The Surrogate was not Pregnant with My Egg

Her grin widened, wicked and proud. “You poor thing. Clinging to hope like it ever meant something.”

My voice shook. “How? How the hell did you and Jacob pull this off? All that time—pretending you were the surrogate. All the lies—how long were you laughing behind my back?”

She shrugged, slow and elegant. “Oh, sweetheart. Ask Jacob. He’s the one who kept feeding you dreams.”

Then she leaned closer, her voice a whisper laced in venom.

“But between us? It was too easy playing you.”

“You lied to me.”

She smirked. “No. I played my part. You were the one so desperate to believe it.”

I wanted to scream. Shake her. Slap the smug off her face. But I just stood there, frozen in place, unraveling inch by inch.

She traced a circle lazily over her bump. “This baby? It was never yours. It was ours. Made with love. Passion. Everything he used to fake with you.”

I should’ve screamed. Should’ve smashed her mouth. But I just stared. Rage curdled into something heavier—grief, maybe.

She leaned in with a smile made of venom. “You think he stayed because of you? Jacob is loyal to blood, not broken promises and empty wombs.”

I left before my hands could betray me.

***

That afternoon, the air had shifted. Something heavier settled. I felt it before I saw it.

“Jacob,” she called out, loud enough for the entire staff to hear. “Your freak pathetic wife is obsessed with me. She keeps staring at my belly like she wants it gone.”

I froze. “Don’t start.”

She tilted her head. “You’re just mad I fit into your clothes better than you ever did.”

I clenched my fists. “You’re delusional.”

She stepped forward, that wicked smile stretching. “You should be grateful he kept you this long. Most men would’ve dumped a broken woman after year two.”

Something in me snapped.

I stepped closer, but I didn’t touch her. I didn’t. “You don’t get to talk about what you’ll never understand.”

But she gasped like I hit her, stumbled, and dropped to her knees with a sob. “Jacob! She pushed me! The baby—God, it hurts!”

“What?” I whispered, eyes wide. “You lying—”

Jacob stormed in.

Time fractured.

He saw her crumpled, heaving on the floor. Saw me standing over her, hands trembling.

“What did you do?” he growled, voice unrecognizable.

“I didn’t touch her—”

“Enough!” he shouted. “You just couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t stand that my child—my future—is with someone else.”

I blinked back tears. “Jacob, please—”

He didn’t even look at me.

Valentina wept in his arms, clutching his shirt. “She hates the baby. She said... she wished it would die.”

Lies. Every word of it. But no one was listening.

Then Jacob looked at me—really looked at me—for the first time in days.

And then his hand struck.

It was fast. Brutal. A slap so loud it echoed through the marble halls. My head snapped sideways, the taste of blood flooding my mouth as pain bloomed behind my eyes. My nose cracked. My teeth cut into my lip. The room spun violently.

I staggered. One step back. Then another.

Valentina screamed, fake and fluttery, like she hadn’t been waiting for that moment. “Jacob! No—don’t hurt her. She’s just... confused. Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Enough,” he growled, eyes still on me. “She hurt you. No one hurts my woman.”

His woman.

Not me.

Her.I swayed on my feet, vision swimming, ears ringing. Blood ran from my nose, hot down my chin. The taste of copper and betrayal mixed on my tongue.

“She’s not well,” Valentina whimpered behind him, her voice a snake coiled in faux concern. “But throwing her out? It’s snowing tonight...”

He didn’t blink. “Let her feel it. Throw her out!"

The guards came again.

They didn’t guide me this time—they dragged me. My feet scraped the floor. My hand reached out, fingers brushing the wall one last time.

Outside, the wind howled like a wounded animal. The temperature had dropped. The forecast had warned of snowfall. It had started.

Thick, silent flakes fell like ash.

They threw me out. No shoes. No coat. The door slammed shut behind me with the finality of a coffin lid.

I tried to breathe, but each inhale burned. Blood leaked down my face. My vision blurred, doubling the trees, the road, the night.

Still, I walked.

Step by step. On frozen feet. Teeth chattering. Bones aching. My sweater—the same one Valentina had worn that morning—hung heavy and wet from the snow.

My knees gave out once. Then again. I pushed forward.

Lights blurred in the distance.

My name had been Maurice Ricci.

Now I was no one. But the road curved before I could. My vision blurred.

Headlights. Too fast. Too close.

Then impact.

Metal screamed. Bones cracked. I flew. My body slammed against the frozen ground with a sound that would echo for eternity. Blood bloomed across the snow like a signature.

And in the distance—just through the frost-laced window of the estate—Jacob turned to see.

He saw me. Broken. Bleeding. Limp.

“Maurice!” he roared, voice cracking as he ran for the door.

But before he could get there—

Valentina screamed. Doubled over. Clutching her belly. “Jacob—it’s the baby! Oh my God! I think I’m in labor!”