The Fertility Clinic That Made Me A Mafia Queen

After Scarlett quit, all the projects she was responsible for were dumped on me. Just as I was drowning under a mountain of deadlines, a commotion erupted in the office.

"Scarlett, you look like a new woman!"

I looked up to see Scarlett striding in, laden with Hermès shopping bags. With her chin held high, she patted her stomach. "Of course! My son is heir to an empire!"

Everyone stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. Not long ago, she was the one sneering at anyone who got engaged or pregnant, preaching that marriage was a trap and kids were a financial black hole. Now, just a few days later, she was claiming to be pregnant.

When she mentioned she had already sold her apartment, a few well-meaning colleagues tried to warn her.

"Be careful, Scarlett. No one truly prominent donates at clinics. Don't get scammed."

She rolled her eyes. "What, you think I'm Cassia? That idiot was just going to pick someone without a clue who the father was. I'd rather die than be that stupid."

Then, she strode over and slapped a gold-foil invitation on my desk. "In five days, my fiancé is coming to claim me. You should come and see what real wealth looks like."

With that, she flipped her hair and strutted out.

We were already swamped with work, and her theatrics annoyed everyone.

"Cassia, isn't Scarlett your friend? Is she delusional? Fantasizing about some billionaire fiancé?"

"The kind of guy who donates to a clinic isn't going to be a billionaire. And now she thinks she's better than everyone just because she's pregnant?"

"She sold her apartment and spent all the money on luxury goods. I'd like to see how she plans to support a child! And remember how she mocked me for trying to get pregnant?"

Scarlett's little show had disgusted everyone. They all advised me to cut ties with a psycho like her.

Before long, Scarlett sent a location to our company group chat. It was the private club owned by the Carbone family.

"This Saturday, my fiancé is hosting a dinner party here. Don't miss it. This is your rare chance to rub shoulders with high society!"

No one expected her to actually pull it off. That private club was famous for its astronomical prices, where even a bottle of water cost a three-figure sum.

Scarlett's social media feed turned into a showcase of her wealth, and she tagged me in every post. In photo after photo, she was draped in couture, smiling like the cat that got the cream.

I snorted softly. Let her laugh. It won't last.

On the day of the party, my colleagues dragged me to the club. "There's no way Scarlett lucked into a billionaire's baby. After she threw you under the bus, we are not missing this train wreck!"

A lavish portrait of Scarlett and a handsome man was displayed at the entrance.

Just then, Scarlett spotted me. She lifted her chin, linked her arm with Julian Carbone's, and strode over. "Well, if it isn't my pathetic ex-best friend. I thought you wouldn't show! Since you clearly don't have my instincts for picking winners, you must be dying of jealousy right now!"

She was so proud of her "keen instincts," but she was completely blind to the icy void in Julian's gaze.

I offered a faint smile. "Jealous? Hardly. I'm thrilled for you."