Knocked Up by the Callboy

Lilah's POV.

The doctor’s voice was quiet.

“The test is negative again, Mrs. Hale. I’m sorry.”

I sat on the exam table, the thin paper crinkling under me. My chest tightened. That familiar sting hit deep, like an old wound opening up again. Negative. Again. I stared at the floor and tried to breathe normally, but it felt like something was pressing on my lungs.

Marcus sat in the chair by the wall. He didn’t move. Didn’t reach for me. He just gave one small nod, like it was nothing important.

The doctor kept talking about more tests and possibilities. I nodded when I was supposed to, but her words barely reached me. Eight years. I had given this man eight years of my life. I had pushed my own dreams aside, smiled through every event, and still it wasn’t enough.

We left the clinic in silence. The Bentley waited outside. I got in and the leather seat felt cold against my legs. Marcus started the car and pulled into traffic. Streetlights slid across the windows in long streaks.

I kept glancing at him. His jaw was tight. His hands gripped the wheel so hard the knuckles turned white. I waited for him to say something. We’re in this together. We’ll figure it out. Anything. The silence stretched on until it hurt.

My stomach twisted. I turned and looked out my window instead. Buildings and cars blurred past. I felt small. Empty. Like I was slowly disappearing.

The gates of our mansion opened smoothly. We stepped inside. Lights turned on automatically, bright and cold on the marble floors. Everything looked perfect. Cold and perfect. I followed Marcus up the stairs to our bedroom. My legs felt heavy.

He shut the door behind us. The sound echoed.

For a second he stood with his back to me, shoulders rigid. Then he turned around. His face wasn’t blank anymore. It was angry. Tired. Done.

“Okay, I’m done with this shit,” he said. His voice started low but grew louder fast. “Eight years, Lilah. Eight fucking years of tests and doctors and waiting. And still nothing. Still negative every damn time.”

The words landed hard. I wrapped my arms around myself. My throat felt tight.

“Marcus…”

“No. Don’t.” He stepped closer. His eyes burned. “My mother calls every week wanting to know when she’s getting a grandchild. My father looks at me like I’m a disappointment. People whisper at events. They ask why I don’t just find someone who can actually give me an heir. They think you’re broken. And they think I’m weak for staying.”

Tears stung my eyes. I blinked hard. I wanted this baby too. More than he probably knew. I had cried alone after every appointment. Changed my whole life. Held onto hope even when it hurt.

“I want a baby just as much as you do,” I whispered. My voice shook. “It’s not like I’m choosing this.”

He laughed once, short and bitter.

“Not your fault? My tests came back perfect. So yeah, Lilah. It points to you.”

The room tilted. I grabbed the dresser to steady myself. My heart pounded loud in my ears. A cold sweat broke out on my back.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he continued. “I can’t keep showing up to family dinners with nothing to show. I can’t keep watching Elena and Raymond shake their heads at me. I need kids. I need a legacy. And if you can’t give me that…”

He paused. Looked at me like I was someone he barely recognized.

“I want an open marriage.”

I stared at him. The words felt unreal.

“Open marriage?” I repeated slowly.

“Yeah.” He shrugged like it was simple. “I sleep with other women. You can see whoever you want. We stay married. Keep the house, the money, the image. I get children. You get freedom. It’s practical.”

My stomach dropped. This was the man I had stood by through everything. The one who promised forever. Now he was standing there offering this like it was a good deal.

“You want to have kids with someone else while I’m still your wife?” My voice came out small.

“It solves everything. Better than divorce. You keep the security. The status. No one has to know the messy details.”

I felt sick. The man I loved, the one who paid for my mother’s care after her stroke, was looking at me like I was the problem.

I lifted my hand and slapped him hard across the face. The sound cracked through the room. His head snapped to the side. A red mark appeared on his cheek.

“You’re insane,” I said. My voice shook but I kept going. “I’d rather divorce you than agree to that. Watching you build a family with someone else while I pretend everything is fine.”

Marcus touched his cheek slowly. His eyes turned cold.

“You think divorce is an option?” he asked quietly.

I lifted my chin. “Yes.”

He stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell his cologne.

“You forget something,” he said. “Your mother is still breathing because of me. The private hospital. The machines. The nurses. I pay for every single thing. One call and it stops. They pull the plug. She’s gone. You ready for that?”

My blood turned to ice. My knees went weak. I backed up until my legs hit the bed and sank down. My hands covered my face. The tears kept coming. Marcus just stood there watching. No hug. No soft words. Just silence.

I couldn’t breathe properly. The thought of losing Mom crushed everything inside me. She was all I had left. The only person who ever loved me without keeping score.

“You’d really do that?” I whispered through my fingers. “You’d kill my mother just to keep me trapped here?”

“I take care of what’s mine,” he said flatly. “You owe me eight years. Eight years of waiting. Eight years of shame in front of my family. You owe me this.”

He watched me cry for a long moment. Then his voice came again, calmer but sharp.

“Think about it, Lilah. You have one week. Agree to the open marriage or start planning your mother’s funeral.”

He turned and walked out. The door clicked shut behind him.

I sat there alone on the edge of the bed. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. My heart hammered so hard it hurt. One week. Everything I had sacrificed, everything I had lost, and now this choice hanging over me like a blade.

I didn’t know what I was going to do. But something deep inside me had finally broken. And I wasn’t sure I could keep pretending anymore.