Revenge Of The Forsaken Pregnant Wife

ppy wife of tech mogul Gabe Sullivan; the next, a reporter' s phone screen announce

on her stomach. This wasn't just an affair; it was a

my own adoptive parents conspired against me. They moved Harper into our

the family's image. They accused me of

gnancy. They locked me in a room and scheduled the

one last, desperate call to a number I had kept hidden for years-a number belonging to my biologi

pte

te Jenn

the rest of the world did: in a blinding flash

nd, my mind on the baby growing inside me-our secret, our joy. The next, a rep

omment on your husban

ul Gabe Sullivan and Childhood Sweethear

t felt like it might crack and shatter. I could feel hundreds of eyes on me, the

m with Harper Nicholson, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. She was looking up at h

A loving couple sharing a bea

t was suppos

moved closer. "Is it true you and Mr.

ter, the phone, the crumbling expression on my face. His grip on Ha

The late nights when I' d helped him brainstorm the code for his first app, the way he' d held me when my adoptive parents criti

turned

. The murmurs in the room fell silent, the crowd parting before me like the Red Sea. The only sound was the steady,

't look at Harper. My entire world had nar

th a lie that I might actually believe," I said,

kicking in. "Lottie, baby, it' s not what it looks

. The crack of my palm against his cheek echoed in the cavernous sil

t of my hand blooming on his skin. He did

aced with faux fragility as she stepped between us, placing a hand on his

timed tears, locked onto mine. There

a single, hot tear escaped, tracing a path down my c

is voice a desperate r

s arms, but I flinched away

ch me," I

ightened. He looked from the publicist, to the sea of watching faces, to Harper' s pl

not for me, but for everyone listening. "Harper and I hav

. He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. A protective gesture. A gesture he

hispered, the words catching in m

a pain that I knew wasn't for me, but for

ight. He began to steer a weeping Harper toward the exit

s leaving me here, alone

tled over me, a suffocating shroud. He hadn't just admitted to an affair. He

ing myself on a table laden with untouched

, a messy divorce, an illegitimate child-it would have been a disaster. But a tech mog

d me and our unborn child o

ide door, away from the prying eyes and flashing cameras, a s

hoice. And he h

chose