Chapter 3My Wife Surrogated For Her Ex

I stared at Catherine, my mind struggling to process the sheer absurdity of her words.

"Have you lost your mind?" I choked out. "That kind of illicit surrogacy isn't even legal here!"

Dean offered a casual, dismissive chuckle. "Don't worry about the legalities, Connor. I'll be taking Catherine abroad for the procedure and the term. I'll take excellent care of her and the baby. Once the child is born safely, I'll send her right back to you."

I didn't even look at Dean. My eyes stayed locked on my wife, my chest heaving.

"If you go through with carrying another man's child," I said, my voice dangerously steady, "we are getting a divorce."

Without another word, I grabbed my coat and walked out the door.

By the time I reached my office, my head was throbbing with a violent migraine, and my stomach felt like it was being twisted in knots.

A paper cup of warm water and two small white pills were gently placed on my desk.

I looked up, dazed.

It was Sadie. She had dropped by my studio space.

"Take these, Connor," she said softly, her eyes filled with genuine concern. "They'll help with the spasms."

Her gentle voice pulled me out of the dark spiral in my head. I swallowed the medication and washed it down with the warm water, leaning back against my office chair with an exhausted sigh.

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I promised I'd buy you breakfast this morning, and I flaked."

Sadie smiled, a sweet, bright warmth radiating from her that felt like sunshine after a brutal winter storm. "Don't worry about it. Whenever you and your wife have some free time, come over to my place. I'll cook us a proper home-style meal."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

Catherine was a wealthy heiress, born into luxury. How could she ever appreciate simple, home-style cooking?

My mind flashed back to the first time I brought her home to meet my mother. Mom had spent two days preparing a feast of local dishes, her face glowing with pride. But Catherine hadn't touched a single bite. She had openly turned her nose up at the spread, whispering loudly that it smelled like "farm slop."

I would never forget the look of sheer embarrassment and hurt on my mother's weathered face that day.

After Sadie left to check on the morning prints, I reached for the silver photo frame sitting on the corner of my desk.

In the picture, I was holding Catherine, a brilliant, radiant smile on my face—looking like a man who believed he held the entire world in his arms. But looking closer now, Catherine's expression was distant, her eyes clouded with hesitation.

Then, my eyes caught a detail on her hand in the photo—a ring on her right index finger.

My heart felt as though it had been stabbed by an icicle.

It wasn't the custom wedding ring I had spent months designing and refining for her. It was a designer couple's ring—a limited edition line from a high-end luxury brand.

And if my memory served me right, I had seen the matching male version of that exact ring on Dean's finger just hours ago.

The office was dead quiet.

I traced the plain platinum band on my own left ring finger, letting out a silent, hollow laugh.

Slowly, deliberately, I slid the ring off my finger and set it on the desk.

I opened my laptop, created a blank document, and typed out two bold words at the top:

DIVORCE AGREEMENT