He Used Our Marriage to Save Her

I ended the call confirming my admission to the overseas study program and tore the report confirming I was pregnant with twins into pieces.

I'd lost count of how many times this had happened. Every time, it was because of George Anderson's first love, Mia Lloyd.

When it was Mia's birthday, he bailed on our anniversary dinner. When she couldn't sleep, he crawled out of bed in the middle of the night and spent hours on the phone comforting her. When she changed jobs, he personally stepped in to handle everything for her.

I'd asked George more than once what exactly was going on between them. Each time, he cupped my face in his hands, his eyes so sincere that it didn't look like he was lying at all.

"Geri, there's nothing between Mia and me. She just has psychological issues, and I can't bring myself to ignore her. You're my future wife. How could she ever compare to you?"

Over and over, I gave in and backed down. But now, George was even going to marry Mia before he married me. It was beyond ridiculous.

I took a deep breath and clenched my fists. This time, I was really leaving.

I looked down at my still-flat stomach, my eyes stinging. Worst case, I would raise the babies myself.

Forcing down another wave of nausea, I turned and walked into the walk-in closet to pack my things. The second I pulled open the door, George's navy suit jacket came into view, hanging crookedly on the hanger.

My first instinct was to straighten it for him. It was a reflex out of ten years of habit, carved so deep into my bones that it felt impossible to change.

But just as my fingertips brushed the fabric, I felt a bump inside the pocket. I froze for a second, then slid my hand inside, as if something else had taken over my body. When I pulled the object out, it felt like a bucket of ice water had crashed over me from head to toe.

It was a pair of flimsy black lace panties. There was barely any fabric at all, and it was almost transparent. It had a sticky, unknown stain smeared across it.

Tucked in the middle of the panties was a photo. I had to use every ounce of strength I had left just to unfold it.

The picture showed a glaringly clear pregnancy test with two bright pink lines. In the background was the familiar black leather couch from George's office.

On the back, someone had written a line in lipstick. "George, our baby says he misses his daddy."

A playful little heart was drawn at the end.

Something snapped inside me. My stomach seized violently, and I couldn't hold the nausea back anymore. I stumbled into the bathroom and collapsed by the toilet, retching until my throat burned.

With my back pressed against the cold tile wall, I let out a bitter laugh, replaying the promises George had made to me. "I didn't cross any real lines…"

So this was his so-called fragile, innocent woman with depression that only he could save. This was what he called "pure and harmless"—a relationship that could be smoothed over with a simple marriage certificate.

I stared at the pair of panties, feeling like a burning lump of coal had rolled right across my chest.

Ten whole years. George and I had known each other since we had nothing.

Back then, I'd shared the cheapest food with him and lived in a damp basement that leaked when it rained. In winter, with no heat, we had squeezed under one thin blanket. He'd rubbed my frozen fingers and said, "Geri, once I make it big, I'll give you the best of everything."

To help him land his very first investment, I'd guzzled down potent cocktails of liquor with the client until my stomach had literally burned through and I'd started bleeding out. I'd been wheeled into emergency surgery with three separate critical condition notices signed.

George had stayed outside the ICU for three days and nights without sleeping. When I'd finally woken up, he'd kneeled at my bedside, crying as he swore he would meet a horrible end if he didn't give me a good life.

At the time, I'd laughed at him, telling him that it was embarrassing for a grown man to cry like that. And yet, now that he had a net worth in the billions, he'd ground those promises into the dirt and screwed another woman on his office couch.

My phone screen lit up with a ding, yanking me out of my memories. It was a photo from George that showed him and Mia with their heads together in front of a blue backdrop. They smiled sweetly at the camera.

Below it was a long voice message. "Geri, we got the certificate. Mia has calmed down a lot now. Don't throw a tantrum, okay? Be good and wait for me at home. Once her condition is completely stable, I'll put an end to this arrangement. You'll always be my one and only wife."

At the very end, he deliberately lowered his voice, making it take on a wheedling, affectionate tone. "I'll make it up to you when I get back."

I stared at that grating image, my eyes dry and hollow. There was no grief greater than a heart that had died.

I didn't reply. Instead, I blocked his number on the spot. Then, I dragged my suitcase out from the corner and started packing my things on autopilot.

The twins I carried were supposed to be my greatest surprise for him, revealed under the aurora in Frost Isle. Now, it was clear that there was no need for that anymore.