THE MAFIA BIKER: My baby daddy is my sworn enemy

Anathea Jacobson had spent ten years nursing a crush on Gregory Sinclair and five years as his wife. She'd believed she could eventually thaw his heart, even if it was as cold as forged iron.

She'd never expected it to be just wishful thinking on her part.

The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom. Anathea stood by the bed when her phone lit up with a new message.

It was a photo taken at Castenea's most exclusive fine-dining restaurant. Gregory sat across from a woman. His gaze was gentle, and his expression was warm.

Anathea knew the woman.

She was Natalie Whitman, Gregory's ex.

Natalie had just returned from abroad last month. The very night she came back, Gregory had left Anathea behind to see her.

To Gregory, Natalie was his flawless first love, while Anathea was nothing more than an unsightly stain on a white wall.

The bathroom door swung open. Gregory stepped out in a bathrobe, steam rolling off his skin.

Anathea put her phone down and turned around, only to find him already behind her. He pinched her chin and lowered his head.

She frowned and groaned, but Gregory didn't ease up. If anything, seeing her wince seemed to amuse him. He caught her lips in a rough kiss while grabbing her jaw. With his other hand, he gripped her waist and pushed her toward the bed.

"Wait." Anathea pressed a hand against his chest. Her voice sounded unsteady as she said, "I'm not feeling well."

Her stomach had been aching ever since dinner, though she wasn't sure why.

Upon hearing that, Gregory merely let out a soft scoff. He pinched her chin and forced her to look up at him.

"Anathea, you pursued me for five years, clinging on like a leech. And now you're trying to play hard to get?" There was nothing but mockery in his tone.

Anathea's face went pale. "That's not—"

Before she could finish, Gregory shoved her onto the bed. There was no tenderness or patience. He got straight into action.

Pain shot through Anathea's body. She bit down on her lip, enduring it.

To the outside world, Gregory was the picture of restraint and refinement. But with her, there was no trace of gentleness. He thrust into her again and again, as if he was punishing her for something.

Anathea bore it in silence, watching him. His features were sharp and impossibly handsome, like a masterpiece sculpted by the gods. But his expression was devoid of warmth, even in this moment.

And yet, the man in the photo had looked at Natalie with such tenderness.

It turned out he was capable of being gentle. Just never with Anathea.

At the height of it all, when she should've felt close to him, she felt suffocated. A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

"What are you crying for?" Gregory wiped it away carelessly before pulling away from her. He cleaned up, then wordlessly handed her a box of pills.

Anathea sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest before taking the box from him. He was always cautious, even though he'd used protection.

After all, it had been an unexpected pregnancy that had forced them to marry at their families' request five years ago.

Their marriage had never been made public, but it had been enough to drive Natalie away.

Anathea thought Gregory must hate her for that. Otherwise, why else would he break her every night?

But now, just seeing the pill made a dull ache rise in her stomach. "Can I skip it tonight?"

Gregory didn't answer. He just handed her a glass of water.

The message was clear.

Biting her lip, Anathea took the glass and swallowed the pill. Before the taste of bitterness could fade, Gregory's phone rang.

"Okay, I'll be right there." His voice softened ever so slightly. Then, he grabbed his coat.

A late-night call and that softened tone—it had to be Natalie. Anathea couldn't think of anyone else.

Still, she asked, "Where are you going this late?"

"It's none of your business." With that, Gregory strode out of the room without looking back.

Anathea watched his figure fade into the warm amber glow of the stairway. She lowered her gaze and felt her heart sink.

She wasn't sure if it was the pill, but a sharp cramp twisted in her stomach. Anathea curled up on the bed, clutching herself tightly.

Minutes later, a household staff member, Jenny Griffith, knocked on the door. "Mrs. Sinclair, Mr. Sinclair's and Mr. Xander's laundry is in the laundry room. Would you like to take care of it now or tomorrow?"

Anathea clutched her stomach and took a moment to recover before finally pushing herself up.

"I'll do it now."

There would be more to do tomorrow.

Gregory didn't like anyone else handling his clothes, so she always washed his shirts by hand. Their son, Xander Sinclair, had a severe dust allergy, so she didn't trust anyone else with his laundry either. Anathea even cleaned his room herself, wiping down every book and toy daily.

As soon as Anathea dragged her aching body to the laundry room, she overheard two maids whispering inside.

"She even has to do the laundry herself. How is Mrs. Sinclair anything like a wealthy wife? She's more like a maid."

"Shh, don't say such things. Do you want to get fired?"

"I'm just speaking the truth—"

Just as the maid opened the laundry room door, she saw Anathea standing right outside. Her legs nearly gave out from shock.

"M-Mrs. Sinclair."

Hearing the tremble in her voice, Anathea simply said gently, "I'll take it from here."

"O-Okay." The maid nodded repeatedly before quickly scurrying away.

After they left, Anathea's smile faded. She walked over to the laundry basket and picked up Gregory's shirt.

He'd always hated being touched. Yet now, his shirt carried a faint trace of rose perfume.

Anathea was the one who tended to the fresh flowers at home every day. To avoid mixing scents, she never wore heavy perfume. That meant this fragrance was Natalie's.

It didn't take much for her to guess just how close they must've been for his shirt to carry her scent.

Anathea's fingers trembled. She exhaled, forcing herself to stay calm.

Aside from Gregory, she still had Xander. Gregory might not love her, but the bond between her and Xander couldn't be erased.

This thought brought Anathea a small sense of comfort. She had to play the role of Mrs. Sinclair well for Xander's sake. That way, he would rightfully remain the Sinclair family's future heir.

Just as she picked up Xander's clothes, a sudden wave of nausea rolled through her stomach.

Anathea clamped a hand over her mouth and rushed to the bathroom. The moment she reached the toilet, everything she'd eaten that night came right back up.

She thought throwing up would bring some relief, but wave after wave of sharp cramps left her dizzy and on the verge of blacking out. With the last of her strength, she reached for the glass tumbler on the sink and sent it crashing to the floor.

The sharp sound of shattering glass echoed through the hallway. Xander followed the sound and hurried over.

"Xander..." Anathea's eyes lit up as she reached out to him.

He was the only thing that had kept her going through five years of a loveless marriage. Thankfully, he still cared about her.

But just as her hand was about to touch him, Xander stepped back, avoiding her.