The Substitute Wife of Mr. Dela Fuente

Evelyn

The blue glow of the TV washed over me in the darkness. I sank deeper into the couch, one hand rubbing my swollen belly. On screen, a reporter stood at Moon pack's borders, detailing the latest security measures. Pack warriors moved in the background, but the one face I was searching for wasn't there.

Where was Damon?

I checked my phone: 12:04 AM. My back ached from sitting too long, and the baby had been unusually active tonight, kicking and rolling as if she could sense my unease. Seven months pregnant, and I was still waiting up for my mate like some lovesick teenager.

"He said he'd be back by ten," I whispered to my belly. "Daddy had to settle a dispute at the borders, that's all."

The baby kicked in response, a sharp jab just beneath my ribs. Almost like she was calling me on my bullshit.

The words sounded hollow, even to me. The knot in my chest had been growing for weeks now—that unmistakable twinge that came with the mate bond. Something wasn't right.

I shifted position, trying to get comfortable, when a sharp pain shot through my lower abdomen. I gasped, clutching the armrest.

"No, no, no..."

I'd had Braxton Hicks before, but this was different. My fingers trembled as I tried to steady my breathing. Another cramp hit me, stronger this time, doubling me over.

This is too early. Something's wrong.

I knew what was happening. The mate bond was supposed to be sacred, protective, especially during pregnancy. But when one mate betrayed that trust...

My eyes twitched with the effort of holding back tears as I fumbled for my phone. I reached for our mind link first, a desperate attempt to connect to Damon.

Damon, I need you. The baby—something's happening.

Nothing. Just the static emptiness of being blocked out. My throat tightened with the realization. He wasn't just absent; he'd deliberately shut me out.

Fine. There was still the phone. I grabbed it from the side table, my hands shaking so badly I had to try twice to unlock it. I pulled up Damon's contact—his smiling face from happier times staring back at me as I pressed call.

One ring. I shifted, trying to find a position that didn't hurt.

Two rings. Another contraction built, making me bite my lip to keep from crying out.

Three rings. "Please pick up, please pick up..."

Four—

"What?" Damon's voice cut through, sharp and annoyed.

My heart leapt at the sound of him, despite everything. But I could hear music in the background. Laughter. The clink of glasses. No sounds of a border dispute, that was for sure.

"Damon," I gasped, fighting through the pain. "Something's wrong with the baby. My water broke. I think—"

"I already told you where I am, now can you let me be?!" His voice crackled with irritation. I could practically see him rolling his eyes, the way he did lately whenever I spoke.

"Damon, please—I need help—" But all I heard was the beep of the call ending.

I stared at the phone in disbelief, the screen going dark. Had he really just hung up on me? While I was in labor with his child?

I called back immediately, heart hammering against my ribs.

Straight to voicemail.

I tried again. Voicemail.

And again. And again. And again.

By the fifth attempt, I was sobbing, leaving a message that was probably unintelligible through my tears. "Please come home. The baby's coming. I'm scared."

Warm liquid trickled down my thighs, soaking into the couch beneath me. My water had broken. The panic rose in my chest like a tide, threatening to drown me.

I tried my parents' landline next, fingers slipping on the screen. The call went straight to voicemail. Of course. The one time I actually needed my family...

Another contraction hit, stronger than before. The pain wasn't just in my belly anymore—it radiated through my chest, my heart, my soul. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this.

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I struggled to stand. My legs shook beneath me, barely supporting my weight. I needed to get to the bedroom, to the overnight bag I'd packed just in case. Even though it wasn't supposed to be needed for another two months.

The contraction ebbed, giving me a moment's reprieve. I staggered forward, one hand pressed against my stomach, the other reaching out for support. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before me, the bedroom door impossibly far.

Another wave hit, this one stealing my breath entirely. My knees buckled. I caught myself against the wall, my vision swimming with black spots.

So this was how it would end. My baby born too soon because her father couldn't keep his promises. Me, alone on the floor of our home, the mate bond twisting like a knife in my chest.

As the pain subsided again, I heard the back door open. Heavy footsteps approached from the kitchen.

"Miss Evelyn?"

Luis, our gardener. What was he doing here so late?

"Miss Evelyn!" His weathered face appeared in my narrowing vision, eyes widening as he took in the scene. "The baby—"

"Help me," I managed to whisper. "Please."

His calloused hands were surprisingly gentle as he helped me to my feet. "Hospital. Now," he said firmly, already guiding me toward the door.

My last thought before another contraction claimed me was that my mate should have been the one holding me now. Not our gardener. Not a near-stranger who had more concern in his eyes than Damon had shown in months.

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