Married To My Best Friend's Husband[Plead To God]

[ALESSIA'S POV]

"I'm pregnant with Edward's baby."

Sandra's voice was steady, but mascara streaked down her face like war paint.

My hand froze over my seven-month baby bump.

The coffee shop buzzed around us, with the espresso machine hissing, someone laughing at the counter, a barista calling out names. Just normal sounds on a normal Tuesday afternoon.

Except my best friend since second grade just admitted she was carrying my husband's child.

"What did you just say?"

She wouldn't meet my eyes. Her fingers twisted around her coffee cup.

"I'm two months pregnant. And It's Edward's."

Two months.

I'd been four months along when this started. Sick every morning. Working double shifts at the news station to save for the nursery. And my husband had been with *her*.

"You're lying." The words came out flat.

"I wish I was." Her voice breaking. "Alessia, I never meant—"

I shoved back from the table. My water glass tipped, spilling across the surface. Sandra flinched but didn't move to stop it.

"How long were you planning this? How long have you been waiting to take everything from me?"

"It wasn't like that—"

"Then what was it like, Sandra? Explain. Make it make sense."

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"His father likes me better. Mr. Seaman thinks I'm... more suitable for the family."

The baby kicked under my palm. Hard.

"Suitable," I repeated.

"My family has old money. The kind that..."

"The kind that makes me worthless?" I pressed both hands to my belly. Protective. "Is that what you're saying?"

"No! That's not...what I mean."

The door bell chimed

Edward stood in the entrance, rain dripping from his hair, tie yanked loose. His eyes locked on mine.

"Alessia."

I took a step back. "Don't."

He crossed the coffee shop in four strides. "Just listen—"

"Listen to what? That you've been screwing my best friend while I've been carrying your son?"

The entire shop went silent. Everyone watched.

Edward's face flushed. "Not here. Please."

"Why not here?" My voice rose. "Embarrassed? She's two months pregnant, Edward. You started this while I was throwing up every morning. While I was picking out baby furniture. You were with *her*."

Sandra sobbed into her hands.

Edward grabbed my arm. I yanked free.

"Don't touch me."

"Alessia, I made a mistake. A terrible mistake. But my father—" He lowered his voice. "You don't understand. He'll cut me off completely if I don't provide a suitable heir. Sandra has the pedigree. The connections. If I don't—"

"If you don't throw away your pregnant wife and unborn child, Daddy won't give you your trust fund?" I stepped closer. "Is that what you're telling me?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"No. It's really not." I grabbed my purse from the booth. "I'm filing for divorce."

His face went white. "You can't—"

"Watch me."

Sandra reached for my hand. "Alessia, please. Can we just talk—"

I jerked away. "Stay away from me. Both of you. Stay away from me and my baby."

I pushed through the door into the rain.

Cold. Heavy. It soaked through my coat in seconds, plastered my hair to my face.

The baby kicked again. Three quick jabs against my ribs, like he could feel my heart breaking.

I pressed my hand there. "It's okay. We're okay. I promise."

I started walking. No destination or idea of where I was going. Just away, away from Edward, Sandra and from everything I thought my life was.

A black car pulled up beside me. Slow and deliberate.

The back window rolled down.

Mr. Seaman sat in the leather interior, dry and pristine while rain poured over me. His silver hair was perfectly styled. His expression carved from ice.

"Get in, Alessia."

I kept walking.

The car crawled along beside me.

"We need to discuss exactly how much it will cost," he said, voice colder than the rain, "to make you and that child disappear."