A mysterious man

MILLIE-ROSE’S POV

What’s going on here? The question echoed in my head like a sick joke.

What’s going on? Seriously? Millie-Rose?

It was glaringly obvious. I just caught my fiancé…the man I was supposed to marry tomorrow…in bed with my stepsister.

And not just any bed. His bed. Our future bed.

“Fuck!” Silas cursed, leaping off her like the bed had caught fire. He fumbled with the blanket, trying and failing miserably to cover his shame.

Meanwhile, Martha lay there unbothered. Completely naked. Her flushed skin was still humming from their session. Disheveled hair. Wrinkled sheets. The smugness on her face made me want to scream.

I stood there frozen, trying to blink the betrayal away. My heart felt like it had been yanked out, shredded, and shoved back in with broken glass.

My boyfriend and my stepsister.

A plot twist so cruel, even the movies I’d starred in wouldn’t dare write it.

“Don’t you know how to fucking knock?!” Silas snapped.

My stomach turned. Was that really his reaction?

Not “I'm sorry.” Not “This isn’t what it looks like.” But me being the problem?

I stared at him, jaw slack, the words trapped in my throat. My lips parted, then closed. Then parted again. I looked like a goldfish choking on air.

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

The tears came first. Slow. Hot. Silent. Then the short gasps followed—like my lungs had forgotten how to function. My fingers clutched my chest, trying to calm the panic building there.

“Is… is that all you’ve got to say to me?” My voice barely made it out. It cracked. Pathetic. Weak.

Martha laughed lightly. Then lit a cigarette.

Was I invisible to her? Just another audience member to her twisted theater? 

“What do you want me to say?” Silas shrugged, running a hand through his hair, still catching his breath like I wasn’t standing there shattering. “You caught me. That should be enough reason to call off the wedding.”

“Wh…what?” My voice cracked again. “What are you talking about?”

Nothing made sense. Not the man in front of me. Not this betrayal. Silas wasn’t like this. He was patient. Gentle. He respected my boundaries. 

He was the one who suggested waiting until our wedding night after I told him my mom’s wish. Who was this cold stranger?

“Would you still wanna marry me after this?” he asked, coldly. “I mean, come on. You’re not that stupid, are you?”

My breath hitched.

The conversation from the agency came flooding back.

He doesn’t love her… He’s only marrying her for the inheritance…

And now, it seemed like he didn’t want to marry me at all.

Martha passed him the cigarette. He took a puff like it was routine. My eyes widened.

Silas never drank. Never smoked. Or so he claimed.

Who the hell had I been dating?

“Why do you look so shocked, sister?” Martha asked, slinking closer to him, running her fingers down his chest. “You thought you bagged yourself a decent man, huh?”

I thought I had.

But all I could do now was stand there, crying, trembling, and trying not to pass out.

Martha smiled, her tone turning wicked. “Right now, I bet you feel betrayed. That’s good,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Because that’s exactly how he felt when he found out you’re pregnant… for another man.”

Time. Stopped.

Her words echoed louder than my heartbeat.

Pregnant?

I stood frozen. Numb. Barely blinking. Then the air caught in my throat and I gasped like I’d been punched in the chest.

-Breathe, Millierose.-

Then, I laughed.

I laughed so hard I could barely breathe. It came out sharp and disjointed. Not funny, but hysterical.

“You’re insane, Martha.” I wiped the tears from my eyes. “That’s the best joke I’ve heard all year.”

I expected her to roll her eyes. But instead, her smile stretched wider.

“Laugh all you want,” she said. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re a cheating little whore.”

My jaw dropped.

“What are you even saying?! I’ve never slept with anyone! I’m a damned virgin, you twisted—”

“Sure, keep saying that,” she interrupted, flicking ash onto the floor. “But that won’t change the test results.”

My eyes darted to Silas. He still said nothing. No defense. No denial. Just sitting there like all this made sense.

“You know I’m a virgin,” I turned to him. “You know that, Silas. Why aren’t you saying anything?”

He shrugged again. “You sure about that?”

I nearly screamed.

Was he really asking me that?

Was this a nightmare? Had I passed out and my brain decided to torture me?

“You should be thankful you’re my sister,” Martha said smugly. “That’s the only reason I haven’t told the world. But push me, and your career will be finished before you can say cover girl.”

That did it.

Messing with my heart? One thing. Messing with my future? My career? Hell no.

“Let’s take a test then,” I challenged, voice steady despite the tremble in my hands. “If I’m pregnant, I want to see it for myself.”

“Great,” she said, smug as ever. “Let’s go to Dr. Saint right now.”

****

“Congratulations, Ms. Millie-rose Harvey,” Dr. Saint said softly, avoiding my eyes. “You’re seven weeks pregnant.”

Did he just say, “congratulations?” What was he congratulating me for?

The room spun. I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t.

Laughter spilled from Martha. Loud. Victorious. Ugly.

I gripped my dress, knuckles turning white, as I tried to stay upright. My throat burned with the scream I was holding back.

“H-how…? I’ve never had…” My voice broke.

My world was crumbling and I didn’t have a single tool to stop it.

“I guess you’re Virgin Mary now,” Martha said. “Except, you know… cheaper.” She scoffed, “Virgin Millie.”

Dr. Saint tried to soften the blow. “It’s possible you were drugged, Millierose. Maybe you don’t remember…”

“Or she’s just a sneaky bitch trying to trap me,” Silas spat.

That was it.

“No. This is wrong,” I gasped. “There has to be a mistake. This isn’t possible.”

“I assure you, the results are accurate,” Dr. Saint said gently.

I wasn’t listening anymore.

I snatched my bag. “I’ll get tested somewhere else. A real hospital.”

Doctor Saint’s jaw twitched. 

Good.

I turned to leave, heart pounding and vision blurry…only to stop dead in my tracks when the door opened.

First, a nurse walked in.

And then him.

Tall. Intimidating. Broad shoulders draped in a brown fur coat that kissed his sculpted physique just right. Veins crawling up his hands like a living sculpture. Perfectly chiseled face framed by long black curls slicked back. Cold grey eyes. Trimmed beard. Towering presence.

He didn’t speak, but the room shifted around him like gravity bowed in his favor.

My lungs forgot how to function.

Then—he looked at me. A full-body sweep of disgust and scrutiny. His upper lip twitched in a snort.

“Please tell me she’s not the one carrying my child.”