The Wife He Never Saw: Carrying His Secret Twins In Silence

Elena's POVI barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those two tiny dots on the ultrasound screen, pulsing with life I never meant to create. By the time my alarm went off at four thirty, I'd already been awake for an hour, staring at the ceiling of the guest bedroom where I slept most nights.Tristan preferred it that way. Our arrangement was simple: I existed in his penthouse like a ghost, taking up as little space as possible. The master bedroom was his domain. I was only invited in when he needed me, and even then, it was always on his terms.I dragged myself to the bathroom and immediately regretted it. The nausea hit me like a wave, and I barely made it to the toilet before I was violently sick. Morning sickness. Of course. As if this situation wasn't complicated enough.When the wave passed, I brushed my teeth three times and studied my reflection in the mirror. Dark circles shadowed my green eyes. My brown hair hung limp around my face. I looked exactly like what I w

Elena's POVI didn't go home. I couldn't face Tristan's penthouse, couldn't stand the thought of waiting in that sterile space for him to return from whatever he was doing with Serena. Instead, I drove aimlessly through the city until I found myself at a small café near the university where I'd once studied.Marco was already there when I arrived, sitting at a corner table with two cups of hot chocolate. He stood when he saw me, his face breaking into a warm smile that faltered when he got a closer look at my expression."Elena." He pulled me into a gentle hug. "What's wrong?"I held it together for exactly three seconds. Then I was crying into his shoulder, all the fear and hurt and exhaustion of the past few days pouring out of me."Hey, it's okay," Marco murmured, guiding me into a chair. "You're okay. I've got you."When I could finally speak, I told him everything. Not about the pregnancy, not about the contract marriage, but about the suspension, about Serena's cruelty, about fe

The drive home from St. Mary's was the quietest forty minutes of my life.Damien knew. He had not said another word after the doctor left the room. He had simply helped me into my coat, collected my discharge papers, and walked me to his car with a hand hovering near my back without actually touching it. That hand told me everything. It was the gesture of a man recalculating everything he thought he understood.I pulled my coat tight around my middle and stared out the passenger window. The city moved past in streaks of yellow and white light. Damien drove the way he did everything, with total control, both hands on the wheel, eyes forward. I could feel him glancing at me every few minutes. Short looks, clinical, like he was checking a monitor reading.I did not look back. I watched the lights and breathed and told myself to hold it together until I reached the guest room. Just get to the guest room. Then I could fall apart in peace.The penthouse was dark when we arrived. Damien turn