory, not happiness.

He pulled me into a crushing hug, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

"An heir," he murmured against my scalp.

He didn't say "a baby."

He didn't say "our child."

"You have done well, Ava," he said, pulling back to look at me. "You will give me the son the family needs. You are my perfect queen."

I basked in his praise, ignoring the chill that pricked at my skin.

The news spread through the family like wildfire.

Suddenly, I was more valuable.

Guards were doubled.

My diet was monitored.

I was no longer just a wife; I was a precious vessel.

That night, lying in bed, Ethan's hand rested on my stomach.

"He will be strong," Ethan whispered in the dark. "He will carry the legacy."

"Or she," I teased gently.

Ethan didn't laugh.

"He," Ethan corrected firmly. "It must be a he."

I fell asleep with his hand on me, feeling safe, unaware that to him, I was just the soil where he had planted his seed-necessary, but ultimately replaceable.