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Giselle's POV

The sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the air as I sat on the hospital bed, my heart racing with anticipation. The doctor had just walked in, her kind eyes crinkling as she glanced at the file in her hands.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Giselle," she said warmly, her voice pulling me out of my thoughts. "You're pregnant."

Pregnant. The word echoed in my mind, a mix of disbelief and excitement surging through me. I stared at her, my breath caught in my chest.

"I'm pregnant?" I whispered, my hand instinctively moving to my stomach.

"Yes," the doctor confirmed with a smile. "About seven weeks along. Make sure you get plenty of rest, eat well, and avoid stress. It's crucial for both you and the baby."

I nodded, my hand still resting on my stomach, where a tiny life was beginning to grow. A rush of emotions overwhelmed me—joy, disbelief, and a deep longing to share this moment with Patrick, my husband.

"I didn’t think it was possible," I murmured, my voice barely audible.

The doctor gave me a reassuring smile before stepping out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

As I walked out of the hospital, my heart felt light for the first time in weeks. Patrick was going to be thrilled. We had talked about starting a family, and while I wasn’t sure if now was the perfect time, I knew this baby would bring us closer.

Grinning, I pulled out my phone and dialed Patrick’s number. The call went straight to voicemail. Frowning, I tried again, but it was the same. A small knot of unease began to form in my stomach, but I brushed it aside.

He’s probably in a meeting, I told myself. My husband, Patrick Hilton, was the CEO of the Hilton Group, a billionaire who thrived on control and success. He was always busy, but he loved me—didn’t he?

Instead of calling again, I decided to text him. My fingers flew across the screen.

Patrick, I’m pregnant! We’re going to have a baby!

I waited for a reply, my heart racing with anticipation. The minutes ticked by, each one dragging longer than the last. Finally, my phone buzzed with a response. Excitedly, I opened the message.

"I don’t want your baby. Becky is the only one I want to have kids with. Get rid of it."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My legs went weak, and I sank into a nearby bench, my mind struggling to process what I had just read.

"Becky?" I whispered to myself. No, this couldn’t be real.

Before I could catch my breath, another notification appeared on my phone. It was an image. My hand trembled as I tapped on it, and my world shattered.

The picture showed Patrick lying in bed, shirtless, with Becky draped across him. Her smug smile made my stomach churn, but what caught my eye was the necklace around her neck—the one I had seen inside Patrick’s bedside drawer just weeks ago.

A wave of nausea hit me. That necklace had been a gift I thought he had bought for me. He had even lied when I asked about it, brushing it off as a business trinket.

"Patrick," I whispered, my voice trembling. Hot tears streamed down my face as the realization settled in. My husband, the man I loved, the man I thought I knew, was cheating on me. With Becky, no less.

Becky had been Patrick childhood friend. Or at least, I had thought she was. She worked closely with Patrick, often traveling with him for business. I had trusted her, believed her when she said she admired our marriage.

The betrayal was too much to bear. My chest tightened as a mix of rage and despair took over. How could he do this to me? How could they do this to me?

I clenched my phone tightly, my thoughts spiraling. The joy I had felt moments ago was now replaced with a burning pain. I looked down at my stomach, my free hand trembling as it rested there.

"No," I said aloud, my voice firm despite the tears. "I’m not getting rid of this baby."

The hospital room felt colder than it had moments ago, even though the temperature hadn’t changed. My hands trembled as I clutched my phone, staring blankly at the incriminating messages and the picture of Patrick and Becky. My mind was in chaos, torn between disbelief and heartbreak.

I sat on the hospital bed, tears streaming down my face as I kept replaying his words: I don’t want your baby. Becky is the only one I want to have kids with. Get rid of it.

How could he? How could Patrick, my husband, the man I had built my life with, betray me like this? And with Becky, of all people—his childhood friend, someone I had welcomed into our lives with open arms.

I sniffled, trying to wipe the tears away, but they just kept coming. The necklace flashed in my mind again. That necklace wasn’t for me. It had been for Becky all along. My stomach churned with anger and pain as I stared at the sterile white walls of the room.

I was about to leave, to drag myself out of this nightmare, when a sound froze me in place.

Laughter.

Soft and familiar, coming from the other side of the room. My heart stopped as I recognized the voices—Becky and Patrick.

The hospital room was demarcated by curtains, and they hadn’t realized I was on the other side. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breathe.

“Patrick,” Becky’s voice came, soft and sweet, “I just wanted to thank you for coming with me to my prenatal check-up. I know you’ve been jet-lagged from your recent trip to Europe, but I really needed the moral support.”

My heart pounded painfully in my chest. Prenatal check-up?

Patrick’s deep voice responded, casual, as if everything was perfectly normal. “That’s fine. Where’s the doctor?”

I pressed a hand to my mouth to stifle the sound of my sobs. My tears fell silently, soaking into my shirt as their conversation continued.

The necklace wasn’t for me.

He was in love with someone else.

The truth burned through me, raw and unrelenting.

“Patrick,” Becky’s voice came again, soft and playful, “I’m scared to get my blood drawn. Can you hold my hand?”

My stomach turned, bile rising in my throat. My husband—my Patrick—was holding her hand while she carried his child.

“Of course,” Patrick replied smoothly.

The curtain between us felt like the thinnest veil in the world. I could hear every word, every breath, every stolen moment they thought was private.

The door to their side of the room opened, and a new voice joined the conversation.

“Mr. Hilton,” the doctor greeted warmly. “I’m surprised you could make it with your busy schedule. She’s really lucky to have you.”

The doctor’s words cut through me like a knife. Lucky? Becky was lucky? What about me? The wife he had promised to love, cherish, and protect?

“How’s the baby?” Patrick asked, his tone almost… eager.

I gripped the edge of the bed, my knuckles white.