1

Yasmin

I stared at the pregnancy test in my trembling hands, the stark lines glaring back at me like an accusation.

My lips parted in disbelief as my mind raced, trying to pinpoint the exact moment I had missed my pills. I had been so careful—or at least, I thought I had.

Yet here it was: undeniable proof that I was carrying the child of a man who wanted nothing from me beyond my body.

“My goodness...” I whispered, my voice barely audible. What had I done to deserve this? What had I done to turn what was meant to be a bundle of joy into a burden of dread?

Cole had made it crystal clear: he never wanted a child from me. The daily pills, the countless doctor visits - everything had been orchestrated to ensure I wouldn’t become pregnant. And yet, here I was, staring at a future I hadn’t planned for.

And now, I was faced with the impossible task of telling him. How could I explain that his wife, the daughter of a poor café owner, was carrying his child?

Leaning back against the cold bathroom wall, I buried my face in my hands, the plastic test still clutched tightly between my fingers.

“What am I going to do?” I muttered.

Tears wouldn’t come. I was too exhausted to cry. His mother had seen to that, with her endless disdain and relentless criticisms.

Cole Martinez.

Even thinking his name felt like summoning a storm. Cold, distant, impossibly cruel. He was the kind of man who could make you feel insignificant with a single glance.

For five long years, I had endured his hatred, his mother’s contempt, and the humiliation of being his wife. And now, I faced the grim reality that I was carrying his child. An unwanted child.

If only Dad were healthy, I would have fled without looking back. I wouldn't have suffered through this torment. But his life depended on me staying. If I left, they'd demand repayment for every penny spent on his treatment. And worse - Dad would die. The very thought made me ill.

Diabetes wasn't something to take lightly. So I stayed - not from choice, but necessity. Being the despised wife of the Martinez family was the only way to cover the mounting expenses.

A soft chime interrupted my thoughts. I glanced at my phone on the counter, my heart sinking as I read the headline notification:

“Cole Martinez spotted with Sarah Lolthammer at tonight’s gala.”

Of course, she was there. She always was. While I bore the title of wife, Sarah was the one he chose to parade at events. She was his public companion, while I remained in the shadows - a decoration, nothing more.

I should have been used to it by now. But every time, it hurts. Cole had never loved me, not even for a second. Yet here I was, allowing myself to think about him.

With a shaky breath, I set the phone down and placed the pregnancy test at the back of the cabinet under the sink. No one could find it there, especially not him.

But who was I kidding? I might never find the courage to tell him. And yet, a foolish part of me wondered if he might be excited about the news. Against all reason, I couldn’t help but hope.

“You know Cole would never be excited. He sees you as a gold digger and nothing more!” my instincts hissed, trashing every foolish thought of him being happy.

As I stepped out of the bathroom, the sound of the doorknob twisting made my heart leap. My pulse quickened.

He was home.

Panicking, I darted back into the bathroom and shoved the test deeper into the cabinet. Then I rushed to the bed, lying down and feigning sleep, my heart pounding so loudly I was certain he’d hear it.

The door creaked open, and his presence filled the room like a suffocating fog. Even with my eyes closed, I felt the weight of his gaze.

His footsteps grew closer. I wanted to peek, but couldn’t bring myself to.

The bed dipped under his weight as he leaned over me, his scent overwhelming my senses.

“You’re terrible at pretending,” he said coldly.

I flinched inwardly, but kept still.

“Don’t make me force those eyes open,” he warned, his voice dripping with authority.

His fingers brushed my thigh, sending a shiver through me despite myself. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes, meeting his icy stare in the dim light.

“I was—”

Before I could finish, his hand slid up, cupping my breast with a firm, possessive grip.

My breath hitched. I bit down on my lip, desperate to suppress the treacherous moan that threatened to escape. His lips curled into a smirk, as though he enjoyed my struggle.

“You were about to be disobedient, Yasmin,” he said, unapologetic. “And you know how dangerous that is.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I whispered shakily. “I need to get up early for your mother’s birthday preparations—”

He cut me off with a low, humorless chuckle. “And you think I care?” His words were sharp, each syllable laced with contempt. “You’re mine, Yasmin. Your job is to obey. To give in, whether you like it or not. Have you forgotten?”

How could I? He seized every opportunity to remind me of who I was and how I had voluntarily thrown myself at his service.

The weight of his words crushed me, but I refused to let the tears spill. Not in front of him.

Closing my eyes, I willed myself to disappear. But my treacherous mind refused to comply, instead pulling me back to the sensation of his rough, yet strangely intoxicating, touch.

I had loved him once, my heart reminded me. But his actions now filled me with disgust. There was a time when I had foolishly hoped that my obedience would change him.

My teeth sank harder into my lip as my mind flashed back to the day we got married. Back then, I had believed in fairy tales and happily-ever-after. I thought love could fix anything. How naive I had been.

His father had arranged our marriage, convinced that I could somehow "save" Cole from his demons.

He noticed my hesitation but then delivered a blow I couldn't ignore.

"Your father's ill, isn't he? Diabetes isn't something you can manage with the little money you make from that struggling café shop."

And that was it. But instead of healing him, I had become the target of Cole's rage. Every cruel word, every cold touch, all served to remind me of how much he despised me. How much marrying me against his will had cost him.

I had endured every pain, every ounce of his anger, because I needed their fucking money to save my father.

The room was silent except for the sound of my shallow breathing. His lips brushed against my ear.

“You belong to me, Yasmin. Never forget that,” he murmured.

“Please…” I breathed shakily. “Go easy on me tonight.”

“Easy isn’t my style, Yasmin. You should know that by now.”

Without warning, he pushed two fingers inside me.

“Ahh, Cole!”

His head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. He pressed his fingers deeper, his tone sharp. “What did you just call me?”

“I—I’m sorry, Master,” I stammered.

A knock on the door interrupted the moment. Cole groaned, pulling his fingers away. He wiped them clean before getting up, tying his robe with practiced precision.

“Mr. Martinez,” came Victor’s voice from the other side. “Miss Lolthammer needs you.”

Sarah. She was here?

The thought of her being in our home made me feel sick.

Cole turned to me, his face devoid of emotion. “Meet me at the hotel at nine tomorrow,” he said flatly.

“You brought her here?” I couldn’t keep the hurt from spilling into my voice.

He raised a brow, his lips twitching into a cruel smirk. “You’re just a wife, Yasmin. Know your place.”

And with that, he shut the door, leaving me alone in the dark once again.