Chapter 4: Biggest Lie

“No. You’re fucking bluffing,” David spat.

He didn’t look like the passionate man from the VIP room anymore.

He looked like a man protecting his fortress, his eyes cold and full of venom.

“You’re not fucking pregnant, Sandra. We were careful. Every single time. It’s impossible!”

“David—”

“If you’re just trying to ruin my life, then get the fuck out of here,” he snarled, stepping into my personal space to tower over me.

“I am done with this. I am done with you. I don’t want to continue this charade for one more second. I’m happy with my wife. Do you understand?! I love her!”

He turned his back on me, dismissing me as if I were nothing more than a stain on his expensive driveway.

Panic flared in my chest. I lunged forward, grabbing his arm, my fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.

“David, look at me! You’re all I have!” I cried, “I’ll tell you everything! I’m not some high-class. I’m struggling, David. I have no one. Why do you think I was at that club? I’m poor. I’m a nobody!”

He didn’t move, but I could feel the tension in his arm.

I kept going, my voice cracking with a desperation that wasn’t faked.

“I don’t make the kind of money you think I do. Everyone thinks the men at the club just rain cash on us, but it’s not like that. And since that night with you... I stopped. I stopped letting them touch me. I still dance because I have to eat, but I haven’t let anyone else near me since the moment you laid hands on me. You’re the father, David. Please, have some mercy!”

For a split second, I saw his gaze falter.

A flicker of something that looked like pity crossed his face, and for a heartbeat, I thought I had him.

I thought the lie—the biggest, most dangerous lie I had ever told—was going to work.

I needed him to be tied to me. I needed the security he provided!

But then, his expression hardened. The wall went back up, higher and thicker than before.

“What is the concern here, Sandra? Money?” he asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

“I am cutting ties with you. Completely.”

“David, wait—”

“Enough!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the mansion.

“I don’t want my wife to catch you here. And I’m warning you—if you try to tell her a single word of this, you won’t like what I’m capable of. I have resources you can’t even imagine. I can make you disappear from this city, and no one would even look for you.”

He shook my hand off his arm.

“David, look at me! Believe me!” I screamed, reaching out one last time,

“Have some mercy on the child I’m carrying! How can you be so heartless?!”

He adjusted his cuffs and started walking back toward the mansion, back to his beautiful wife and his perfect life.

“I don’t care even if you are telling me the truth. Kill that child.”

My whole world drained.

“Guards!” he yelled, his voice cold and commanding.

“Take her away. Make sure she never sets foot on this property again. If she shows up at the office, call the police.”

The security guards appeared almost instantly—two large men in black uniforms.

“Goodbye, Sandra.”

It was that easy for him. He used me when he was angry, used me when he was bored, and then threw me away.

The guards dragged me down the long, gravel driveway, my heels scuffing against the stones.

When we reached the main gate, they shoved me.

“Stay out, girl,” one of them muttered.

I lost my balance and fell hard onto the asphalt. The impact jarred my bones, and I felt the sharp sting of the road as it tore through my skin.

I sat there on the ground, my dress ruined, my knees and palms scraped and bleeding.

The iron gates hissed shut.

I looked down at my bloodied palms, the tears finally blurring my vision. I was back where I started—in the dirt, with nothing but my lies to keep me warm.

David was gone, and I was just another mistake he had erased from his ledger.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, smearing blood and mascara across my cheek.

As if on cue, the sky opened up. A low rumble of thunder shook the ground beneath me, followed by a jagged flash of lightning that illuminated the dark road.

The rain started as a drizzle and turned into a downpour within seconds, soaking through my ruined dress and chilling me to the bone. It was classic, really. Even the weather was mocking me.

I forced myself to stand, my legs shaking. I had to function. I had to get home.

That night, back in my cramped, leaking apartment, I lay on my thin mattress and stared at the ceiling.

Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his hands. I felt the ghost of his touch.

I found myself reaching down, my fingers trembling as I tried to find some release.

I was already wet…just the thought of him.

I closed my eyes and imagined it was him who was fingering me—his weight, his heat, the way he’d growl my name when he lost control.

“David…!” I gasped, arching my back as I hit my climax.

But as the pleasure faded, a wave of nausea hit me.

I sat up, clutching my stomach.

I thought it was just the disgust I felt for myself, or the thought that at this very moment, he was probably doing the same thing to his wife. It was pathetic. I was pathetic.

When I tried to stand up to get a glass of water, the world tilted.

My vision went black around the edges, and a sharp, piercing dizziness made me stumble back onto the bed.

Shit.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, praying for the room to stop spinning. I figured it was just the hunger.

But the next morning, it wasn’t just hunger.

I barely made it to the shared bathroom in the hallway before I was violently sick.

My stomach cramped, and a cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I couldn’t even stand up without feeling like I was going to pass out.

Fear began to settle in my gut. I took the last of my savings—money I was supposed to use for rent—and went to a small, rundown clinic nearby.

The doctor was an older woman with tired eyes and a surgical mask that smelled like antiseptic.

She looked at the results of my tests, then looked at me.

“You’re pregnant, Miss,” she said.

Her voice felt like a gong ringing in my ears.

“About four weeks along.”

I froze.

My mouth hung open, and I felt my heart hammer against my ribs.

“No... that’s not possible. I was careful. I was using pills. I did everything right!”

I started to shake.

I couldn’t have a baby!

This couldn’t be happening! I collapsed into the plastic chair, the tears finally breaking through.

For the first time, I didn’t cry because I was manipulative or angry.

I cried because I was genuinely, utterly hopeless!

“I think you need to tell the father,” the doctor said gently.

“Whether he stands by you or not, he needs to know.”

I wiped my eyes with a trembling hand.

I didn’t have a choice anymore. The lie I told David yesterday... it wasn’t a lie anymore.

“Give me the papers,” I whispered.

“Give me the prescription, the test results, the evidence. Everything!”

With the medical documents clutched in my hand, I went back to the mansion.

I didn’t care about the guards!

I didn’t care about his threats!

When I arrived, the gates were open.

There were luxury cars lined up the driveway.

Music was blaring from the house, and I could see colorful balloons tied to the balcony.

I tried to walk toward the front door, but a valet intercepted me.

“You’re not allowed here, Miss. This is a private party,” he said, looking at my bedraggled hair and cheap shoes with disdain.

“What kind of party?”

“It’s a baby shower,” he replied.

“Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley just announced they’re expecting. Someone like you isn’t on the list.”

My eyes widened.

My blood turned to ice.

They were celebrating their baby? While he had just thrown mine into the dirt?

“No! Let me in!” I screamed, shoving past him.

He tried to grab my arm, but I was fueled by a manic, desperate energy.

I ran toward the front entrance, dodging guests in silk dresses and tuxedos.

I reached the grand foyer just as David was standing in the center of the room, a champagne flute in his hand, his arm draped proudly around Cyndrel’s waist.

“David!” I shrieked, my voice tearing through the refined chatter of the room.

The music didn’t stop, but the conversation did.

A hundred pairs of wealthy, judgmental eyes turned to look at me—the girl in the torn dress, dripping with rain and clutching a crumpled medical report.

David’s face went from a celebratory glow to a mask of pure, horrified white.

“I told you,” I gasped, holding the papers up for everyone to see.

“I told you it was yours!”