Replaced By A Pregnant Substitute

Ila POV:

"Jaxon, please!" Kamila's voice was a desperate, theatrical wail. "The baby! Think of our baby! Save us, Jaxon, save me!" She was playing her part to perfection, the terrified mother protecting her unborn child.

The silence that followed stretched for an eternity. I could hear Jaxon's ragged breathing over the speaker, the sound of a man being torn in two. A part of me, a foolish, masochistic part, held its breath, waiting for him to say my name.

"Kamila," he finally choked out, the single word a death sentence. "Let Ila go. I choose Kamila."

The strength drained from my body. My head lolled forward, my soaked hair plastering against my face. I felt nothing. No shock, no surprise. Just a profound, hollow emptiness. He had made his choice on the terrace with the tiger. This was just the confirmation.

Mcgee let out a bark of cruel laughter. "A predictable choice! The heir over the used goods. Very pragmatic, Kent." He kicked me hard in the back, sending me sprawling. "Your man chose the other one, sweetheart. Looks like you're going for another swim."

He didn't just throw me in. His men held my head under the water until my lungs burned and black spots danced before my vision. They did it five, six, seven times. I lost count. Each time I was dragged up, gasping for air, I could hear Jaxon screaming my name through the speaker, his voice a frantic, powerless roar.

"You said you'd stop!" he bellowed.

"I said you could save one," Mcgee's voice was slick with amusement. "I never said I was done playing." He hauled my limp body back onto the pier. I was barely conscious, my body a trembling, waterlogged sack of pain. "Game number two! Whiplash! Ten lashes. But again, you get to choose who is spared. So, Jaxon? Has your choice changed?"

Jaxon's response was a strangled sob. His hands, I imagined, were clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were white, drawing blood. He was in agony. But it wasn' t enough. It would never be enough to make up for this.

"Kamila," he whispered again, his voice broken. "Spare Kamila."

Kamila, safe on the other side of the pier, let out a sob of relief. "Oh, Jaxon, I knew you loved me!" Then, her voice dropped to a smug whisper, meant only for me to hear. "He chose me again, Ila. He will always choose me."

I didn't even have the strength to react. A profound numbness had settled over me. It was as if I was watching this happen to someone else, a character in a tragic play.

The first lash of the whip felt distant, a dull thud against my back. I grunted, my hands clawing at the rough wooden planks of the pier, my nails splintering. The second lash ripped through the numbness, a line of fire that seared my skin. A low moan escaped my lips.

One after another, the blows rained down. My back became a canvas of raw, bleeding flesh. My thin silk nightgown was shredded, sticking to the open wounds. I was on the verge of blacking out, the world reduced to a haze of pain and the rhythmic crack of the whip.

Jaxon was screaming, a long, continuous howl of pure anguish over the speaker. He was begging, pleading, threatening. But he never changed his choice.

"Stop! Please, for the love of God, stop!" he roared.

Suddenly, Kamila let out a piercing scream. "My stomach! Jaxon, the baby! I think I'm having a miscarriage!"

Jaxon's frantic pleas for me stopped instantly. "Kamila? Is the baby okay?" he asked, his voice tight with a new, more immediate terror.

At that moment, the final lash landed. It was harder than the rest, a brutal, vicious strike that stole the last of my breath. A spray of blood erupted from my lips, warm and metallic.

"Ila!" Jaxon screamed my name, a sound of pure horror. But he made no move. He was still focused on Kamila and his precious heir.

"Well, this is a predicament," Mcgee said, a note of genuine amusement in his voice. "Both of them look like they're at death's door. I've got a medical team on standby, Kent. But they only have enough supplies for one. So, for the final time, who do you choose to save? Your bleeding lover, or your bleeding fiancée and potential heir?"

My ears were ringing. The world was a blurry, distorted mess. I could barely hear the question, but I knew the answer. I didn't need to hear it.

Through the haze of pain, I saw a shape move. I saw Jaxon, freed from his own confinement, rush past me without a second glance. I saw him scoop Kamila into his arms, his face a mask of terror and devotion, and carry her towards the waiting medical team.

He didn't even look back.

Not once.

A sound bubbled up in my throat. It started as a faint chuckle and grew into a full-blown, broken cackle of laughter. The sound was mad, unhinged, the sound of a soul shattering into a million irreparable pieces.

My blood ran cold, a freezing tide that had nothing to do with the icy bay water. It was the chill of a love that had turned to poison, of a heart that had been utterly and completely annihilated.

A seagull landed near my head, its pristine white feathers instantly stained crimson by the blood pooling around me. It chirped once, a lonely, plaintive sound in the sudden silence.

I was dying. On a filthy pier, abandoned by the man I had given my life to. A sudden, sharp cramp seized my lower abdomen, a familiar, sickening pain. Blood, darker and thicker than the blood on my back, began to seep from between my legs.

The baby. Our second chance. Gone. Sacrificed, just like me, at the altar of Jaxon's love for another woman.

I swear, Jaxon Kent, I thought, as the last of my strength faded and the world went black, if there is a next life, I will never, ever love you again.

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