Pregnant and Playing Santa for My Husband's Mistress

"Brielle, I heard you had a crush on me back in school." Percy’s voice was casual, almost indifferent, like what he was about to say was just a simple solution to an inconvenience.

"So why don’t we just get married and skip the whole blind date hassle?" he continued, barely looking up from his phone.

Turning my long-standing admiration into reality felt like a dream—something I never thought would happen.

So, naturally, I said yes. I thought it was fate.

But as time passed, I realized the harsh truth—every moment had been nothing but my own wishful thinking.

As I sat there, quietly stewing, my eyes wandered to his neck.

A faint red mark.

For years, he wouldn’t let me touch that part of him.

How ironic.

Completely unaffected by my silence, Percy casually pulled a jar of body lotion out of the drawer and held it up like it was just another routine night.

"You didn’t put on lotion today, did you?" he said, unscrewing the lid. "Want me to help?"

I didn’t say no.

Since I got pregnant, applying lotion every night to prevent stretch marks has become part of my routine. But the moment he lifted my shirt, his whole body stiffened.

His breathing hitched.

And then… disgust flashed across his face.

My stomach was covered in deep, layered stretch marks—lines carved into my skin from carrying his child.

They ran along my waist, curled around my stomach, some darker, some lighter, overlapping each other.

As if he couldn’t hold it in, he slapped a hand over his mouth and gagged. "Ugh!"

The sound cut through me.

Humiliation. Grief. They crashed into me all at once.

Tears welled up and spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them.

'So this was how he saw me?'

The stretch marks I earned through pain, marks left by his child, were so disgusting to him that he couldn’t even look at me?

I forced the words out, my voice trembling with rage. "I don’t need your help."

I ripped the lotion from his hands, shoving him away. "Get out."

Percy looked genuinely flustered, like a kid who had just been caught doing something wrong.

"Brielle, I didn’t mean it that way," he stammered. "Maybe I just drank too much tonight. It made me feel a little dizzy."

'Liar...'

His body language never lied. And I would never believe him again.

I grabbed the pillow from the bed and threw it at his face. "Percy, I don’t want to see you ever again!"

His mouth opened, hesitating like he wanted to say something, but he must’ve realized that no excuse would make a difference.

"Fine," he muttered, stepping back. "I’ll sleep in the guest room. If you’re feeling unwell, just call me."

As if I ever would.

...

The next morning, I woke up to find Percy asleep by my bedside.

His long, narrow eyes had dark circles beneath them, his face slightly pale. I didn’t know if he had stayed up all night watching over me. I didn’t care enough to ask.

When he saw I was awake, he quickly grabbed a coat and draped it over me. "It’s negative twenty degrees today. Don’t catch a cold."

I barely acknowledged him.

"Mm," I hummed, pulling the coat tighter around me, my eyes still heavy with exhaustion.

Without another word, I stood up and walked toward the third floor.

The third floor was the biggest room in the house. It had once been a sanctuary—bathed in sunlight, cozy, and full of hope.

At least, that’s what it was supposed to be.

Percy had promised me this would be our child’s nursery back then.

We’d poured our hearts into it.

A custom-made crib. Soft, cozy play mats. An endless collection of tiny baby clothes—each one hand-picked with care.

Whenever I felt overwhelmed or upset, I’d come up here because this room was supposed to be a dream waiting to happen.

But when I pushed open the door—

Everything was gone.

The crib. The play mats. The clothes.

All of it.

Instead, Gianna’s stuff was everywhere.

For a moment, I couldn’t even breathe. Then, just as I was processing the betrayal, Gianna stepped out of the room.

She took one look at my face and smirked. "Good morning, Brielle."

A wave of anger surged inside me. "Who gave you permission to touch this room?"

This house had plenty of guest rooms, but she’d deliberately chosen this one. She wasn’t even trying to hide it.

Gianna gave me a mock-apologetic smile, tucking a strand of perfect hair behind her ear.

"Oh, I’m sorry," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Percy told me I could stay here."

Then, with a delicate sigh, she added, "I had no idea this was a nursery you’d prepared…"

'Liar.'

She knew exactly what she was doing. She was poking at my wounds, enjoying my pain. I wasn’t about to let it slide.

Without hesitation, I raised my hand and slapped her.

Hard.

The sharp crack echoed through the room.

Gianna gasped, clutching her cheek, eyes wide in shock. "What—!"

"Who the hell do you think you are?" I seethed, my voice cold as ice.

Her lips quivered. Then, like clockwork, her entire demeanor shifted. The smug, taunting Gianna vanished. In her place was a tear-streaked, pitiful damsel in distress.

"I… I didn’t mean to…" she whimpered, her eyes glassy with crocodile tears.

The act was pathetic. Just seconds ago, she’d been smirking.

Now, she was playing the helpless victim?

And, of course, right on cue, Percy walked in.

Just like that.