When My Fiancé Sacrificed Our Baby to Save His Mistress

The SEC investigation vanished like smoke.

I found out from a terse email from Duke's assistant: *Matter resolved. Your services are no longer required.* No explanation. No apology. Just a severance check that felt like hush money.

I sat in my Queens studio, staring at the number. Enough to cover three months' rent. Not enough to cover the federal charges that should have been hanging over my head like a guillotine.

Someone had intervened. Someone powerful.

But I was still fired. Still publicly disgraced. The whispers followed me through every coffee shop, every gallery I'd once frequented. *That's the consultant who tried to manipulate the Chen merger. Duke Alexander's little fraud.*

I pressed my palm against my stomach. Still flat. Still secret.

I had to tell him. Whatever he'd done, whatever he'd become, he deserved to know about the baby. Maybe it would wake him up. Maybe it would remind him of who we'd been before Bethany's ghost came back to haunt us.

I took the subway to the Upper East Side, my coat pulled tight against the October wind. Bethany's penthouse was in one of those pre-war buildings with a doorman who looked at me like I was selling magazine subscriptions.

"I'm here to see Duke Alexander," I said.

The doorman's expression didn't change. "Mr. Alexander isn't receiving visitors."

"Tell him it's Scarlett Robinson. It's urgent."

He made the call, his eyes never leaving my face. When he hung up, his mouth was a thin line. "Ms. Wheeler says you're not welcome."

"I don't care what Ms. Wheeler says. I need to speak to Duke."

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

I turned toward the elevator anyway. The doorman moved to block me, but a scream cut through the lobby—high, piercing, coming from above.

We both looked up.

Through the art deco skylight, I could see a figure on the rooftop terrace. White nightgown whipping in the wind. Bethany.

I ran for the stairs.

By the time I burst onto the roof, my lungs were burning. The terrace was a garden of potted topiaries and wrought iron furniture, all of it dwarfed by the city sprawling below. Bethany stood on the ledge, her bare feet inches from a twenty-story drop.

"Bethany!" I shouted. "Get down from there!"

She turned, and her face was a mask of theatrical anguish. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but her eyes were sharp, calculating. "You," she breathed. "You did this to me."

"I didn't do anything. Please, just step back—"

"You took him from me!" Her voice cracked. "Duke was mine. We were supposed to be together, and you—you poisoned him against me!"

The door behind me slammed open. Duke stumbled out, his shirt half-buttoned, his face white with panic.

"Bethany, no!" He lunged forward, but she swayed, and he froze. "Don't move. Please, just don't move."

"She came here to hurt me, Duke." Bethany's voice was small now, childlike. "She's been harassing me. Threatening me. I can't take it anymore."

"That's not true," I said, but my voice sounded weak even to my own ears.

Duke turned to me, and the look in his eyes was pure venom. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to you. I didn't know she was—"

"You're stalking her." He moved between us, his body a wall. "You've lost your job, your reputation, and now you're taking it out on someone who's dying."

"I'm not—Duke, please, just listen—"

"Get on your knees."

The words hit me like a slap. "What?"

"You heard me." His voice was cold, mechanical. "Get on your knees and beg her to come down. Prove to her that you're not a threat. Prove to me that you're not the monster everyone says you are."

The rain started then, a sudden downpour that soaked through my coat in seconds. I looked at Bethany, still balanced on the ledge, her nightgown plastered to her skin. She was smiling. Just a little.

I thought of the baby. Of the life growing inside me that Duke didn't know about. Of the man I'd loved who was now demanding I grovel in the rain for a woman who'd orchestrated my destruction.

I sank to my knees.

The concrete was cold and wet, biting through my jeans. I looked up at Bethany through the rain, my hands instinctively covering my stomach.

"Please," I said. My voice broke. "Please come down. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Bethany watched me for a long moment. Then she stepped back from the ledge, collapsing into Duke's arms with a sob that sounded almost real.

Duke held her, stroking her hair, whispering reassurances. He didn't look at me.

I stayed on my knees in the rain, clutching my stomach, and felt something inside me finally shatter.