Contos sobre Plot Twists e Romances com Homewrecker e Pregnancy

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.

I rushed back from out of town overnight when my best friend, Siobhan Coventry, went into labor. After learning that both mother and child were safe, I got teary-eyed with emotion. "Have you decided on the baby's name yet?" I asked. Her smile stiffened unnaturally for a moment. "Leonard Kessler. We'll call him Leo." "Kessler?" I stared at her in surprise. "I thought you said the baby would take your last name. Is his biological father's last name Kessler?" She gave me a vague hum before quickly changing the subject. "Ginny, I've been craving the wraps from that place in the college town." I nodded, forcing my doubts aside, and went out to buy one for her. It was only when I reached the hospital entrance that I suddenly remembered I hadn't given her my gift yet. I hurried back upstairs, only to see my husband—who had been away for two years, supposedly carrying out a classified project and never once returning home—walking into my best friend's hospital room with a bouquet in his hands. He sat down beside her bed and took her hand, his face full of concern. "You were so amazing, my love." My mind went completely blank, and all the blood rushed to my head. My hand was still on the doorknob when I saw my mother carrying the baby over to them, beaming with delight. "Look—the baby smiled as soon as he heard his daddy's voice." So her baby's last name was taken from Vincent Kessler—my husband's last name. The classified project… The whole story about having a child without the father in the picture… It had all been a lie. Even my own mother had helped her goddaughter and son-in-law deceive me. The people I loved most in the world didn't want me involved with this family at all.

Two years ago, I got pregnant for the first time. At ten weeks, a silver lock-shaped charm appeared outside our front door. There was no shipping label and no sender. Ian Shaw laughed at me for worrying. He said a friend had probably sent us an early gift for the baby. But that night, I developed stomach pains. By the time I reached the hospital in the early hours, the baby no longer had a heartbeat. A year ago, I got pregnant again. I told no one, not even my mother. In the eighth week, an identical silver charm appeared in the nursery we hadn’t used yet. The doors and windows were locked, and the security cameras showed no one entering. That time, I fell in the bathroom and lost the baby too. Now I was pregnant again. Before dawn in my seventh week, a nightmare woke me. My fingers touched something cold beneath my pillow. A third silver lock charm lay there. I held it in my shaking hands. Who was trying to kill my baby?

Just after leaving the shopping district, six months pregnant, I was struck and thrown to the icy pavement by a modified Bentley. I collapsed onto the ground, clutching my lower abdomen in pure terror, desperately crying out for help. Yet the woman driving the car simply locked the doors and sat comfortably inside, casually touching up her makeup. She dialed her phone, complaining into it without a care in the world. “Darling, I think I hit someone. Some crazy woman is on the ground trying to extort us…” Within minutes, a motorcade from a powerful mafia family sealed off the entire block. Heavily armed men surrounded the scene, forcibly turning away every paramedic and ambulance that tried to get close. Clutching my bleeding stomach, I dragged myself along the ground, desperate to crawl past the perimeter, only to be pinned down hard by two men. “Don gave orders that nobody moves until we figure out what happened.” The woman stepped out of the car, her designer boots clicking against the pavement as she looked down at me with disgust. "If you’re looking for a payout, you picked the wrong target. How annoying.” The call was still connected, and from the speaker came a bone-chilling, familiar voice. “Don't be scared. Stay in the car, and I'll have my men clean up the trouble.” As agonizing, tearing cramps ripped through my stomach, hearing that voice felt like grabbing onto my last lifeline. I let out a blood-curdling scream, shouting his name. “Brett! The 'trouble' you're trying to clean up is your own child!”

Since my daughter, Lucy Shepherd, is an only child, my husband, Felix Shepherd, and I have decided to find her a live-in son-in-law. I ask on an online forum, "If my future son-in-law has a master's degree from a top university and earns over 10,000 dollars a month, what kind of wedding gift would seem appropriate to welcome him into the family?" Someone jokingly replies, "You'd probably have to be loaded to get a son-in-law like that. Why not give him ten million dollars as a wedding gift?" Without any hesitation, I take the person's advice and give Paul Cranston, my future son-in-law, and his family ten million dollars, along with a riverfront apartment. However, to guard against the possibility of Paul and his family seizing Lucy's inheritance for themselves once we're gone, I make Paul sign a prenuptial agreement. It clearly states that all their children must take the Shepherd family name and that the family's assets will not go to anyone with a different last name. Paul agrees to it and even thanks me profusely for everything. Yet, when Lucy gives birth to her second child, he immediately grabs the baby and changes his tune. "Even though I married into the Shepherd family, that doesn't mean I'm no longer my own person! My son must take my family name! This affects my dignity as a man!" I scoff in anger, but before I can say anything, Lucy, who is completely blinded by love, tearfully takes Paul's side. "Just go along with it, Mom. We're all a family anyway. Why must you harp on whose last name is used?" I hold my ground and refuse to back down. But the very next day, Lucy flies abroad with Paul, bringing along her two children. They have no qualms about moving into the property that Felix and I had bought abroad, as if it were their own. Despite being 58 years old, I am so enraged by her foolishness that I drag Felix to a fertility clinic. We start the IVF process. After turning 59 years old, I give birth to a son. Just as the nurse brings him to me, the door to the hospital room flies open. The family of four, who have just rushed back in a hurry, freeze in place.