My Ex's Boss is My Baby's Father

The maid's text glowed on my phone: Mr. Volt prepared a surprise for you tonight. Come home early.

My heart jumped. Three years of marriage, and Travis hadn't done anything like this since our honeymoon. I pressed my hand against my stomach, hopeful. Maybe tonight would finally be the night. Maybe we could fix whatever had broken between us.

I drove faster than I should have, my mind racing. Tessy had twins now. Emma was pregnant with her third. Even the barista at my favorite coffee shop had a baby strapped to her chest. Everyone around me was building families while my womb stayed empty, and my husband grew colder with each passing month.

But tonight felt different. Tonight felt like a second chance.

The penthouse was dark when I arrived, except for a soft glow from the upstairs bedroom. I grabbed my purse and rushed inside, my heels clicking against the marble foyer.

Roses. Champagne on ice. Soft jazz playing from somewhere upstairs.

My throat tightened with emotion. He remembered. He actually remembered our anniversary.

I kicked off my shoes and pulled off my coat, my fingers trembling as I unbuttoned my blouse. This morning, I'd bought the red lace lingerie set from that boutique in SoHo, the one with the judgy saleswoman who'd raised her eyebrows at my choices. I'd felt foolish then, desperate even. But now, standing in my entryway in nothing but expensive lace, I felt powerful. Wanted.

I picked up one of the champagne flutes and started up the stairs, each step bringing me closer to salvaging my marriage. The music grew louder. I could hear something else now too, underneath the piano. Breathing. Movement.

"Yes, right there. God, Travis, you're so good."

I froze three steps from the landing. That wasn't my voice. That was...

"You're so much better than her. She just lies there like a dead fish."

My hand went numb. The champagne flute slipped from my fingers and shattered against the stairs, golden liquid spreading like blood across white marble.

The sounds stopped.

I forced my legs to move, to carry me down the hallway to our bedroom. The door stood half open. Rose petals made a path across the floor. Candles flickered on every surface.

And there, in our bed, under our silk sheets, was my husband. With my sister.

Blair's blonde hair spilled across my pillow. Her blue eyes went wide when she saw me, but she didn't scream. Didn't scramble to cover herself. She just smiled. That same superior smile she'd given me our entire lives.

Travis pulled away from her, but he didn't look ashamed. He looked annoyed, like I'd interrupted something important.

"Chloe." He reached for his robe. "This isn't what it looks like."

I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. My sister. My baby sister, who I'd helped through modeling school, who I'd given money to when she wanted to pursue runway work. The sister I'd loved more than anyone.

"Really, Travis?" I finally found my voice, and it came out steady. Cold. "Because it looks like you're sleeping with Blair. In our bed. On our anniversary."

He had the decency to flinch. But Blair, she sat up, holding the sheet against her chest, and laughed.

"Oh, Chloe. Always so dramatic. It's not like you were satisfying him anyway."

The words hit me like fists. I looked at Travis, waiting for him to defend me. To tell her she was wrong.

He didn't.

"She's right," he said instead, tying his robe. "Sex with you is boring, Chloe. You're boring. And you can't even do the one thing a wife is supposed to do. You can't give me a child."

Something inside me cracked. "Maybe the problem isn't me. Maybe you're the one who's broken. Maybe you have oligospermia, and you're too much of a coward to get tested."

His face turned red. "My sperm count is fine. Blair can have my children."

The world tilted. "What did you just say?"

Blair's smile grew wider. She looked like a cat with a canary. "Oh, you didn't know? God, Travis, you didn't tell her?"

I thought back to three years ago, when Travis had brought home a baby. A blonde, blue-eyed baby boy he said we were adopting. I'd given up my position as a fashion designer, my dream of launching my own sustainable luxury line, to raise that child. I'd sacrificed everything.

"Leo," I whispered. "Leo is yours?"

Blair stretched like she had all the time in the world. "Thank you for raising my son, Chloe. Really. It gave me time to focus on my career. Runway shows don't walk themselves, you know. Although..." She traced a finger down Travis's arm. "I suppose you'd know all about sacrificing your career. Oh wait, you sacrificed yours for my kid. How pathetic."

She stood up, not bothering with the sheet anymore. Her model body was perfect, all long limbs and smooth skin. "You've always been pathetic, haven't you? Wearing my hand-me-downs. Eating my leftovers. And now, sleeping with my man. Raising my child. You're like a dog, grateful for scraps."

I'd given up fashion design for this. I'd walked away from sketching and fabric innovation and the thrill of seeing my creations come to life. I'd traded design studios for playgrounds, fashion weeks for bedtime stories. For a child who wasn't even mine. For a husband who'd been sleeping with my sister the entire time.

"Why?" I asked, hating how my voice broke. "Why would you do this to me?"

Blair's eyes turned hard. "You stole him from me. Back in college. He was mine first, and you took him."

"You broke up with him! You said he wasn't good enough for you!"

"And yet you couldn't wait to have my sloppy seconds, could you? Now look at you. Raising my child while I walked Paris Fashion Week. Using designs I know came from your little hobby while Travis built his textile empire. You were always the worker bee, Chloe. I was always the queen."

I looked at Travis, this man I'd loved, this man I'd created innovations for, and felt nothing but disgust. The sustainable fabric techniques his company claimed as their signature? Mine. The water-saving dyeing process? Mine. Every breakthrough that had made Volt Textiles relevant? Mine.

"You can have him," I said. "This stinking piece of garbage is all yours now, Blair. Congratulations."

I turned to leave, but Travis grabbed my arm. "Where do you think you're going?"

I jerked away from him. "To a lawyer. I want a divorce."

His grip tightened. "No."

"No?" I laughed, the sound bitter in my throat. "You don't get a say anymore, Travis. Sign the papers when they arrive."

I walked out of that bedroom, out of that penthouse, leaving behind three years of lies in red lace lingerie I'd bought to save a marriage that had never been real at all.