Lila looked at me with damp eyes. “Oh, Mara. I hope it’s healthy.”
There it was. Not joy. Not congratulations. Calculation.
Victor stepped closer. “We should keep this quiet until we understand the situation.”
“The situation?”
His tone softened. “You’ve been under stress. Hormones. False positives. Misread scans.”
I smiled. “The doctor heard a heartbeat.”
Claudine’s expression hardened. “Doctors make mistakes.”
“So do husbands.”
Victor’s gaze sharpened.
That night, he slept in the guest room. By morning, the campaign had begun.
He suggested I take medical leave from the company. Claudine told board members I was “emotionally unstable.” Lila sent me a message meant for Victor, then deleted it.
Too late.
It read: She knows something. We need to move before the quarterly vote.
I took a screenshot.
They had chosen the wrong woman.
Victor thought marriage made him powerful. He forgot the company bylaws gave controlling voting rights to the founder until voluntarily transferred. I was the founder. He was decorative brass on a door I owned.
For ten days, I played exhausted.
