Chapter 1

Elena’s POV

My husband’s childhood sweetheart is pregnant, and now he’s been gone for a month, taking care of her. 

And that childhood sweetheart happens to be Mira.

My sister.

I’m used to my world revolving around Mira. After all, I’m an illegitimate child. So, when our father never gave me attention, I said nothing. When she got the toys and clothes and everything her heart desired, I considered it normal.

But I never thought that after all these years, Mira can also come back and take my husband.

The funny thing is, Mira refused to marry Tristan, even telling me to take her place. Tristan was the only thing that I was allowed to have.

But now, I’m filled with all these whispers. 

These rumors that Mira’s baby is Tristan’s.

“Is it true?” I took the courage to ask him once, before he left. “Mira’s baby is yours?”

The look on his face was chilling as he turned to face me. “The baby isn’t mine. Never mention this again.”

“But you’re always worried about her—”

“She’s your sister, Elena,” he interjected forcefully. “I’m your husband. Do you really think we would do that to you?”

I couldn’t argue with his logic, so I chose to believe him. 

For all her faults, having your sister’s husband impregnate you would be a huge line for Mira to cross. Tristan, on the other hand, never showed signs of straying.

But our marriage was still transactional. I played the housewife and he played the provider. I gave up my career and slaved away for everything he needed. He was always polite, but never warm, even though his warmth was what I craved. 

Until one night two months ago.

When Tristan touched my face out of nowhere and kissed me….

With warmth. With fire.

The kind of fire that brought us together, tangled and naked. 

That night, he showed me what it felt like to be desired.

I think of that night now, bent over the sink and heaving. I’ve been feeling sick a couple of weeks after that month, which is something that’s never happened before. Today is no different. I’ve spent all morning throwing up.

And I figure maybe it’s time to find out why.

I look at myself in the mirror, staring at my bloodshot blue eyes and messy red hair, touching my belly. My throat is tight with excitement, but fear bubbles in my stomach. Maybe having a baby will revive our marriage….

Or kill it completely.

The journey to Doctor Jenner is a rollercoaster. My emotions keep swinging from anticipation to dread. 

When it’s my time to get checked, I get stuck in dread.

“Mrs. Blake,” she says as I lie down on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Scared,” I confess, shuddering from the cold jelly she spurts on my belly. I stare at the monitor, waiting for the image to come up. “Do you… see anything?”

Doctor Jenner takes some time to move the transducer all over my belly. “See those big black dots there?” When I nod, she smiles. “Those are gestational sacs. You’re pregnant, Mrs. Blake. Congratulations.”

I fall back on the bed, a rush of happiness washing over me. My eyes fill with tears as I stare at the two little beans on screen, thinking of what Tristan will say if he sees them. 

Then it dawns on me. 

There are two of them.

“There’s two,” I mutter shakily. “And that means….”

Doctor Jenner grins. “That means you have twins.”

All at once, my excitement is gone. 

One baby might make Tristan happy. Even that is a coin toss. But two babies? What will he say? What will he do?

Hell, what do I do?

“You need to be more careful, this kind of pregnancy is very delicate,” she suddenly says, stopping the imaging and printing out the results. “You already miscarried before. I don’t want to scare you, but that can happen again.”

I stiffen from the reminder, blinking and still seeing myself alone in the hospital, enduring the pain alone. 

Tristan never knew.

“This is going to be different,” I say, not only to her remarks but to my own doubts.

This will be life-changing. Surely Tristan won’t show the same coldness now that I’m carrying his babies. It’s my last chance to keep my marriage.

Because if Tristan remains unmoved, I will truly let him go.

***

I ring up the items I got from the supermarket, all fresh and elaborate ingredients I would need to make a really good meal for Tristan tonight. 

He’s coming home.

Just in time for me to show him the sonograms and tell him we’re a family.

My mood is starting to lift, but it all comes crashing down when I arrive home and push the door open.

Tristan is home.

But he’s not alone.

Sitting next to him with her head on his chest is Mira, looking up at him with wide, innocent tearful eyes as he carefully wipes her cheeks and strokes her blonde hair. Neither of them moves when I walk in, making me feel like this is a moment I was never meant to see.

“From now on, you don’t need to worry about anything,” Tristan comforts her. “You’re safe here. I’ll take care of you.”

His tone is gentle. Warm. 

Loving.

Something he never used on me.

I close the door behind me, and only then do they glance back. Without taking his arm off Mira, Tristan says coldly, “Mira’s morning sickness is getting really bad. She’s going to stay here for a while. You’ll be taking care of her, right?”

I say nothing. My fists are clenched so tightly that my nails dig into my palms. 

“Elena,” Mira greets sweetly, enclosing me in a tight hug. “God, it’s been so long. You’re looking good! Tristan is taking such good care of you, huh?”

“I don’t think it’s that,” I mutter frigidly. 

“I see you went shopping,” Tristan notes. “Just in time for dinner. Mira needs something that will liven her up.”

Mira pretends to wave that off. “Oh, Elena doesn’t have to cook for me. You have maids, right? Surely they can do it.”

“I don’t like their cooking,” Tristan tells her, smiling. “Besides, Elena always cooks and hers suits me better.”

My chest almost folds into itself. So he knows my efforts after all. He just chooses to ignore them.

“She said so herself, I don’t need to cook for her,” I declare. “Maybe she can order takeout.”

Tristan shoots to his feet. “You want your pregnant sister to order out and risk getting a contamination or allergic reaction?”

“You heard her,” I repeat, but my voice is unsteady. “I don’t need to do anything for her.”

“And you don’t want to? Even though she’s your sister?” Tristan sits back down with Mira. “Go and make dinner now. Mira can’t be hungry for long.”

Humiliation burns in my throat, but I swallow it back like a bitter medicine.

“Alright then,” I say, heading to the kitchen. “But she will eat whatever I make.”

“Of course!” Mira says. “I’ll let you decide. You’re the chef!”

I stow myself away in the kitchen, trying to prepare dinner with shaking hands. Our helper Diane must have heard me, because she came running to my side.

“You don’t have to do this, Miss Elena,” she says. “It’s not right that Sir Tristan is making you cook for the woman he brought home.”

I want to agree, but I stop myself.

The last thing I need is for any of this to leave the home and affect Tristan’s company and reputation.

“Mira is my sister,” I force myself to say gently as I start to sauté beef for the lasagna. “It’s normal for her to visit, so try to… speak more carefully.”

Diane is about to say something more when all of a sudden, Mira appears in the kitchen.

“I seem to be feeling a lot worse,” she announces, but there’s a glint in her green eyes that tells me she’s just pretending. “I’m sorry for bothering you. You and Tristan have been so kind. How can I say no to him asking me to stay here?”

“You should sit down if you feel worse,” I murmur.

Mira just peers over my shoulder to see what I’m making. “Oh, Elena. I don’t think I can eat that. The smell is already making me nauseous.”

I turn to face her. “You said I can decide.”

“I know.” She lets out a laugh. “But Tristan will be mad if I don’t eat. Can you make me egg-drop soup instead?”

She’s my sister, I repeat to myself. Flesh and blood. Tristan won’t be happy if he finds out I refused. 

With my chest tight with suppressed emotion, I nod. “Okay.”

Mira’s smile is triumphant. “Thank you, sister.”

With that, she prances out of the kitchen, slowing down to a limp when she reaches the dining room. Tristan immediately gets to his feet to help her onto a chair.

I keep cooking, ignoring the screams in my head.

But when it’s time for dinner, I find that I can’t bring myself to eat. 

Tristan and Mira are both eating in peace, but a bitter taste is flooding my mouth watching them. It’s getting so intense that I can’t take it anymore.

“Tristan?” I get to my feet, legs shaking. “Can we talk in private?”

“Hey, you can say anything,” Mira says kindly. “We’re all family here.”

“In private,” I repeat, ignoring her.

Unsurely, Tristan stands up and follows me to the bedroom.

My pulse is racing. I close the door behind Tristan, and the confusion and irritation in his face is making me hesitate. 

But if I don’t say this now, when will it ever be clear?

“Why did you call me here?” he asks coldly. “You’re acting weird—” 

“Is Mira’s baby yours?”

The question flies out of my mouth, shaky but still enough to make Tristan back off. I’m so scared that I almost take it back, but his silence feels loud. The shock on his face is pushing me to continue.

“Why are you so concerned about her and the baby?” I keep pressing. “Have you two been in contact all these years?”

Silence stings the room, long and taut. He rubs a hand over his face, exhaling sharply.

“Didn’t I tell you never to mention this again?”

“You did,” I admit, tears stinging my eyes. “But I can’t ignore it anymore—”

“Are you jealous, Elena?” 

Now it’s my turn to go silent. Not because I’m surprised. But because I can’t deal with the audacity.

“Mira is your sister, and what she needs right now is support, not gossip,” Tristan says forcefully. “If you want my money to keep filling up your family’s pockets, then maybe learn to shut up and help me take care of her—”

“She’s not the only one who needs support here,” I grit out, my feelings breaking out of my chest. He needs to know. I need to tell him. “You need to know that I’m also—”

“Jesus, why make this about you again?” Tristan shakes his head. “Why are you like this?”

Tears flood my eyes. “Because I’m—”

“TRISTAN! Our child!” 

Mira’s shrill, panicked scream cuts through my words and shakes up the whole house. Tristan’s face goes slack, all color draining from his skin. Mira’s words ring in my ears, but I try to grab his arm, determined to make him listen.

Just for once.

But Tristan immediately forgets me, pushing me aside and walking out of the door, descending the stairs two steps at a time.

I try to follow him down, my own steps wavering as I put my hand on my belly.

On our babies.

My lips move, uttering the words only the walls can hear.

“I’m pregnant.”