Marriage for Sweet Revenge

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled my nostrils as Dr. Sharma smiled warmly at me from across her desk. My fingers nervously tapped against my knee—a habit I'd developed since childhood whenever anticipation built within me.

"Everything looks perfect, Josephine. You're eight weeks along, and both you and the baby are healthy."

Eight weeks. The words echoed in my mind, sending ripples of joy through my body. I pressed my hand against my still-flat stomach, marveling at the miracle growing inside me. Ian and I had been trying for nearly a year.

"Would you like to hear the heartbeat?" Dr. Sharma asked, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

Minutes later, as the rapid flutter filled the examination room, tears welled in my eyes. Our baby. Our future. One week before our wedding, this felt like the universe's blessing on our seven years together.

"I want to surprise him," I told Marcus, my assistant, as he drove me back toward the financial district. "Drop me at Ian's penthouse instead."

Marcus raised an eyebrow in the rearview mirror. "You never show up unannounced."

"That's what makes it a surprise," I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in months.

The doorman greeted me with familiar warmth as I entered Ian's building. In the elevator, I rehearsed how I'd share the news, imagining the look of wonder that would transform Ian's face. My key slid into the lock with practiced ease.

"Ian?" I called out, my voice lilting with excitement as I closed the door behind me. "I have something amazing to tell you!"

Silence greeted me, but his Tesla was in the garage, so I knew he was home. Perhaps he was on a call in his office or taking a shower. I climbed the spiral staircase, my hand gliding along the cool metal railing.

"Ian, where are—"

My voice died in my throat as I reached the bedroom doorway. Time seemed to fracture around me, each second stretching into an eternity as my mind struggled to process the scene before me.

Ian's naked body was tangled with another's—familiar curves, familiar golden hair splayed across the pillows. My sister. My twin. Shiloh.

They hadn't heard me. I stood frozen, a ghost in the doorway, as Shiloh's hand moved to rest on her slightly rounded belly.

"Don't worry about Josephine," she purred, her voice a knife twisting in my gut. "Once you give her those pills, her pregnancy will be gone. A tragic, natural miscarriage."

My blood turned to ice in my veins.

Ian chuckled, the sound so casual it made me sick. "She'll never suspect a thing. She's completely bought the PTSD story. Poor, naive Josephine, always so eager to help, so trusting." His fingers traced lazy circles on my sister's skin. "Your baby will be my only heir. Just as we planned."

I backed away silently, my hand pressed against my mouth to contain the scream building in my chest. The world tilted and swayed around me as I descended the stairs