Pregnant When My Husband Chose Her Over Me

The sky bruised purple, swallowing the moon as the wind picked up, whipping my hair across my face like a lash. The *Valkyrie* groaned beneath us, the festive jazz music from the salon now sounding tinny and absurd against the rising roar of the Atlantic. The champagne in the guests' flutes trembled, mirroring the unease settling in my stomach.

I stood near the stern, clutching the railing. My knuckles were white, not from the cold, but from the effort of not screaming.

"You're lingering," Carly said, stepping out of the shadows. The wind didn't seem to touch her; her red dress remained impeccably draped, her hair lacquered into place. "The lawyers are waiting. Sign the papers, Gracelyn. Stop pretending you have leverage."

"I'm not pretending anything," I said, my voice low. I pressed a hand to my midsection, shielding the life inside me from her venom. "I just want what's fair. Unfreeze my accounts, and I'll disappear."

"Fair?" Carly laughed, a sharp sound that cut through the gale. "Fair is my father crushing yours. Fair is me taking back the man you stole while he was broken. You're a placeholder, Gracelyn. A clerical error."

The yacht lurched violently. A rogue wave slammed against the hull, sending a spray of icy saltwater over the deck. I stumbled, gripping the polished teak rail for support. The metal groaned beneath my hand—a sound like a dying animal.

"What is going on out here?"

Adrian appeared at the sliding glass doors, bracing himself against the doorframe. His tie was loosened, his face flushed with irritation. "The captain says we're hitting a squall. Get inside."

"She's refusing to sign, Adrian!" Carly shouted over the wind, pointing an accusing finger at me. "She's trying to extort us!"

"I never said—" I started, but the ocean cut me off.

The boat pitched sharply to starboard. The horizon tilted forty-five degrees. Gravity shifted, throwing us both toward the edge. I slammed into the railing, the breath leaving my lungs in a rush. Beside me, Carly shrieked, her heels skidding on the wet deck.

Then, a sickening *crack* echoed louder than the thunder.

The maintenance oversight—or perhaps something more sinister—revealed itself. The bolts sheared off. The railing gave way into the abyss.

There was no time to think. The deck vanished from under my feet. I slid into the empty air, the freezing dark reaching up to claim me. My fingers scrabbled for purchase on the slick fiberglass edge.

"Adrian!"

The scream tore from my throat, raw and terrified.

He was there in an instant, throwing himself flat on the deck. His hand clamped around my left wrist, his grip bruising, iron-tight. A split second later, his other hand snagged Carly’s forearm just as she slipped over.

We dangled there, suspended over the churning black water. The cold was a physical blow, shocking the air from my lungs. My shoulder screamed in protest as my full weight, and the weight of the child I carried, hung by a single joint.

"Pull us up!" Carly shrieked, kicking wildly at the hull. Her eyes were wide, manic with terror. "Adrian, pull me up!"

Adrian’s face was a mask of strain. Veins bulged in his neck, his teeth gritted as he fought to hold us both. The yacht rocked again, dipping lower. The ocean leaped up, licking at my heels.

"I can't," he grunted, sweat mingling with the sea spray on his forehead. "I can't... get leverage."

I looked up at him. Our eyes locked. For a heartbeat, I saw the man who had cooked pasta in my kitchen, the man who had whispered promises against my skin. I saw fear. I saw struggle.

"Adrian," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the crashing waves. "Please. The baby."

His gaze flickered. He looked at my stomach, then back to my eyes. A tremor went through his arm.

"Save me, Adrian!" Carly screamed, her voice piercing the moment. "She's a nobody! She's a Kennedy! Think about the company! Think about *us*!"

The conflict in his eyes crystallized into something colder. Something final. The memory of duty, of the Butler name, of the forged life he had chosen, washed over him, drowning out the man I loved.

He looked at Carly, then back to me. His jaw set.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed. The wind stole the sound, but I read the shape of the betrayal on his lips.

His fingers didn't slip. They uncurled. Deliberately.

One by one.

He released me to secure a two-handed grip on Carly.

"No—"

The word died in my throat as gravity took me. The last thing I saw was Adrian hauling Carly over the ledge, her red dress bright against the storm, while he turned his back on the darkness swallowing me whole.

Then the freezing water hit me like concrete, and the world went black.