When My Husband Chose My Twin Over Our Baby

The pregnancy test trembled between my fingers as I stared at the two pink lines, my heart hammering against my ribs. Positive. I was pregnant with Dutton Armstrong's child.

The bathroom in the Armstrong penthouse was all gleaming marble and soft lighting—a space as cold and perfect as everything else in this borrowed life. But the emotion swelling inside me was anything but cold. It was warm, fierce, terrifying, and for the first time in my life, entirely mine.

I pressed my trembling hand to my still-flat stomach, and something shifted in my chest—a door opening to a room I never knew existed. This baby, this tiny spark of life growing inside me, belonged to no one but me. Not to the Lawson family who had used me as a placeholder. Not to Meredith, whose identity I'd worn like an ill-fitting coat. This was mine alone.

'I'm going to be a mother,' I whispered, the words foreign and precious on my tongue.

Joy bubbled through me, bright and effervescent, as I tucked the test into my pocket. Dutton needed to know. He deserved to know. Maybe this would change everything between us—this tangible proof that what had grown between us was real, not just a product of an arrangement.

I caught my reflection in the mirror—my face flushed, eyes bright with hope. For once, I didn't see Meredith's shadow. I saw only myself.

Riding the elevator to Armstrong Tower, I rehearsed what I would say. 'Dutton, I have something to tell you.' Too formal. 'I have news.' Too vague. Maybe I would simply hand him the test and let his brilliant mind connect the dots. The thought made me smile.

The elevator doors slid open to the executive floor, and I stepped into the hushed, powerful space. His assistant's desk was empty—perfect timing. I approached his office, my steps light with anticipation, and peered through the glass door.

My world stopped.

There was Dutton, his tall frame unmistakable, his dark hair slightly tousled the way it was when he was deep in thought. But he wasn't alone. Meredith—my twin, my sister, the woman whose place I'd taken—was pressed against his chest, her face tilted up toward his. His arms were around her, holding her with a tenderness I recognized, a tenderness I thought had been mine.

The pregnancy test crumpled in my fist.

I must have made a sound because Dutton's head turned slightly, his profile sharp against the light. I stumbled backward, my hand finding the elevator button before I could think. The doors opened, and I stepped inside, pressing the lobby button with desperate fingers.

Down, down, down I went, each floor taking me further from the life I'd thought was mine, from the man I'd foolishly believed might love me for me.

That evening, I sat in the living room of the penthouse, staring at the Manhattan skyline through tears I refused to shed. The door clicked open, and I turned to see Meredith wheeling two suitcases