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Elena's POV

On our eighth anniversary, I found out I was pregnant.

That same day, my phone buzzed with an alert from my husband’s car tracking app. His car had exploded.

My stomach dropped. Tears blurred my vision. “No… please, God, no.”

After eight years of marriage, four miscarriages, and countless nights spent crying myself to sleep, I finally had another chance to be a mother. But Adrian wouldn’t be a part of it. Our baby would grow up without a father.

I refused to accept it.

I called Adrian several times. No answer.

The tracker showed that his phone was across town, alive. But the app insisted his car had exploded. None of it made sense.

I grabbed my keys and drove.

Minutes later, I spotted his black Mercedes parked in a deserted lot. It was untouched. No smoke, no damage. Relief flooded through me—the app must have malfunctioned again. It had done that before, then I paused.

Why was he here? Why hadn’t he picked up my calls?

I stepped out quietly and moved closer. I could see shadows through the dark windows.

Then a sound slipped through the half-open window.

A woman's moan.

A man's low groan.

I froze, covering my mouth before I could gasp. My mind screamed at me to turn back, to leave, to pretend I never came here, but my body refused to obey.

Through the half-open window, I saw him—Adrian with his shirt open, and his fingers tangled in long dark hair as he kissed a woman’s neck.

Celeste.

My adopted sister.

The air left my lungs. My chest caved in, but I didn’t make a sound. I pressed myself against the side of the car, hand clamped over my mouth as silent tears ran down my face.

Adrian, the man I loved and had been married to for eight years

And my adopted sister, the same person that Adrian had claimed to despise because of how she had made my life a living hell.

Just when I thought the worst had happened, Adrian's phone rang.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice hoarse. "Hold on."

He answered with irritation. "What is it, Doctor?"

A pause. Then he grinned.

Adrian ended the call and pulled Celeste close as a genuine smile spread across his face. It was something I hadn’t seen for years.

"You're pregnant," he said softly.

Celeste gasped, her hands flying to her stomach. "Are you serious?"

"Yes." He kissed her deeply. "And the doctor said your womb is responding perfectly to the treatment. One more test next week to confirm everything is healed, and then we can finally start our family properly."

Happy tears streamed down Celeste's face. "Oh my God. Adrian, we're going to have a baby."

"We are." He cradled her face in his hands. "You're going to be an amazing mother."

My heart bled as my hand moved instinctively to my own stomach, where my baby was growing.

Celeste’s smile faded slowly. “What about Elena?”

Adrian’s smile grew cold. “You don’t need to worry, baby. After next week’s test shows you’re healed, I won’t need her anymore.”

My blood ran cold.

What did that mean?

“I still can’t believe she never figured it out,” Celeste laughed. “You told her it was genetic incompatibility, and she believed you.”

“Elena’s an idiot,” Adrian said dismissively. “She signed every consent form I put in front of her without reading a single line. The experimental treatments, the tissue samples, the terminations—she authorized all of it, thinking they were insurance forms or whatever bullshit I told her.”

My legs threatened to give out, but I forced myself to stay still. I had to keep listening.

“Those four babies,” Celeste murmured. “You really used them to cure my womb?”

“Every single one,” Adrian replied without remorse. “Different stages of development, different protocols. And it worked. You’re cured, and you’re carrying my child.”

Celeste giggled softly. “Thanks to Elena’s babies.”

My knees went weak, and I almost dropped to the floor. It became hard to breathe, and my ears rang. My vision blurred, and for a moment I thought I would lose consciousness.

My four babies hadn’t died from miscarriage—they had been murdered by their father, for my sister.