Side Chick Tax: Everything

When Lyra opened her eyes, the harsh white light made her lift a hand to block it.

"Lyra!" Wesley's face filled her vision, eyes bright with excitement. "You're pregnant!"

She went still, fingers settling against her flat stomach.

Her period had been late, but she hadn't let herself think about it.

"Lyra, this is on me." Wesley sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her hand, his voice gentle. "You got it wrong. Irene's baby is from her ex. I just felt bad she was all alone."

Lyra pulled her hand away and let out a quiet, cold laugh. She didn't say a word.

Wesley sighed and stood. "Get some rest. I'll go grab you something to eat."

He left. His footsteps faded down the hallway.

Lyra stared at the closed door, her hand drifting back to her stomach.

Laughter suddenly spilled in from the next room.

That soft, sweet voice—it was Irene's.

Then Wesley spoke, low and warm, the same tone Lyra knew by heart.

She grabbed her phone and called her bodyguard. "Bring me the divorce papers from the study drawer."

Half an hour later, the bodyguard slipped in without a sound and handed her a folder.

Lyra opened it, her finger hovering over the signature line.

She knew Wesley wouldn't sign this easily right now.

The door opened.

She hid the papers just in time.

Wesley walked in, all smiles. "Lyra, I apologized to Irene for you. She forgave you."

Lyra looked up, her gaze cold. "I needed her forgiveness?"

His smile twitched, then smoothed out. "So I made it up to her. I got tickets to a play. We'll go tonight with Irene, okay?"

Lyra watched him for a few seconds, then slowly smiled.

"Sure."

***

At the theater, Irene wore a white dress. Again. She clung sweetly to Wesley's arm.

She kept sneaking looks at Lyra, smugness flashing in her eyes.

Lyra paused at the entrance, her heart stuttering as she took in the empty rows.

"Mr. Cheswick booked a private showing," the manager said eagerly. "He didn't want a crowd causing any inconvenience. And look, it's your favorite spot."

Front row. Center.

Just like seven years ago.

Back then, Wesley had been a nobody at his family's company.

He'd saved three months of pay for two tickets.

And through the entire performance, his eyes had stayed on her.

"Irene should sit with us too," Wesley said.

Irene hovered nearby, twisting the hem of her dress. "I need to use the restroom."

Her eyes were red, like she'd been badly wronged.

Wesley didn't hesitate. He pulled Lyra into her seat. "Remember our first play? You were—"

"I remember," Lyra said. "You said you'd watch with me for the rest of your life."

Wesley's smile flickered, then settled. "Of course. After the baby's born, I'll bring our kid too. The two of us will watch plays with you, our princess. For a lifetime."

The stage lights came up. The actors stepped into their roles.

At first, Wesley held her hand. Less than ten minutes later, his fingers started tapping against the armrest.

"How is Irene still not back?" he muttered for the third time, checking his watch. "I'll go look for her."

Lyra sat alone in the empty theater.

The dialogue drifted past her, meaningless.

She stood and followed.

The hallway outside the restroom was dim.

Lyra stopped at the corner. Soft, uneven breathing drifted from inside.

"That whole show out there?" Wesley said with a quiet laugh. "That was for her to see. This one's just for you."

Irene let out a teary laugh. "Then do the bunny again."

"Alright, alright." His voice softened. "Look—hop, hop."

Lyra curled her fingers into her palms.

Three years ago, when she'd broken down over a work mistake, Wesley had done the same thing to cheer her up.

He'd said that bunny was only hers.

She turned away and walked back to her seat.

Wesley and Irene returned one after the other, carrying the same scent.

"What took so long?" Lyra asked, not looking at him.

"Irene wasn't feeling well. I stayed with her for a bit." Wesley sat down like nothing was off, his right hand quietly sliding toward Irene.

From the corner of her eye, Lyra saw their fingers tangle in the shadows—then jerk apart when she turned.

"Lyra." Wesley leaned in to kiss her.

She turned her head away and pulled a document from her bag. "You promised to sign this."

In the dim light, Wesley's face locked up.

His eyes skimmed the papers. His throat worked. "What's this?"

"A promise note," Lyra said evenly. "Same as before."

Wesley relaxed on the spot. He even smiled, soft and indulgent. "You..." He pulled out a pen and signed without hesitation.

"About to be a mom and still acting like a kid."

Lyra stared at the familiar signature.

Over the years, Wesley had signed countless little notes for her—

[I promise to only love Lyra Leighton forever.]

[I promise to say good morning and good night every day.]

[I promise not to have dinner alone with other women.]

He always laughed at how childish she was, then pulled her close and said, "I'm yours for life. I'll sign as many promise notes as you want."

This time, he hadn't even looked at what he was signing.

"Done." Wesley handed it back and pinched her cheek. "When have I ever broken a promise to you?"

Onstage, the heroine cried through her tears, "You have no idea what you've lost!"

Lyra gave a soft laugh and slipped the papers back into her bag.