PREGNANT BY MY HUSBAND’S RIVAL: THE BILLIONAIRE'S REVENGE

Mark came home with flowers that day.

Elena almost didn’t recognize the gesture.

He stood at the door, holding a neat bouquet of white lilies and pale roses, like a man trying to remember a role he used to play well.

For a second, she saw the boy from Capri, the one who used to pull her into the sea fully dressed just to hear her scream and laugh.

“You bought flowers?” she asked, surprised despite herself.

Their ten years anniversary was the next day and it wasn’t like Mark to remember it so early.

Mark gave a small shrug. “Is that a crime?”

“No,” she said quickly. “It’s just… it’s been a while.”

He stepped inside.

She reached for the flowers. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“Elena,” Mark said, and something in his tone made her fingers tighten around the stems. “We need to talk.”

Her stomach dropped, but she forced a light smile. “That sounds serious. What about? Are you finally asking me out on a proper date? It’s been years since you’ve tried to impress me.”

He didn’t smile back.

They stood facing each other in the entryway.

Mark exhaled slowly. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

“About what?”

“About us.”

Her heart began to pound. “What about us?”

“I think,” he said carefully, “that we should open our marriage.”

For a moment, she thought she had misheard him.

“I’m sorry?”

“Open it,” he repeated. “An arrangement. We stay married. We maintain the image. But we allow… freedom.”

The air felt thin.

“What are you talking about, Mark?”

“We got together young,” he continued. “We married at nineteen. We’ve only ever been with each other. We never explored. I never explored.”

“You never complained.”

“I didn’t know what I was missing.”

The words hit harder than she expected.

“You’re saying you’re bored?” she asked quietly.

He hesitated only a second. “Yes.”

She laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “That’s funny. I spent ten years building your life.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying it’s 2026. This isn’t dramatic. Plenty of couples do it. We’d be honest. No sneaking around.”

Her eyes searched his face. “Are you already seeing someone?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

That was answer enough.

•••

The next day, Elena still cooked. After all, it was their anniversary night. And Mark probably was drunk yesterday while talking about an open marriage.

Lamb. Roasted vegetables. His favorite wine. Candles lit along the dining table. Ten years deserved something, even if he did not.

She checked the time. 9:17 PM.

He hadn’t called.

She didn’t hear his car pull up. Only the heavy thud of the front door.

And then it hit her.

Jasmine perfume.

Thick. Sweet. Not hers.

“You’re still up,” Mark said as he walked in, loosening his tie.

“It’s our anniversary,” she replied.

He paused briefly, as if remembering a meeting he had forgotten.

“Oh. Right.”

She stared at him. “You forgot.”

“I had dinner at the office.”

“With who?”

He frowned. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t start?” Her voice trembled. “I made lamb.”

“I said I ate.”

He poured himself a glass of scotch. Ice clinked loudly in the silent room.

“Elena, please sit” he said. “We need to formalize what we discussed earlier.”

She sat slowly.

He placed a thick leather folder on top of her hand-painted anniversary card.

“I had my lawyers draft an Open Marriage Contract.”

Her throat tightened. “You were serious.”

“Yes.”

“You really went to lawyers before finishing a conversation with your wife?”

“I’m a practical man.”

“You’re a coward.”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“You came home with flowers yesterday and then now you are telling me you want other women. And I’m dramatic?”

He leaned back. “My image requires a wife. A stable one. We look good together. Investors like it. The board likes it. But my needs as a man are separate.”

“Your needs,” she repeated.

“You’ve become comfortable, Elena. Domestic. Predictable.”

She stared at him as if he were a stranger.

“You mean loyal.”

“I mean stagnant.”

The word felt like a slap.

“I gave you ten years,” she whispered.

“And you’ll still have the title,” he replied coolly. “We stay married publicly. Privately, we have freedom. I do what I want. You can do what you want.”

“You don’t expect me to use it.” Elena deduced.

He didn’t deny it. Mark thought she was undesirable and this was only going to benefit him.

“Who’s going to look at a housewife,” he added casually, “when they could have a twenty two year old?”

The silence that followed was heavy.

“You’re asking me to allow you to cheat,” she said.

“I’m telling you I already am,” he snapped. “This just makes it clean.”

He pushed the folder closer.

“Sign it.”

Then he walked out of the room.

Elena stared at the papers.

Her tears blurred the ink.

Clause after clause. Legal language. Conditions. Public appearances. Asset separation.

Then she saw it.

A small clause referencing the family trust.

If the husband failed to maintain a monogamous household, the wife would receive immediate access to a $25 million personal protection fund.

Her breathing slowed.

He had triggered it himself.

He was so sure she would crumble that he hadn’t checked the trust conditions.

A strange calm washed over her.

She picked up the pen.

Signed.

She did not go to bed.

Instead, she locked herself in the bathroom and called her best friend.

“Chloe, He did it,” Elena whispered tearfully.

“Who did what?”

“Mark. He brought some papers. It’s official. He wants an open marriage.”

There was silence. Then, “That arrogant man.”

“He called me stagnant.”

Chloe exhaled sharply. “Some nerve he has, he should be grateful you looked at him years ago.”

“He thinks no one would want me.”

“Oh, that’s funny,” Chloe said. “Because I know plenty of men who would.”

“I don’t even know who I am outside of him.”

“Then it’s time you remember.”

Elena sat on the cold tile floor. “I don’t know how to start.”

“Simple,” Chloe replied. “If he wants an open marriage, fine. We open it properly.”

“I can’t just walk into a bar.”

“You won’t. I’ll help you.”

•••

The next morning, Chloe came over with coffee a with a determined face.

“We’re making you a profile,” she announced.

“A profile,” Elena repeated faintly.

“Yes. If he’s going to explore, so are you.” Chloe shrugged bringing out her phone to show off an app. “There’s this new site that’s been trending, a hook up app but for rich people instead. Makes sense for privacy.”

They sat on the couch with Elena’s phone between them.

Chloe scrolled through old photos. “Not this one. You look tired. Oh. This one.”

“That’s from Capri.”

“Exactly. That girl is still here.”

They chose a picture of Elena laughing at the beach.

“What do I even write?” Elena asked.

Chloe smirked. “Something simple. It’s only a quick fuck you are looking for after all.”

After an hour, the profile was live.

Elena immediately wanted to delete it.

“I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

She ignored the app for days.

Until Mark came home again with lipstick on his mouth.

Bright red.

He didn’t wipe it off.

He didn’t apologize.

He walked past her like she was furniture.

Something inside her shifted.

That night, she opened the app.

Notifications flooded the screen.

Invitations. Lots and lots of them.

She scrolled slowly.

“They’re all smiling too much,” she muttered. “Isn’t it supposed to be a one night stand and not a relationship.”

Chloe leaned over her shoulder. “Keep going.”

Then she stopped.

A black and white photo.

A man sitting in a leather chair.

No smile.

Dark eyes. Strong jaw. Calm, almost intimidating.

“Who’s that?” Chloe asked.

“No name” Elena read out confused.

No flashy bio. Anonymous.

Elena swallowed.

“Maybe he wants privacy too. Message him,” Chloe whispered.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He looks… dangerous.”

Chloe grinned. “Good.”

Elena stared at the screen.

“If I do this,” she said slowly, “I’m not doing it to feel wanted.”

“Then why?”

“To stop feeling small.”

She typed one word.

Hello.

Her finger hovered.

Then she pressed send.

Her heart raced.

TBC