I Was the Secret Wife. My Sister Was the Chosen One. Not Anymore.

CHAPTER 4

EVELYN POV

"My child..." Amelia cried, both hands clutching her stomach as her face twisted in pain.

Jason was the first to rush to her. My parents followed immediately, panic written across their faces.

I stood rooted to the spot. I hadn't touched her. I was certain of it.

Then the thought came, cold and familiar: was this another one of her schemes? It wasn't the first time Amelia had framed me. Ever since we were children, whenever something went wrong, somehow I was always the one blamed for it. And every time, my parents believed her. Jason believed her. It didn't matter what I said, what evidence I brought, they only accused me of forging it.

After years of trying to defend myself, I had eventually stopped. If they wanted me to be the villain, nothing I said would ever change their minds.

"I didn't do anything to her," I said, loud enough to fill the room. "You all saw what happened."

Jason didn't even look at me. His attention never left her.

"Amelia, look at me." He helped her sit up, his voice tight with fear. "Are you alright?"

She shook her head weakly, tears streaming down her face.

"It hurts, Jason... it hurts so much." She pressed both hands harder against her stomach. "I think something's wrong with our baby."

My mother's face was drained of color. "Blood." Her voice cracked. "There's blood!"

The room erupted.

My mother rushed to Amelia's side while Jason gathered her carefully into his arms.

"How could you be so vicious?" my mother screamed at me. "If anything happens to your sister or that child, I swear I'll never forgive you!"

"I told you I didn't push her. I didn't touch her."

"Enough!" my father roared, his face full of disappointment rather than concern. "We saw it with our own eyes. You pushed her, and you're still lying."

I looked from face to face. None of them believed me. Not for a second.

"So," I said quietly, "you all think I'm heartless enough to intentionally harm a pregnant woman?"

"Yes." My mother's answer came instantly. Certain. "You've always been jealous of Amelia. Nothing surprises me anymore."

A bitter smile touched my lips.

Of course. It was always the same. No matter what happened, I was wrong and Amelia was right. I had long stopped expecting fairness from any of them.

What I felt now wasn't sadness. It was emptiness.

"I don't know why none of you can—"

I never finished.

The slap came fast, hard enough that my knees nearly buckled beneath me. My head snapped to one side, and for a moment there was only ringing in my ears.

I raised a trembling hand to my cheek. Already burning.

I looked up. Jason stood over me, his eyes filled with fury.

He had slapped me.

My husband. The man I had spent five years loving in silence, supporting without asking for anything in return, had just raised his hand against me, for another woman. The pain on my cheek was nothing next to the pain of understanding it.

"How could you do this?" Jason's voice shook with hatred. "You couldn't give me a child, and now you want to take that from the one woman who can?"

"You're despicable," he said. "Heartless. Completely unworthy of ever being called a mother."

Then the words that would stay with me long after the bruise faded.

"Maybe it's your black heart that's kept you barren."

My fingers trembled. For five years I had blamed myself for not conceiving. I had cried through countless nights alone, wondering what was wrong with me. And now the one man who should have comforted me was using that wound as a weapon.

"I didn't push her." My voice was quiet, steady. Not because I thought he would believe me, but because I needed him to hear it anyway. "I would never harm a child."

Jason only looked at me with disgust.

His slap had already told me everything about what I was worth to him.

"I know Sister didn't mean it," Amelia said weakly, leaning into Jason's chest. "I know she hates me... but I never thought she'd hurt my baby."

Then, sharply: "Ah… it hurts. My stomach. We have to go to the hospital, please."

Jason pulled her closer instantly. "Nothing will happen to you," he murmured, gentle now, wiping her tears. "I won't let anything happen to either of you."

Then he turned to me, and every trace of that gentleness vanished.

"If anything happens to Amelia," he said, low and cold, "or to my child, I'll make you regret the day you were born."

"Listen to me. This is Amelia's plan. She's framing me. I didn't push her."

It was the last time I tried to explain myself.

"Even now you're still trying to frame her?" His voice was thick with disgust. "I hate you, Evelyn. I regret the day I married you."

Before I could react, he shoved me with all his strength.

Everything happened too fast. My body stumbled back, lost its balance—

Crash.

My stomach hit the glass coffee table. It shattered beneath me, and a shard tore into my lower abdomen. For a second, I couldn't even scream, the pain too large for sound. Then it came, hot and sharp, spreading fast, blood already soaking warm through my dress and pooling beneath me on the broken glass.

"Jason." My vision blurred at the edges. "I'm in pain."

For one second, I hoped he would look at me. That he would see the blood. That he would remember, even now, that I was still his wife.

Instead he only tightened his hold on Amelia.

"Driver! Bring the car around, now!"

The servants rushed to obey.

He lifted Amelia into his arms like she was the only precious thing left in that house. Before he walked out, he turned back once, and his voice carried through the silence like something final.

"No one is to help her. She deserves whatever happens to her."

He didn't look at me again. My parents followed him out without a single glance back.

The front door slammed shut.

Silence swallowed the room. Only my breathing remained, ragged, uneven, and the sound of my own blood spreading quietly across the floor.

"It hurts," I whispered to no one. "So much."

None of the servants moved. Jason's order was enough to freeze every one of them where they stood.

Was my life truly so meaningless to them? Was I worth so little that they could leave me here to die on the floor of the house I had once believed could be my home?

I pressed a trembling hand to the ground and pulled myself forward. Every inch sent a fresh wave of fire through my stomach. Glass scraped against my palms, my knees, leaving a thin red trail behind me across the tile. Still, I crawled, through the hallway, through the door, out into the cold night air waiting beyond the gate.

The street outside hit my skin like ice. My whole body throbbed in time with my heartbeat, the wound in my stomach one long unbroken line of fire, and somewhere at the edge of my mind, distant and strangely calm, I understood I might not survive this.

If I did. If I somehow lived through this night.

Neither Jason nor the Ashwood name, the surname I had shared with Amelia since birth, the family that had never once chosen me, would ever mean anything to me again.

That was the last clear thought I had before the dark pulled me under.