Part 3: The Gathering of Shadows
Victor believed he knew exactly who I was. To him, I was his aging, desperate wife—a woman suffocated by biological failure, fiercely grateful for his superficial affection, and utterly dependent on his presence to feel complete.
He forgot who I was before I took his last name.
He forgot whose capital bought our historic estate. He forgot who had single-handedly built Lang & Vale Holdings from a tech startup in a shared workspace into a multi-million-dollar empire before he ever managed to marry his way into its boardroom. Most of all, Victor Lang forgot that I had spent twenty brutal years negotiating contracts with cutthroat executives who smiled across glass tables while hiding knives behind their backs.
I took the physical printout of the forged consent form from Elena, folded it into a neat square, and tucked it securely into the inner pocket of my leather purse.
When I unlocked the front door of our estate an hour later, the house smelled of expensive catering and impending victory.
Victor was waiting for me in the kitchen. A heavy silver ice bucket sat sweating on the granite island, holding a bottle of vintage champagne flanked by two crystal flutes. It was set up perfectly, as if he already knew exactly what my ultrasound results were supposed to reveal—or rather, what they were supposed to confirm about my empty womb.
His mother, Claudine, sat perched on a barstool, draped in her signature South Sea pearls, her eyes sharp and predatory. And standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, bathed in the soft afternoon light, was Lila. One of her hands was resting lightly, almost imperceptibly, over her perfectly flat stomach.
The rhythm of my own baby’s heartbeat still echoed loudly in my bones.
Victor smiled, a perfect, practiced display of marital concern. "Well, sweetheart? How did it go?"
May you like
I walked into the center of the kitchen, carefully setting my purse onto the island. I looked each of them directly in the eye before I spoke.
"I’m pregnant."
