Chapter 2I Birthed His Secret Wife’s Baby

Footsteps echoed behind me. Drew grabbed my arm, his tone dripping with annoyance.

"Where are you running off to? Come back inside and apologize to Cheryl."

"For what?!" I whipped my head around, my eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred.

Drew flinched. He wasn't used to seeing me like this—so sharp, so jagged. He looked away, his jaw tightening.

"I saved your life back then. Consider this your repayment."

The world seemed to drop out from under me. A devastating sob tore itself from my chest.

Through the blur of my tears, I was violently pulled back to three years ago. I was twenty, trapped in the dirt yard of a crumbling trailer park, being beaten black and blue by my stepbrother and stepmother. Neighbors had gathered around the chain-link fence, watching the spectacle. My biological father leaned against a rusted pickup truck, smoking a cigarette and offering color commentary.

"That's what you get for hiding your waitress tips from us! Beat the brat!"

My throat was raw from screaming. My back was a tapestry of welts and bruises from the broom handle. But worse than the physical agony was the look in the eyes of my high school classmates standing in the crowd—pity mixed with revulsion.

I had prayed to die right there in the dirt. But just as I was losing consciousness, a sleek black Porsche had torn into the yard. Drew had stepped out like something from another universe. He had punched my stepbrother to the ground, scooped my bleeding body into his arms, and carried me toward his car.

My father and stepmother had charged at him, screaming bloody murder. "You rich prick! That's kidnapping! Put the little bitch down!"

Drew had gently set me in the passenger seat, pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from his jacket, and thrown it in their faces. His voice had been colder than the bottom of the ocean.

"Listen to me very carefully. Jolie has nothing to do with you anymore. If you ever breathe in her direction again, I have enough lawyers to bury you under a prison."

For months after that, Drew had built a fortress around me. And I, like a drowning girl, had clung to him as my sole savior.

But life doesn't deal in fairytales. There is no such thing as a free lunch. The man I thought was my redemption was just a predator dressed in a designer suit, dragging me into a much deeper, darker abyss.

The phantom pain of those old bruises merged with the very real shattering of my heart. I pressed my fists hard against my chest, trying to breathe. Drew frowned, stepping forward to pull me into a hug, to stop me from hurting myself.

But before he could touch me, Cheryl materialized out of nowhere and slapped me so hard my teeth rattled.

"You shameless whore! Trying to seduce my husband right out in the open!"

Between the shock and the chronic anemia from being her personal blood bank, my vision went black. I slammed my hand against the brick wall of the clinic to keep from collapsing.

Pedestrians were stopping. Whispers rippled through the gathering crowd, their eyes darting between us with disgust and morbid curiosity. The humiliation was acidic. I stiffened my spine and pointed a shaking finger at her.

"You're lying! Drew and I are legally married! You're the mistress!"

Instead of looking ashamed, Cheryl’s lips curled into a slow, terrifyingly smug smile.

"Oh? Are you sure about that?"

Panic flashed across Drew’s face. He reached out, trying to pull her away. "Cheryl, let's go—"

She shoved him off, her eyes locked on me as she gleefully butchered my reality.

"Keep dreaming, sweetie. I never signed the divorce papers. How the hell can you be his legal wife?"

Gravity ceased to exist. I crashed heavily to the pavement, all expression wiped from my face.

The whispers from the crowd turned into a loud, righteous buzzing. Fingers pointed at me like daggers.

"Oh my god, she actually is the homewrecker. The absolute nerve of her."

"Screwing a married man before he's even divorced? Trash. Someone record this and put it on TikTok. Expose her."

My skull felt like it was cracking open. I opened my mouth to defend myself, to scream the truth, but looking at the sea of disgusted faces, I realized none of them wanted the truth. They just wanted a villain.

My chest heaved. I let out a guttural, wounded scream.

And then, a tiny, tear-soaked voice pierced through the noise.

"You're mean! Stop hurting my mommy!"

Toby wriggled out of the nanny's arms by the clinic entrance and ran toward me on his little toddler legs, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks.

"Mommy, Mommy! I'll protect you!"

My heart plummeted into my stomach. Instinctively, I opened my arms to catch him.

But Cheryl lunged and grabbed him by the back of his shirt. Her smugness vanished, replaced by a grotesque, manic fury.

"Look at me! I am your mother! Call me Mommy! Say it!"

Toby burst into terrified wails. His little face went pale with panic as he reached his chubby hands out toward me, his fingers grasping at empty air.

"Mommy! Help! Mommy!"

A primal, agonizing pain ripped through my chest. I scrambled up from the concrete and threw my entire body weight at Cheryl, tackling her.

"Let him go!"

My hands found her throat. I don't know where the strength came from—rage, motherly instinct, or pure madness—but she was entirely powerless against me.

But my victory lasted less than three seconds. Hands clamped onto my shoulders and violently hurled me backward onto the ground.

"Jolie, are you out of your fucking mind?!" Drew roared, his face twisted in fury. "Cheryl is sick! Why are you so evil?!"