CHAPTER 3

Clarissa

Returning to the Hudson mansion was the last thing I wanted.

Ever since things ended with Valentine, I've been living with this constant pit of shame. The words I said to him still made my stomach twist. I wasn't some bold seductress; I was a desperate wife who had crossed a line I never thought I'd attempt.

​It felt cheap. Disgusting.

​Then, my sister's face flashed in my mind. Pale. Weak. Hooked up to life support in that hospital bed.

​That image crushed whatever pride I had left. Shame wouldn't pay her medical bills. Regret wouldn't keep her breathing.

​I had already slept with a billionaire almost twice my age. Was that all I was to him?

​No.

​A plan finally clicked. I didn't need to become his plaything. I needed to be someone of value to him so that he wouldn't see me as a passing temptation.

I couldn't turn my brain off until exhaustion finally dragged me under, right there in the guest room Drake had forced me into.

Just as dawn was breaking, I was already awake and had gotten into the bathroom to wash my face. After a quick shower, I threw on some clothes and stepped out into the living room, my ears straining against the silence. Thank God, the rest of the Hudson family were still asleep, the heavy silence of the house giving me a moment to plan the day.

​But as soon as I stepped into the center of the room, heavy footsteps echoed behind me. I knew that stride anywhere—it was Drake's. My heart skipped a beat; he never woke up this early.

He was standing in the doorway. He looked like a mess. His fingers were white around a crumpled financial report, and dark circles were around his eyes. He had obviously been up all night staring at his mess.

​But as soon as our eyes met, he tried to hide it. He threw the papers aside and put on a gentle, loving look that felt entirely fake.

​"Morning, love. How was your night?" His voice was laced with sudden concern. "I hope you’re okay. I didn't even realize you came home last night."

​He took another step toward me. "You weren't supposed to sleep in the guest room. I was just joking yesterday.I know what she said cut deep. I'm so sorry you had to hear that.”

His expression quickly shifted to a mask of regret and pity. It was a look I recognized instantly—a shallow pretense he always wore whenever he wanted something from me.

​"What do you want from me, Drake?" I said, my voice laced with irritation.

​Then, he pressed forward, closing the distance between us. I braced myself, waiting for him to try and touch me.

​​And when he was about to reach for my hands, I gave him a dead stare that made him give a second thought to it. "Do not come any closer."

​"Okay, fine," he muttered, holding his hands up in surrender. "But look, the morning is freezing. Come back to bed so I can keep you warm. Let me hold you close, the way I used to. I miss running my fingers through your hair while you rest your head on my chest."

​"Let's just enjoy each other," he continued, his tone dripping with sudden sweetness. "Laugh. Let's steal a few kisses... maybe make another baby on our bed. A little one with your beautiful eyes and those delicate pink lips. This time, I would pray every single day and we'll never have to suffer the pain of losing a child again…Let's fix our marriage!"

“Don't try to sound nice. It won't make me feel any better,” I gave him a dismissing look before turning away.

Drake sighed heavily behind me, his voice full of manufactured exhaustion. “Clarissa, please. Just think about it. We can fix this.”

I didn't answer. I walked back into the guest room and locked the door, my heart pounding hard against my ribs.

Sitting on the edge of the couch, his sudden change of heart didn't comfort me. It terrified me. Drake was a man driven by greed and status. He didn't just wake up and suddenly regret five years of cruelty.

There had to be a reason.

Then, it clicked.

The Gaston subsidiary merger. The increasing company's debt.

I had completely withdrawn my secret work from the Hudson company, leaving them to rot. The final financial audit was scheduled for the week of the wedding. Without my input to cover up the debt, Valentine Gaston would see right through the numbers and pull out of the merger. Drake didn't want me. He wanted my brain to save his empire and his sweet words about making a baby were nothing but a plan to keep me working for him.

A cold, sharp wave of fury washed away the last traces of my shame. I threw on a professional suit, grabbed my car keys, and drove straight to the Hudson Company headquarters. I didn't care that it was barely past seven in the morning.

I walked into the executive suite, left my resignation letter on Drake's desk, and pulled out my phone to dial my lawyer.

​"Reginald, it's Clary. From this moment on, I am no longer a Hudson. If anyone asks, I am Clarissa Bright again. I'm taking my identity back."

"And the divorce papers, Clary?" he asked quietly.

"Hold them for just a little longer," I replied, staring out the window. "I need to secure a backup plan first."

Hanging up, I gripped the steering wheel.

Reverting to my maiden name felt empowering, but my sister's astronomical medical bills still weighed heavily on my chest.

Revenge had been enough to get me into Valentine's bed. But revenge alone wouldn't save my sister, free me from Drake, or rebuild the years I had wasted. I needed something far more permanent. I needed protection. I needed the Gaston name behind me until I could stand on my own again. But we had only shared one sensual night. How could I ever convince a ruthless billionaire to bind himself to me?

I didn't have an answer.

****

Three Weeks Later

The answer came in the most unexpected, life-changing way possible.

For the past few days, my body has been completely out of sync. I was constantly getting exhausted, and the mere aroma of my morning tea sent me running to the bathroom, dry-heaving until my stomach ached deeply.

Sitting in the private waiting room at Saint Jude’s Hospital, my hands shook as the doctor walked back in, holding a medical chart.

"Miss Bright," the doctor smiled warmly, checking my updated file. "The blood tests are conclusive. You are three weeks pregnant.”

The words echoed around the room.

Pregnant.

Pregnancy wasn't part of the plan.

It simply became the best opportunity.

Tears rushed down my cheeks, but they weren't tears of sadness. They were tears of triumph. I was carrying Valentine Gaston's child.

The doctor added, “Everything looks normal so far, but given your history, you're still considered high-risk."

I like to think doctors are specifically trained to deliver bad news to patients without showing any hint of pity or emotion, because the doctor in front of me didn't look like he'd just hinted at the traumatic news of my life.

Six times before, my body had failed me. Not a single one of those pregnancies had ever survived past the third month. I was three weeks along. I had exactly nine weeks before the danger zone—nine weeks to protect this miracle, or watch my history repeat itself.

Before I could even process the realization, a loud, familiar laugh coming through the walls from the VIP clinic right next door.

Brittany.

My blood ran cold. Driven by an overwhelming instinct, I stood up and stepped out into the hallway. The door to the adjacent room was wide open.

Drake was holding Brittany’s hand while sitting comfortably on the examination table. He looked more ecstatic than I had ever seen him in our seven years of marriage. The chief of medicine was standing nearby, printing out an ultrasound sheet.

"Congratulations, Mr. Hudson, Miss Gaston," the doctor announced cheerfully. "Your baby is healthy. Miss Gaston is exactly six weeks pregnant."

Six weeks. The math slammed into my head.

​That meant she was already pregnant before I ever found those wedding invitations. Everything clicked, pointing straight to the exact week he looked me in the eye and told me we needed "space.

​He wasn't trying to save our marriage; he was just waiting to make sure her pregnancy stuck before locking in their wedding date.

Drake beamed, kissing Brittany’s forehead passionately. "I knew you could do it, babe. You’ve given me the legacy my family deserves. Not like that useless, barren trash I left at home."

"Excuse me?"

My voice cut through the room like a jagged shard of ice.

Drake froze, the blood draining from his face until he looked almost sickly. He looked like a man who’d just been caught red-handed in the worst possible way. Beside him, Brittany gasped, instinctively pulling the medical sheet up to her chest in panic.

The room, which had been filled with their giddy, selfish excitement just a second ago, went dead silent.

He didn't look guilty—he looked furious that I had dared to interrupt his perfect moment. It was written all over him, raw and pathetic.

"Clary?" Drake called, his confident posture collapsing into surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?"

I took a deliberate step into the room. I didn't look pale or exhausted anymore; the hint of rage made me look radiant. I looked down at him, a mocking and menacing smile spreading across my lips as I echoed the exact words he had used to manipulate me three weeks ago.

"'Let's fix our marriage. Isn't that what you pleaded to me, Drake? While you were secretly sleeping with her?"

The innocent look he gave me the morning after the gala was nothing but a lie. I hated him for that—hated how utterly unbothered he was by a conscience. He wasn't trying to fix up our marriage or at least compensate me for the years I have wasted with him. He was hunting for my financial expertise, and his sweet-talks were nothing more than a calculated trap.

I turned around, not waiting to hear what he had to say. There was nothing left to prove and if he’d actually looked at me, he would have seen I wasn't even angry about it anymore.