Chapter 3The Richest Husband in New York Was Drugged

A wry smile twisted my lips. "Go on, then. Your child needs you."

He was gone in a rush, the wind from his hurried exit caressing my cheek as if he'd never been there at all.

I sat alone in the darkness, silent tears tracing cold paths down my face.

I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that he might never marry Chloe, but he would always be at her beck and call.

How long could I endure this, if I didn't leave? A lifetime?

A familiar, sharp pain twisted in my stomach.

I opened my phone. On Chloe's social media, a new post showed Damien, haggard and unshaven, keeping a sleepless vigil by an incubator. I had never seen that look of raw terror on his face before.

I had my lawyer draw up the divorce papers and went to the office to tender my resignation.

The HR manager looked shocked. "Mrs. Hawthorne, does Mr. Hawthorne know you're leaving?"

I offered a faint smile. "He's a little preoccupied right now." I saw the pity flicker in her eyes. I knew what she was thinking.

I returned to Blackwood Manor, the sprawling estate we had used as a getaway a few times after we were married.

While packing, my fingers brushed against a yellowed piece of notepaper tucked away in a drawer. "My dearest Elara," it read in his familiar script. "I wonder when you'll find this. By then, we'll probably have a few kids running around. I love you so much. No matter what happens, promise you'll never leave me."

A tear splattered onto the ink. A violent cramp seized my stomach, and the world went black as I crumpled to the floor.

I woke to the shrill ringing of my phone.

"Elara Vance! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Damien's roar blasted through the speaker. He rarely used my full name.

"Chloe is already treading on eggshells around you! How many times do I have to tell you she's not a threat to your position? Why would you send those vicious text messages? Why would you curse my children?!"

I laughed, a dry, humorless sound.

He didn't even bother to ask if I'd done it. He had already passed judgment.

"Are you finished?" I asked, my voice eerily calm.

He paused, thrown off. "The celebration for the babies is next Sunday. You have to be there. Please, just stop with the tantrums, okay?"

"Fine."

I hung up and stared out at the encroaching night.

On the day of the party, I arrived without a trace of makeup.

Sympathetic glances followed me through the room. At the center of it all stood Chloe, draped in a stunning red dress, clinging to Damien's arm like she was the true lady of the house.

His mother gestured impatiently. "Go on, hold one of the babies."

Damien placed one of the infants in my arms, his voice a low murmur meant only for me. "Elara, I'll overlook the text messages. After today, I'll send Chloe abroad. The children will be registered under your name. Since you can't have children... isn't this the perfect solution for everyone?"

His words were a physical blow. The avalanche... years ago, I'd shielded him with my body, the impact damaging my uterus beyond repair. He had fought with his parents for me then, swearing he'd be happy with just me, childless or not.

Now, everything had changed.

Suddenly, the baby in my arms gave a violent cough, a white foam bubbling at its lips.

"What's wrong with the baby?!" someone screamed.