Side Chick Tax: Everything

Lyra woke to the sharp bite of disinfectant. A dull ache lingered low in her abdomen. She reached down on instinct, fingers grazing the cold IV line.

"Awake?"

Wesley's voice came from her right.

She turned her head. He sat beside the bed.

He leaned in, reached toward her stomach, then stopped halfway.

"Do you know what you did wrong?" he asked.

Lyra closed her eyes.

When she didn't answer, Wesley cupped her face. "If you'd been this obedient earlier, none of this would've happened."

His thumb brushed her dry lips, his voice soft. "You wouldn't have had to suffer."

"For a neighbor's daughter, you forced your pregnant wife to the floor." Lyra turned away. "Does that actually make sense to you?"

Wesley's hand froze. He frowned. "I judge right and wrong, not feelings."

"I need to rest." Lyra pulled the blanket higher. "Please leave."

Wesley looked thrown.

He stared at her for a few seconds, then checked his phone. "There's an emergency at the company. I'll come back later."

At the door, he turned. "What exam do you have tomorrow? I heard you talking to the doctor."

"Just a routine prenatal check." Lyra paused.

Wesley's gaze swept her face. He suddenly stepped back, grabbed her phone from the nightstand. "Password?"

"My birthday." Lyra let out a cold laugh. "You even remember it?"

He entered it wrong twice before getting it right.

He scrolled through her call log fast. Finding nothing, he tossed the phone back onto the bed. "Irene's in the room next door. If you're fine, don't go bother her."

When Lyra didn't respond, he smiled. "What, jealous? She's just the neighbor's daughter."

Lyra gave a mocking smile and nodded.

Once the door shut, she immediately pressed the call button for the doctor.

"The abortion procedure is set for nine tomorrow?" the doctor asked, flipping through her chart.

"Yes." Lyra's voice stayed soft. "You don't need to tell him."

Not long after the doctor left, the ward door slammed open.

Irene rushed in wearing a hospital gown, limping hard. Her eyes were unnervingly bright.

"You're getting rid of Wesley's baby?"

Lyra slowly pushed herself upright.

Irene didn't look fragile anymore.

"Know your place. Get an abortion and divorce him. Now." Irene gripped the bed rail. "Otherwise, when Wesley dumps you, you won't get a dime."

Lyra laughed. "Did Wesley forget to tell you who's been keeping his company alive?"

"Cut the crap!" Irene's voice went sharp. "Wesley said it himself. He never loved you. He married you for your family's status. If it weren't for that project, he would've—"

Smack.

The sound cracked through the room.

Irene's head snapped sideways. Red flared across her cheek.

"That one's for knowing exactly what you were doing," Lyra said, shaking out her stinging hand.

Smack.

The second hit landed harder. Irene stumbled.

"And that one's for setting me up."

Irene covered her face and stumbled back, rage burning in her eyes.

Then she spotted a figure moving outside the door.

Her expression collapsed. She screamed, threw herself toward the wall, and slid weakly to the floor.

The door flew open.

Wesley rushed in, car keys still clenched in his hand.

He froze when he saw Irene on the floor, then spun toward the bed, eyes blazing. "Lyra! If anything happens to Irene, I'll make you pay with your life!"

"You should ask what she said first," Lyra replied, steady.

Wesley was already scooping Irene up. He sneered. "What could a patient possibly say?"

His gaze flicked to Lyra's swollen palm. "You didn't exactly hold back."

Medical staff rushed in, lifting Irene onto a gurney.

Wesley followed them out. At the doorway, he suddenly turned around. "Someone keep an eye on her."

His stare was cold. "If anything happens to Irene or the baby, you'll regret it."

Lyra watched them vanish down the hallway, then eased herself back onto the bed.

She picked up her phone. Her lock screen lit up with her wedding photo with Wesley.

In it, his smile looked real. His eyes were soft when he looked at her.

Now, for a side chick, he'd said he'd make her regret it.

Her finger hovered over Victor's name. After a beat, she lowered her hand.

Footsteps stopped outside. Two bodyguards in black suits stood beyond the glass, their looks icy.

Lyra curled inward, hugging herself, her forehead resting against her knees.

Pain rolled through her lower abdomen in steady waves. Worse was the ripping ache in her chest.

Five years of marriage.

And in the end, it meant nothing.