My Husband Denied My Pregnancy to Protect His First Love

I sat in the driver’s seat of my car for ten minutes before I finally went inside. The rain was drumming hard against the windshield, but I didn't feel the chill. My hands were shaking. I looked down at the small plastic wand resting in my palm.

Two pink lines.

Pregnant.

A bubbly, warm feeling expanded in my chest. After three years of a quiet, hollow marriage, I was finally going to give Enzo Shaw a child. I tucked the test safely into my designer purse and hurried into the private parking garage.

The private elevator hummed smoothly, taking me up to the penthouse we shared. I had the whole evening planned out. I was going to make homemade lasagna. I’d carefully peel the organic tomatoes and avoid any heavy spices that triggered Enzo’s chronic stomach ulcers. I would light the expensive candles he liked. I would hand him a small gift box with the test inside.

Maybe, just maybe, this baby would finally make him look at me. Truly look at me. Not as a convenient substitute, but as his wife.

The elevator doors chimed and slid open. I stepped into the foyer and stopped dead in my tracks.

Something was wrong.

The penthouse usually smelled of cedar and Enzo’s sharp, clean cologne. Today, the air was choked with a heavy, sweet perfume. Vanilla and synthetic roses. My stomach did a nervous flip.

I walked further in. A mountain of designer luggage was piled on the pristine marble floor. Louis Vuitton trunks and Chanel garment bags, covered in airline tags from Charles de Gaulle. I gripped my purse tighter and walked into the living room.

And there she was.

Isabella Montgomery. My older sister. The golden child. The woman who had abandoned Enzo at the altar three years ago to chase a glamorous modeling career in Paris, leaving me to take the fall and marry him to save both families from humiliation.

She was sitting on my custom velvet sofa. She looked thinner, but her hair was perfectly styled in effortless blonde waves. She was dabbing her eyes with a tissue. When she saw me, her crying magically stopped. Her red lips twitched into a tiny, victorious smirk.

“Blaire,” she whispered. Her voice was breathy, fragile, and entirely fake. “I’m so sorry.”

Before I could even ask her what she was doing in my home, heavy footsteps clicked against the hardwood floor. Enzo walked into the room.

He wore a tailored charcoal suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. His dark hair was slightly messy, and his jaw was clenched tight. For seven years, I had loved this man from the shadows. For three years, I had been his devoted, invisible caretaker. I managed his diets, his home, and his life. I thought my loyalty meant something.

But as he looked at me, his dark eyes were completely empty.

He didn't notice the flush in my cheeks. He didn't see the nervous joy I had brought into the room.