The Art of Revenge

Faint, breathy moans slipped through the closed door—each one like a dagger to Serena Knowles’s heart. The unmistakable rhythm of flesh against flesh followed, shameless and raw. She froze.

The sounds weren’t just loud. They were intimate. Intimate in a way only a wife should know.

Serena had just come from the hospital, her hands still trembling from the news. After months of fatigue, of late periods and quiet hope, she finally had confirmation—she was two months pregnant. Two fragile, miraculous months.

The doctor had warned her to be careful. Her body bore the scars of three miscarriages. “No stress,” he had said gently. “No emotional trauma.”

But Serena couldn't wait. Her heart had been bursting with joy. She needed to see Clint—her husband, the man she thought would be overjoyed to hear they were finally having the baby they’d dreamed of.

That joy shattered the moment she stepped into his office and heard the woman’s voice, breathless and sickeningly sweet:

“Clint, you’re amazing. I love being your lover…”

“Baby…” Clint’s voice—her Clint—groaned back, thick with lust. “You’re even better than Serena…”

Plop.

The medical papers slipped from Serena’s trembling fingers and fell to the polished floor, fluttering like broken wings.

She flung the door open—and her world collapsed.

There, tangled in bedsheets and lust, were Clint and another woman, completely naked, their bodies still slick with betrayal.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Serena screamed, her voice cracking like glass. She stormed into the room, rage swallowing her whole. Her hand shot forward, grabbing the woman’s hair with a fierceness born of heartbreak.

“Ahhh! Clint! Your wife’s insane!” the woman shrieked.

The woman—Poppy—clung to the sheets as Clint leapt up and yanked Serena back.

“Serena Knowles! Enough!” he barked, eyes blazing.

But Serena didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Grief and fury had fused in her veins, blinding her.

And then—

SLAP.

Clint’s hand crashed across her face, sending her sprawling. Her stomach slammed into the hard edge of the table.

“Ahh—!” she cried out, a burst of pain ripping through her lower belly. Her lips bled, but worse—far worse—was the warmth pooling between her thighs.

No…

Her vision blurred. Her limbs trembled. She looked down.

Blood.

Thick, dark, and terrifying.

“The baby…” she whispered, barely able to speak. Her hands cradled her belly like it was already gone. “Clint, please... take me to the hospital. Hurry... I’m pregnant. With your child…”

Her voice was a trembling ghost of itself, her face pale as death. She tried to rise, but her body crumpled again and again, helpless.

Clint didn’t move. He was too busy buttoning his shirt, throwing nervous glances at the door. Poppy scrambled to gather her clothes.

“What? You’re pregnant?” Clint finally said, almost bored.

Serena reached toward him, desperate. “Please…”

But Poppy’s arms slid around his. “Didn’t you say you were going to divorce her?”

Clint kissed Poppy’s forehead as though nothing had happened, then walked over to Serena, crouching beside her like she was a wounded animal.

His fingers dug into her jaw. His eyes were ice.

“Poppy doesn’t want me having kids with another woman.”

Another woman?

“Clint…” she choked out, barely breathing. “I’m your wife. How can you—?”

He let go of her chin, standing tall, hands in his pockets like none of this mattered.

“After all your miscarriages,” he said coldly, “did you really think I’d let you keep this one?”

Serena stared up at him, stunned. “What… are you saying?”

A slow, cruel smile crept onto his face.

“Oh, come on. Don’t act surprised. I made sure every single one of those brats never made it.”

His words were calm. Almost amused.

“I’m not letting this one survive either.”

You…

Serena’s heart didn’t just break—it disintegrated. Everything she had believed in, trusted, fought for… it had all been a lie.

The man she loved had never existed.

He was a mask. A monster. A stranger wearing her husband’s face.

But even through the blinding pain, one thought still burned:

She had to save her baby.

“Clint, please…” Her voice was raw, barely more than a whisper. “I’ll do whatever you want. If you want a divorce, fine—just please... please help me... I’m begging you…”

For a brief moment, Clint faltered. His eyes locked on hers—wide, terrified, pleading. Something flickered across his face.

Then Poppy slithered closer, wrapping her arms around his waist like a snake tightening its grip. Her voice was a soft, poisonous whisper in his ear.

“Don’t take her yet,” she purred. “If she loses the baby now, it’s for the best, isn’t it? That way, we won’t have to do anything. Nature can take its course.”

Serena lay crumpled on the cold floor, blood soaking through her skirt, lips trembling as she whispered prayers to a God she wasn’t even sure was listening anymore. Her vision was going black around the edges, her limbs too heavy to move.

She heard them. She heard them. Deciding whether her baby lived or died like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.

“But what if she dies too?” Clint asked, glancing back. “It’ll get messy.”

Poppy rolled her eyes. “Fine—call the ambulance. Just… wait a few minutes. Let her bleed a little more. Her precious Mayor daddy’s already dead. No need to stress.”

Time slowed to a crawl.

Serena felt her heart pounding, each beat weaker than the last. Her fingers twitched. Her mouth opened but no words came out. She couldn’t breathe.

Then—finally—sirens. Red and blue lights flashed behind her fluttering eyelids. Someone was shouting. Doors slamming. Rough hands lifting her body onto a stretcher.

Her world spun.

Somewhere in the blur, she heard Clint’s voice—frantic and afraid for the first time.

“Help her! You have to help her! She’s losing too much blood!”

Serena wanted to scream.

But all she could do was fade—further and further—into the dark.

The sterile scent of antiseptic flooded her senses as they burst into the ER. Blinding lights. Muffled voices. Beeping machines. A doctor barking orders.

“BP’s dropping! Get an IV in—stat!”

“She’s pregnant—two months! Internal bleeding—move!”

Then Clint’s voice again, tight with panic. “Just save her! I don’t care what it costs—just don’t let her die!”

His words came through like an echo underwater.

Don’t let her die…

But why now?

Why beg for her life when he had just wished for her death?

Is this just for show?

Her heart thudded weakly.

Too late, Clint…

And then—everything went black.

***