Marrying My Fake Husband's Rival Chapter 2

When I woke up, the smell of antiseptic hit my nose.

I was in a private hospital room. Across from my bed, Christian was leaning over Gemma Hart, his hand resting tenderly on her stomach.

In five years, Christian had cycled through dozens of women, but Gemma was different. She had lasted the longest. She was the one he kept.

I stared at them, my voice hollow. "Christian. Are we actually married?"

I put weight on the word married, but he didn't even flinch. He slowly drew his hand back from Gemma’s stomach, looking at me with nothing but annoyance.

"Jane, have you forgotten how you forced me to take you in? Is that half-million-dollar stunt not engraved in your mind?" He sneered, stepping closer. "I thought you’d learned your place. I didn't realize you’d resort to a cheap pregnancy scare to get my attention."

He threw a folder at my chest. The sharp edge of the medical report sliced a neat line across my cheek, but I barely felt it. I was staring at the bold black letters on the page.

Gestational age: 8 weeks.

Patient: Jane Callahan.

I was pregnant.

Christian snatched the paper back, ripping it into shreds and tossing them into the trash. "I used protection every single time, Jane. So why don't you explain to me whose bastard you’re carrying?"

Ever since he branded me a gold digger, he had been meticulous. He wore protection, and he made sure I took the morning-after pill under his supervision because he was terrified I would use a child to anchor myself to his fortune. To him, I was a body to use, nothing more.

But two months ago, he had come home completely drunk, throwing himself over me in a desperate, unprotected frenzy that lasted until dawn.

That was when this child was conceived.

While he fumed, a strange sense of peace washed over me. I rested a hand on my abdomen and looked him dead in the eye.

"Whose bastard? Yours, Christian. You were blind drunk two months ago. I actually recorded a voice memo of you begging me that night, just in case you tried to play this exact card."

I reached for my phone, but before I could play it, he snatched the device from my hand, his face darkening with rage.

"You recorded it? To blackmail me for cash? God, Jane, you really are a piece of work. A textbook gold digger."

The words didn't hurt anymore. The armor of my apathy was complete.

Before Christian could say another word, Gemma tugged at his sleeve, her eyes pooling with well-practiced tears.

"Christian... you promised me you’d love our baby. You said you wanted this. But if Jane has her baby, my child will grow up labeled a bastard. If that’s the case, maybe our little one shouldn't even come into this world."

I stared at Gemma's stomach.

When I first discovered Christian’s affairs, I used to scream and throw tantrums. He never comforted me, but he always told me the same thing: “They’re just toys, Jane. It’s dirty, it’s purely physical. I’d never let them have a child. There will never be a mistress taking your place.”

And so, I had learned to look the other way.

But those promises were like thin ice in the spring—fragile, beautiful, and utterly empty.

The slight flicker of guilt in Christian’s eyes vanished the moment Gemma sniffled. He didn't even look at me as he called the attending physician into the room.

"Prepare her for an abortion," he ordered.

It was his child too. Yet, with a few soft words from Gemma, he was ready to discard it like trash.

I gripped the bedsheets until my knuckles turned white. "Christian, you cannot perform a medical procedure on me without my consent. It’s illegal."

Predictably, we began to argue. The shouting escalated until Gemma stepped forward and delivered a stinging slap across my face.

"Jane! How can you be so cruel to Christian? You’re just using this pregnancy to extort him! Fine, you want money? I’ll give you mine!"

Gemma frantically pulled off her diamond bracelet, her rings, and her designer watch, piling them onto my lap with a theatrical sob.

"Is this enough? Please, I beg you, let my child have a future!"

She made a show of dropping to her knees, but Christian caught her before she hit the floor.

"Gemma, don't beg this leech. I decide what happens to my children. I’ll make sure you and our baby are taken care of."

He pulled a black Amex card from his wallet and threw it onto the bed. I didn't look at it. My eyes were locked on the pile of jewelry Gemma had discarded.