My Bride Carries Another Mans Baby

Start Reading

A week before our wedding, Beryl went on a last-minute business trip. When she finally got back, she melted into my arms, resting her chin against my chest, and out of nowhere, she murmured, Did you shrink?

I froze. A microscopic tightening of my muscles. I forced a laugh, keeping my tone light. What, did you spend your trip hugging guys taller than me?

Beryls body went rigid. Instead of answering, she shoved me backward onto the mattress, her mouth crashing down on mine, shutting down the conversation.

After we made love, she wrapped herself in a towel and headed to the en-suite bathroom to shower, just like she always did. Everything felt perfectly, painstakingly normal.

But I knew it wasn't.

Thirteen years. We had been each others entire world for thirteen years, and not once had she ever made a comment about my height.

I lay there in the tangled sheets, staring at the ceiling. I took a slow, jagged breath, marshaling my courage, and reached for her phone on the nightstand. I scoured it. Texts, emails, hidden folders. Nothing. Not a single red flag.

When Beryl stepped out of the bathroom, steam billowing around her, she noticed my silence. She climbed into bed, curling into my side with a soft, exasperated laugh. "Are you mad? Just because I said you felt a little shorter? Baby, we haven't seen each other in a week. My spatial awareness is just out of whack."

I gave a curt nod. I didn't say a word. I just let her tuck herself against my chest, the silence stretching out between us, heavy and suffocating.

The next morning, I stepped out onto the terrace and called my parents.

"Beryl might be cheating on me," I said, the words tasting like ash. "I'm calling off the wedding."

1.

My parents urged me not to be rash, to find concrete proof first. So, I grabbed my keys and drove straight to Beryls corporate headquarters.

It was a Saturday. She had promised me weeks ago that today would be our date day, a break from the wedding planning, but shed canceled at the last minute, claiming a sudden "overtime crisis."

Sitting in my car in the parking garage, I pulled out my phone to call her, only to see a notification light up my screen. It was a message from Beryl on our personal iMessage thread. We both had separate phones for work, but for the last four thousand daysover a decadewe had never missed sending a good morning text. We even had a Snapchat streak that had been going since high school.

Her text looked completely standard: "Did you eat lunch yet, baby?"

But I stared at the screen, my brain short-circuiting.

Beryl hated flashy, cutesy tech features. When Apple rolled out all those message effects and custom avatars, Id asked if she wanted to match, and she had scoffed, calling it childish.

But right now, her Memoji avatarthe one attached to her contact profilehad been changed to a pink bunny with hearts floating around its head.

I typed back a single question mark.

Immediately, the read receipt appeared. A second later, her avatar flickered and reverted to her standard, professional headshot.

Her next text popped up: "Apple must be glitching. What was that bunny thing? I didn't even touch my settings."

A glitch?

My jaw tightened. I opened TikTok, my thumb flying across the search bar. It took me less than three minutes of searching trending couples' aesthetics to find it. The "Pink Bunny and Bear" matching profile trend.

My fianc had matching couple profiles with someone else.

I tapped into the top videos under the audio trend. A video posted barely ten minutes ago by an account named CEOs Boy Toy featured a screenshot of a text conversation. The texts were mundaneDo you love me? Always.but the problem was the profile picture of the person on the other end.

It was Beryl. Specifically, a candid photo I had taken of her in Cabo, her hair windblown as she peeled shrimp for me at a beachside table.

My breathing grew shallow, the air in the car suddenly too thin. The truth was violently clawing its way to the surface.

I scrolled through the account. It was a goldmine of digital humiliation. Vlogs titled "Day in the Life of a Sugar Baby,"showing glimpses of expensive coffees, a luxury office, and the manicured hand of a woman passing him a credit card. I knew that hand. I bought the engagement ring currently sitting on its fourth finger.

My phone buzzed. Beryl was sending me the profile link herself. A barrage of frantic voice memos followed.

"Baby, please don't ignore me. Okay, I admit it, I changed the avatar. I did it to help out the new marketing assistant. We're shooting some viral POV videos to boost the companys social media presence."

"He just turned twenty-one, hes fresh out of college and full of Gen-Z ideas. He said this kind of 'CEO and intern' romance bait is super popular on TikTok right now and itll help us recruit younger talent."

I left her on read.

I killed the engine, got out of the car, and walked straight to the private elevator, swiping my keycard for the penthouse floor.

I really wanted to see what kind of twenty-one-year-old visionary thought pretending to date his boss was a solid corporate recruitment strategy.

2.

I expected the office to be a ghost town, but the bullpen was actually buzzing. People really were working overtime.

I exhaled a fraction of the tension in my chest. At least she hadn't lied about the overtime.

But a second later, my heart slammed into my throat. I was staring straight at her corner office. The floor-to-ceiling glass walls were completely obscured. The automated blackout blinds were drawn tight.

Beryl hated closed blinds. Since the day she took over as CEO, she had never once lowered them. Even when I came to visit her for lunch, she loved leaving them open, never caring if her employees saw us kissing or being affectionate.

So why were they down now? What exactly was happening in there that the rest of the floor couldn't see?

I took a step toward her door, but a senior project manager practically threw herself in my path. Her smile was tight, her voice a pitch too high.

"Mr. Wright! What a surprise. What brings you to the office today?" she babbled. "With the wedding next weekend, I figured you'd be up to your neck in seating charts!"

Before I started taking time off to handle the wedding, everyone in this building knew exactly how ruthless I could be. I was the silent majority shareholder; they feared me more than they feared Beryl. No one casually made small talk with me.

My face went entirely blank. I stepped neatly around the woman, gripped the heavy brass handle of the office door, and shoved it open.

Beryl was instantly there, her smile overly bright as she threw her arms around my waist. "You weren't answering my texts! Were you planning a surprise visit?"

I didn't look at her. My eyes were fixed on the kid standing rigidly by the mahogany desk.

He was huge. Easily six-foot-five. Definitely taller than me.

He caught my gaze, a slow, insolent smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he gave a slight nod. "Afternoon, sir."

It was a micro-expression, gone in a flash, but it was dripping with unfiltered malice and triumph.

I slowly reached down and peeled Beryls arms off my waist. I walked toward the boy, stopping just inches from him. I raised my hand and lightly, almost affectionately, patted his cheek.

"What's your name?" I asked.

The kids smirk vanished. He refused to look at me, instead casting large, pleading puppy-dog eyes toward Beryl. He stayed silent.

I let out a dry, hollow laugh. "I took a leave of absence right before you got hired, so maybe no one briefed you. I own the lion's share of this building." I tilted my head. "Am I no longer entitled to know the names of the people on my payroll?"

I didn't try to hide the sheer, unadulterated arrogance in my voice. Instantly, the kid's eyes welled with tears. He shrank back, the perfect picture of a bullied victim.

Beryl hurried over, grabbing my wrist and pulling my hand away. She stepped between us, shielding him. Her voice held a sharp edge of reprimand.

"His name is Jaxon. He's my new assistant. He's barely out of school, Camden. Why are you talking to him like he's trash?"

I looked down at Beryl, meeting her defensive glare. A cold smile touched my lips. "What's the matter? Does it hurt your heart to see him scared?"

Beryl's face flushed with anger. "Camden! We are in a place of business. You've always been the one to keep personal and professional lives separate. Why are you throwing a temper tantrum right now? Do you want to become the office laughingstock?"

Thirteen years. Thirteen years, and this was the first time Beryl had ever raised her voice at me over my personality.

In our social circle, plenty of people despised me. They thought I was an arrogant, privileged rich kid with a god complex. But Beryl never did. She used to stand in front of my critics, her chin held high, and say, "Camden has the background and the brilliance to back up his attitude. If you don't cross him, he won't burn you. Maybe look in the mirror before you judge him."

But now, she was tearing me down. Without hesitation, without knowing the full story, she was berating me to protect a twenty-one-year-old assistant.

I slowly shook my head. "No. I don't."

I pulled my arm free from her grasp. I pulled out my phone, pulled up the TikTok profile, and shoved the screen inches from Jaxon's face. My voice dropped to a lethal whisper.

"Jaxon, was it? Care to explain this account to me? I must have missed the memo that my fianc was keeping a sugar baby on the company dime."

3.

A fat tear spilled over Jaxons lashes. He didn't look at the phone; he kept his eyes locked on Beryl, waiting for his knight in shining armor to slay the dragon.

But Beryl just stared at me. Her face had gone completely bloodless. She didn't say a word.

Realizing he wasn't getting backup, the kid panicked. He was too young to handle a real confrontation. He shoved past me, yanked the door open, and sprinted out of the office.

The employees outside, who had been blatantly eavesdropping, suddenly found their spreadsheets very interesting.

I let out a harsh exhale and looked around the office. Really looked at it. Now that the adrenaline was fading, the clues were screaming at me.

The framed painting I had done in high schoolthe one that had hung on her wall for five yearswas gone. In its place was a framed print of Jaxon's TikTok avatar.

Her elegant espresso machine had been replaced by a neon-pink mini-fridge stocked with iced matcha and sugary energy drinks. Beryl despised sweet drinks.

Even the 0-05,000 Italian leather sofa I had bought her for her promotion was covered in a cheap, fluffy cream-colored throw blanket.

Everything was tainted. The evidence of a ghost living in her space.

Beryl saw me taking it all in. Her expression darkened. She grabbed my hand and practically dragged me out of the building.

We got into her car. She didn't say a word as she slammed her foot on the gas, blowing through three red lights on the way back to our townhouse.

The second the front door clicked shut, she grabbed my collar, shoved me against the wall, and kissed me. It wasn't romantic; it was desperate, frantic. Her hands were everywhere, pulling at my clothes.

I felt absolutely nothing. My blood was ice. I caught her wrists and held them in a vice grip.

"Beryl, are you out of your mind?"

She winced slightly at my grip but didn't stop. She dropped to her knees, her hands going for my belt. "I think you're the one who's out of his mind, Camden. Going after a kid like that? Really?" Her voice was breathless, manic. "What, are you getting cold feet? Feeling insecure? Let me make you feel secure right now."

She leaned in, but I didn't push her away. I just stared down at the crown of her head. My voice was eerily calm.

"Is this the post-infidelity guilt trip?"

That one sentence paralyzed her.

She let go of my belt. Her face burned a dark, ugly red. She stood up in silence, turned her back on me, and walked out to the balcony.

She lit a cigarette. Then another. Ten minutes passed, and she didn't come back inside.

I changed out of my suit, pulled on a sweater, and walked out to join her. I glanced at the pack sitting on the patio table, and a fresh wave of nausea hit me.

Beryl had started smoking at eighteen. For seven years, she had exclusively smoked Capri slim menthols. The exact brand I had bought her when she had her first panic attack in college. Even right before her business trip, she had whined playfully, "Other guys buy their girls flowers; I just want you to buy my vapes and my cigarettes, baby."

But the pack on the table wasn't hers. It was a pack of Marlboro Reds. Heavy, unfiltered, cheap tobacco. A frat boy's cigarette.

I paused, pulled one out, and lit it. I took a deep drag.

It burned my throat. It tasted like ash and cheap chemicals. Zero mint. Zero sweetness. It was the exact flavor Beryl had always sworn made her sick to her stomach.

I stood there, smoking the entire cigarette in silence. When the cherry finally burned down to the filter, Beryl turned to look at me. Her eyes were red-rimmed, begging.

"Stop this, baby. Please?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "I know you have anxiety about the wedding. But we've been together for thirteen years. You know my soul. How could I ever cheat on you?"

"Jaxon is just an assistant. I swear on my life."

"If you hate him that much, I'll fire him right now. I'll delete the TikTok account. Just... please. Let it go."

I looked down at the city lights bleeding into the twilight, the neon blurring as a lump formed in my throat so large I could barely swallow.

"Your business trip," I said quietly. "Did you go alone?"

She didn't miss a beat. "Yes."

"You can check the hotel logs. Only my name was on the reservation."

If she was bold enough to offer the logs, there was no point in checking. Theyd be clean.

After a long, suffocating silence, I gave a slow nod. "Okay."

"I don't want to see his face tomorrow."

The next day, Jaxon was terminated. Word on the grapevine was that he was escorted out by security, looking like a kicked puppy.

I told myself that maybe she hadn't physically crossed the line. Maybe, in the grand scheme of a thirteen-year relationship, she had just gotten bored and indulged in a two-day ego trip with a starry-eyed kid.

With the wedding days away, I couldn't find the strength to throw away over a decade of my life for what might have been a fleeting emotional affair. I loved her too much. It was a pathetic realization, but it was true.

For the next few days, life course-corrected. She smelled like her usual Tom Ford perfume again. The office returned to its sterile, elegant state. The TikTok account vanished. Our Snapchat streak ticked up to 4,005 days.

I thought we had survived it.

Until the day before the wedding.

My phone rang. It was the Chief Financial Officera proxy I had personally installed at Beryl's company years ago.

"Mr. Wright. I apologize for bothering you before the big day," he said, his voice tense. "A few days ago, Ms. Kensington authorized a hire. The kid didn't do any actual work, but his compensation package is causing a near-mutiny in HR. Ms. Kensington isn't answering her phone, so I have to bring this to you."

4.

The CFO forwarded the documents to my encrypted email. I opened the PDF. It was a guaranteed one-year contract for Jaxon, paid upfront.

Ten thousand dollars a month as a base salary, plus a guaranteed five-thousand-dollar performance bonus.

For an "intern" whose only job was allegedly photocopying spreadsheets.

A second email chimed. It contained photos of a matte-black Maserati, alongside a lease agreement for a luxury penthouse in the city centera property reserved for C-suite executives.

Jaxon's name was on the lease.

And the Maserati? That was the car Beryl had bought for me on my twenty-third birthday. I knew the VIN by heart.

It felt like someone had reached into my chest, gently lifted my heart, and then spiked it onto concrete. It shattered, the pain so blindingly sharp I had to grip the edge of the kitchen counter just to stay on my feet. I couldn't breathe.

My phone kept buzzing. The CFO was venting now, explaining that Jaxon had come into the office for exactly five days, picked fights with five senior employees, and Beryl had fired all five of them the next morning.

Never in my life did I think Berylthe woman who used to look at me like I hung the moonwould become a sugar mama to a frat boy.

Right under my nose. Using my car.

I stood there for a long time, staring blindly at the marble countertop. Finally, I wiped the cold wetness from my cheeks and typed my reply.

"Freeze the assets. Initiate a clawback lawsuit for corporate embezzlement. The board did not approve this hire, which means the compensation is fraudulent. Retrieve every cent."

"As for the rest, stand down. I'll handle it."

The moment I hit send, my phone rang again. My parents.

"Camden," my dad's voice was heavy. "Your mother and I have been talking. If you feel in your gut that she's cheating, there's a reason for it. Let's call off the wedding. To hell with the Kensingtons, we don't need their business."

I cleared my throat, forcing my voice into a casual, breezy register.

"It's nothing, Dad."

"I was just being paranoid. The wedding is on. I'll see you both tomorrow."

I don't know how long I sat in the dark after that call.

By the time I finally drove back to the townhouse, it was pitch black outside. Beryl was in the kitchen, her phone to her ear, about to call me. When she saw me walk in, her face lit up.

"Where have you been? You're so late! Come here, we need to celebrate. It's our last night as single people!"

She had cooked a massive feast. Candles were lit. Wine was poured. I stared at the domestic perfection and forced the corners of my mouth to lift.

"Smells great."

Beryl was buzzing with manic energy. She drank three glasses of Pinot Noir in rapid succession, a heavy flush spreading across her cheeks. She leaned across the table, her eyes glassy and adoring.

"I can't believe we're actually getting married tomorrow," she slurred softly. "I've waited for this for so long. It feels like a dream."

"We grew up together. We went to the same college. We've never been apart, Camden. And we never will be."

I watched her over the rim of my glass. "Are you bored of me?"

The question cut through her romantic monologue like a knife. Beryl blinked, the alcohol seeming to clear from her system for a split second. She looked at me, her expression dead serious, and slowly shook her head.

"Never."

"Growing old with you... that was a promise I made to myself the first time I saw you when I was twelve years old."

"I love you, Camden."

Hearing those beautiful, poetic lies, I felt the familiar burn at the back of my throat. My eyes stung.

She wasn't lying about the past. She had chased me since we were twelve. We officially started dating at eighteen. Now we were twenty-five. Half of my entire existence on this earth had been spent by her side.

I used to believe we were bulletproof. That we would never let each other go.

But reality had just delivered a fatal blow.

I couldn't endure this "minor detour" in our marathon. I wasn't built to share.

I smiled, raised my glass, and downed the rest of my bourbon. I stood up, completely ignoring her declaration of love.

"You're drunk," I said softly.

"Get some sleep. Goodnight."

Tradition dictated we sleep apart the night before the wedding. Beryl had cried, begging me to stay in the master suite, but I locked myself in the guest room.

Through the thin drywall, I heard the distinct click-hiss of her lighter. Over and over again.

I didn't sleep a wink. The next morning, we drove to the venue in separate cars.

The wedding was straight out of a Pinterest board. A sprawling estate, acres of manicured lawns, hundreds of A-list guests dripping in designer clothes.

Everything was perfect. Except for the bride and groom.

I stood at the altar. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jaxon sitting in the back row. He was glaring at us, his eyes burning holes into Beryl's back. She didn't spare him a single glance.

The officiant signaled the string quartet. The opening notes of the bridal chorus floated over the crowd.

Behind us, massive LED screens were supposed to play a montage of our engagement photos.

Instead, the screens went pitch black.

The chatter in the crowd died down. Hundreds of eyes snapped to the displays. A second later, the screens exploded with light.

A collective gasp ripped through the audience.

It wasn't our engagement photos. It was a slideshow. Beryl and Jaxon on her "solo" business trip. Selfies of them in bed. Screenshots of their explicit text messages. Security footage of them making out against her office door.

And finally, a crystal-clear photograph taken last night. Beryl, sneaking out of our townhouse at 2 AM, kissing a crying Jaxon under a streetlamp.

"Beryl Kensington!" My dad's voice shattered the stunned silence, roaring like thunder. "My son gave you his entire soul, and this is how you repay him?!"