The Night My Womb Warned Me

My husband, Don Cassian, just survived an assassination attempt. He limped in, bleeding, and ordered me to stitch him up.

But when I reached into his blood-soaked suit, my fingers brushed against something soft. Black lace panties. Not mine.

My hand flew to my still-flat stomach. For our child. How could he do this to us?

Ice flooded my veins. “We’re done, Cassian.”

His gaze was heavy, exhausted. He gave a single, sharp nod. “Fine. I’ll have my lawyer draft the papers.”

But then, a frantic little voice—one that wasn't mine—screamed from deep within my womb. [Mom, don’t leave him! Dad didn’t cheat! The family isn’t going to fall. It’s a setup!]

[Oriana Gallo planned all of this! She wants your place! She put those panties in his pocket herself!]

[If you leave, her men will grab you. They’ll take you to an abandoned warehouse and dump your body in Lake Michigan. Then she’ll play the grieving friend, comfort Dad, and become the new Mrs. Marino!]

[Mom, I came back to stop this! Please, don’t fall for it again!]

I snapped back to the present. Spinning around, I launched myself into Cassian's arms, my body wracked with sobs.

“I was just trying to scare you! How could you agree so easily? Are you that tired of me?” I jabbed a finger at his chest, tears streaming down my face.

...

Cassian’s dark eyes bored into me. He gave a slow, deliberate nod. “I get it. This life is dangerous. You want out, you’re right to.”

“I’ll get you the best lawyer in Chicago,” he continued, his voice flat. “The assets, the accounts… I’ll handle it. You’ll walk away clean.”

I was floored.

That was not what I wanted to hear!

I never wanted to abandon him when he was at his most vulnerable!

Is that what he thinks of me?

A wave of hurt and panic crashed over me. Tears blinding me, I threw myself against his chest.

“How could you think that of me?!” I hammered my fists against his hard chest. “You were just waiting for an excuse to get rid of me, weren’t you?!”

“I knew you never wanted to marry me! And now you finally have your excuse, right?!”

As the spoiled princess of the Rossi family, I knew the deal.

If it wasn’t for the alliance between our families, why would Cassian Marino ever look twice at a trophy wife who only knew how to buy handbags?

The thought made me feel so cheap. So used. The sobs tore from my throat.

Cassian’s hard expression softened for a fraction of a second. He raised a hand, as if to touch my hair, then let it drop.

“Then what do you want, Arabella?”

That pushed me over the edge.

What do I want?

I want an explanation!

I want his trust!

The image of my body at the bottom of a lake flashed in my mind. I swallowed my rage, my voice thick with tears.

“The other day on Michigan Avenue… a woman in sunglasses. She slipped me a manila envelope!”

“It was full of pictures of you and Oriana Gallo! In front of a hotel, in a private room at a restaurant… there was even one of her in your car!”

Cassian’s brow furrowed. “Show me.”

“It’s in my Hermès bag, just wait!”

I scrambled to my vanity, grabbing the hundred-thousand-dollar crocodile handbag.

I pulled out the envelope and opened it with confidence.

The photos were gone. All of them replaced by blank sheets of paper.

At the bottom of the pile was a glossy poster. Some Hollywood actor and his stupid, perfect abs.

“This… how is this possible?!” I said in shock, flipping through the papers. “They were right here!”

Cassian pushed himself up, wincing. A flicker of… something… crossed his face. Then it was gone, replaced by a cold, mocking smirk.

“So, where is this proof, mia cara?”

Humiliation burned through me. Panic clawed at my throat.

Someone was playing me.

That bitch, Oriana. It had to be her.

I put the envelope away, my jaw tight. “Someone must have switched them! I should have taken pictures right away!”

Then I changed tactics. I lunged at Cassian, clinging to his arm like the spoiled princess he thought I was.

“But it doesn’t matter! I am Mrs. Cassian Marino!”

“And I won’t let any little tramp think she can take my place!”

[Yes! That’s it!] my son cheered in my belly. [Hold your ground, Mom! Defend your territory!]

Seeing me, fuming and tear-streaked, the corner of Cassian’s mouth twitched into a barely-there smile.

But in a blink, the mask of indifference slammed back into place.

“Do whatever you want, Arabella. I’m tired. I’m going to take a shower and sleep in the study.”

My heart sank.

He still didn’t believe me.

Cassian struggled to his feet and limped toward the bathroom.

I sat on the bed as despair washed over me.

[Don’t be sad, Mom!] my son comforted me. [Dad probably thinks you’re just being dramatic, but it’s not your fault!]

[The important thing is me! You need to be the mother of a Marino heir. Without that, you’re just another body for the fishes!]

[Think of that cold water, think about never seeing Dad again…]

The image of myself sinking into the dark depths of Lake Michigan flashed in my mind. I started wailing again.

My sobs hitched in my throat the second the bathroom door swung open.

Cassian stood there, a single black towel wrapped around his waist.

Water trickled down his perfect chest and abs. The ugly scars only added to his dangerous appeal.

My eyes went wide.

I’d seen it a million times, but still.

God, he made that Hollywood poster boy look like a child.

Cassian caught my stare. One eyebrow arched. “Get an eyeful?”

My face turned beet red. I quickly looked away.

I snapped out of it.

If I were Cassian—if I’d just survived a hit, the family was in trouble, and my wife picked now to ask for a divorce—I’d be suspicious too.

The most important thing now is to figure out Oriana Gallo’s real plan.

And—I had to prove I was pregnant. Now.

Only a Marino heir could save my life.

I leaped off the bed and grabbed my car keys.

“Cassian! I have to go out, it’s urgent!”

“Where are you going this late?” he asked, frowning.

“Woman stuff!” I was already at the door. “You get some rest. I’ll be back soon!”

Without another word, I bolted from the villa.

In the dead of night, my Maserati roared onto the streets of Chicago.

I floored it, heading straight for the 24-hour pharmacy the family owns.

The owner, Tony, knew me. He didn’t ask why the Don’s wife was showing up in the middle of the night. He just nodded respectfully. “What can I get for you, Mrs. Marino?”

“Pregnancy tests. The most accurate ones you have. Give me three different brands.”