hapter 3
Chapter 3
I dragged myself down that empty highway for what felt like hours, black spots dancing in my vision.
Finally, my legs gave out and I collapsed on the shoulder.
When I came to, the sharp smell of disinfectant was burning my nostrils.
I was in a hospital bed, IV drip attached to my hand.
A doctor approached, his expression grim. “You’re awake. Good.”
“You lost the baby. Early pregnancy, already unstable, then you went and walked God knows how many miles…”
Lost the baby?
I stared at him, my hand instinctively moving to my flat stomach.
There had been a baby. A tiny life I didn’t even know existed, and now they were gone.
The doctor sighed. “Get some rest.”
After he left, I plugged in my phone with shaking hands.
The second it powered up, breaking news flooded the screen:
“Manhattan Billionaire Harrison Whitmore Mobilizes NYC’s Top Surgeons for Girlfriend’s Tiny Cut”
The photo showed Harrison cradling Celeste like she was dying, both looking devastated. A close–up revealed the tiniest scratch on her finger.
Something shattered inside my chest.
While he was playing doctor with his princess, I was losing our child on a dark road.
I ripped out the IV and stumbled from my room like a zombie, only to crash straight into Harrison and Celeste in the hallway.
Harrison’s face twisted with disgust the second he saw me.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Vivian? You’re actually stalking us now? What is this, some desperate cry for attention? I thought you had more class than this desperate bullshit.”
I stared at him, my voice barely a whisper. “I lost our baby.”
Celeste’s jaw dropped. She grabbed Harrison’s arm like she was drowning.
“Harrison! You swore you haven’t touched her in months! How the hell was she pregnant?!”
“You’re such a liar! We’re fucking done!”
Panic flashed across Harrison’s face. He immediately wrapped Celeste in his arms, kissing her face and cooing her.
19:05
Fifteen Years of Love Lost in On
Chapter 3
“Babe, don’t listen to her crazy bullshit! I see her maybe once a month for some boring dinner. I don’t even shake her hand!”
“Princess, you milk me dry every night–come on, there’s nothing left for anyone else.”
Once Celeste calmed down, he turned on me with hatred.
“Vivian, what are you now, the fucking Virgin Mary? You seriously expect people to believe you got pregnant from a handshake? Have some fucking dignity.”
A crowd was forming, their whispers cutting like knives.
“Who’s this nutjob? She looks normal but she’s obviously unhinged.”
“Trying to baby–trap Harrison Whitmore? What a pathetic gold digger.”
“Everyone knows he’s crazy about Celeste. This chick’s living in a fantasy.”
Their stares felt like acid on my skin.
But suddenly, through the humiliation, a memory hit me like lightning.
Last month, Harrison’s surprise visit to D.C. We’d had wine at dinner–more than usual.
Instead of sleeping in the guest room like always, he’d held me all night. Kept whispering “baby” and “princess,” his voice thick
with desire.
I thought the alcohol had finally broken down his walls.
I thought maybe we had a real chance.
That night was the whole reason I’d torched my career to move back to New York. I thought we were finally going to be a real family.
But now, seeing “Baby Girl” in his phone, hearing him use those same pet names with her…
It all clicked into place with devastating clarity.
That day, he called for Celeste, not me.
In his drunken haze, I was just her stand–in.
That one moment of passion that had given me hope, made me blush, made me believe in us–it was all a drunken case of nistaken identity.
I was nothing but a substitute for the woman he actually loved.
19:05
Fifteen Years of Love, Lost in One Night with His Sugar Baby
