The smell of homemade lasagna filled my hands as I balanced the warm container, my key fumbling against the lock of Ethan's luxury apartment. I'd spent hours preparing his favorite meal, hoping to surprise him after his team practice. Three years of marriage, and I still got butterflies thinking about seeing his face light up.

The door swung open before I could turn the key. Light spilled from the living room, along with the sound of male laughter.

"—can't believe she bought it!" Ethan's voice, crisp and amused. "The look on her face when I told her it was for 'team bonding'—"

I froze in the entryway, the lasagna suddenly heavy in my hands. The video call was projected on the wall-mounted screen—three of Ethan's teammates lounging in what looked like the team house.

"Dude, your sugar mama is something else," Jake's voice came through the speaker, followed by snickers. "What did she spend this time?"

"New gaming setup. Top of the line. Cost more than your annual salary." Ethan leaned back in his gaming chair, looking every bit the confident esports star with his perfectly styled hair and designer clothes. My designer clothes. My credit card.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Another teammate whistled. "Personal ATM, right?"

"Better." Ethan's smile turned cruel. "She's my personal pathetic little wife. Thinks buying me things makes her part of my world."

The container nearly slipped from my fingers. Wife. He'd called me his wife. Not his secret wife—his pathetic little wife.

"Man, you're cold," Lucas's voice cut through, different from the others. I recognized him as the team captain, always more reserved. "She seems nice enough."

"She's nice enough for a walking wallet," Ethan replied, and the others laughed. "God, you should see her sometimes. Standing in the background at events, thinking no one notices her. Like a sad little puppy waiting for scraps of attention."

I backed away silently, setting the lasagna down on a side table. My chest felt tight, each breath a struggle. Three years of marriage, three years of supporting his career, and this was how he talked about me when I wasn't there.

"You're lucky she's so... devoted," Jake said, choosing his words carefully.

"Devoted?" Ethan snorted. "She's desperate. Lonely rich girl with no friends. Easy to manipulate."

I slipped into the hallway, my legs unsteady. The elevator seemed miles away.

---

Later that evening, I returned. Ethan had texted asking where I'd gone, his message casual as if nothing had happened. I'd replied that I'd forgotten something at home.

The apartment was quiet when I entered. Ethan must have been showering—I could hear water running. His laptop sat open on the kitchen counter, the screen glowing softly in the dim light.

I shouldn't have looked. Some part of me knew what I might find.

But I did look.

The browser was open to a jewelry website. A diamond necklace glittered on the screen—platinum chain with a pendant that caught the light in dozens of facets. The price made my stomach drop: $50,000.

Purchased. With my credit card.

My fingers trembled as I scrolled down to the order details. The recipient wasn't me.

"Lily Sullivan." The esports commentator. The woman who'd been at our wedding, who'd hugged me and called me "sister."

The laptop pinged with an incoming message. Ethan's email was still logged in.

"You're going to love it, L," read the subject line.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I clicked.

"Can't wait to see it around your neck. Something beautiful for someone who actually matters. Not like my clingy wife who thinks money makes her important. This is for us. For our real love."

Real love.

The bathroom door opened. Steam billowed out, and Ethan appeared in a towel, water droplets still clinging to his chest.

"Hey," he said casually. "You're back."

I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. My eyes were fixed on the screen.

"What's wrong?" He followed my gaze, and his expression shifted—not to guilt or shame, but annoyance.

"What is this?" I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Ethan sighed, closing the laptop with a decisive click. "You shouldn't go through my things, Mia."

"That's my credit card," I said, finding strength in anger. "You bought her a fifty-thousand-dollar necklace with my money?"

"Come on." He rolled his eyes. "Don't make a scene."

"A scene? Ethan, you're giving expensive gifts to another woman!"

"Look," he said, his tone dismissive, "Lily deserves nice things. She actually contributes to my career. She's in the industry. She understands what I need."

"And what do I do?" The question escaped before I could stop it.

"You?" He laughed, the sound cutting through me like glass. "You throw money around and think that makes you valuable. Newsflash, Mia—it doesn't. It makes you pathetic."

I stood there, frozen, as he walked past me toward the bedroom.

"Grow up," he called over his shoulder. "And don't wait up."

---

The study was my sanctuary. The one room in the apartment I'd claimed as mine, with my books and my laptop and the window seat overlooking the city lights.

I sat at my desk, hands shaking as I logged into our joint accounts.

If there was one necklace, there would be more.

There was more.

Designer handbags. Spa treatments at exclusive resorts. First-class plane tickets. All for Lily Sullivan.

All paid for with my money.

I scrolled through months of transactions, each one a fresh wound. Over two hundred thousand dollars spent on his "real love" while I'd been eating instant noodles because I didn't want to "bother" him with grocery requests.

My phone buzzed with a notification. A social media tag.

Lily had posted a photo of herself at a luxury resort—the same one Ethan had booked for her last month. "Living the dream with my favorite person," the caption read. No mention of Ethan, but the diamond bracelet sparkling on her wrist was new. Another gift from my account.

I set my phone down and pressed my palms against my eyes.

---

That night, I couldn't sleep. Ethan's breathing had deepened into slumber beside me, but I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I shouldn't have looked.

But I did.

"Can't wait until after Worlds," read the text from Lily. "So close to being free."

"Me too," Ethan had replied. "Just a few more months of playing nice with my walking wallet."

I set the phone down quietly, but another text came through.

"When are you going to tell her?" Lily asked.

"After Worlds. Once the contract is signed and I don't need her money anymore."

"And then?"

"Then we go public. No more hiding."

I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him. In the hallway, I pressed my ear against the door of his home office.

His voice was low, but clear enough.

"I'll divorce her after Worlds," he was saying. "She's served her purpose."

A female laugh responded—Lily, on speakerphone.

"You're terrible," she said, but she was laughing. "Does she really not suspect anything?"

"Please," Ethan scoffed. "She's so desperate for love she'll believe anything I tell her. 'Oh Ethan, you're so amazing.' It's pathetic."

"That's what happens when lonely rich girls fall for famous boys," Lily replied. "They're so easy to manipulate."

I pressed my hand against my mouth to stifle the sound trying to escape from my throat.

In that moment, something inside me changed. Something hardened.

I was done being pathetic.

I couldn't sleep. Not after what I'd discovered about Ethan and Lily. The numbers on my laptop screen blurred together as I entered another transaction into my spreadsheet. Three hundred dollars for a spa day. Five thousand for a weekend getaway. Twenty thousand for a designer handbag collection.

All on my credit card. All for her.

My stomach lurched, and I pressed my palm against it, swallowing hard. The nausea had started three days ago—just another symptom of stress, I'd told myself. But it kept getting worse.

"What are you doing?" I whispered to myself, fingers trembling as I highlighted another row of expenses. "Why am I still documenting this like it matters?"

But it did matter. Each transaction was a knife twist, each lie another wound. I needed to see it all laid out—the magnitude of his betrayal, the systematic way he'd drained my accounts while calling me pathetic behind my back.

I'd created categories: Gifts for Lily. Team Expenses (that never reached the team). His "investments" (that somehow never generated returns). The total at the bottom of the spreadsheet made my vision swim: $287,432.16.

Nearly three hundred thousand dollars. In just eighteen months.

The room spun slightly as I saved the file and closed my laptop. I stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it before my stomach rebelled. Nothing came up—I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning—but the dry heaves left me shaking.

"Get it together, Mia," I muttered, splashing cold water on my face. "You're stronger than this."

I caught my reflection in the mirror—pale skin, dark circles under my eyes, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. I hardly recognized myself. When was the last time I'd actually looked at myself? When was the last time Ethan had really looked at me?

The thought hit me suddenly: my period was late.

I froze, water dripping from my fingers onto the bathroom counter. Late. Very late.

"No," I whispered. "That's not—I can't—"

But the nausea. The fatigue. The sensitivity to smells that had been making me gag for weeks.

I grabbed my purse and jacket, moving on autopilot. The convenience store two blocks away would have what I needed.

---

The pregnancy test sat on the edge of the bathtub while I paced the small bathroom. Three minutes. The instructions said to wait three minutes.

One minute passed. My heart hammered against my ribs.

Two minutes. I pressed my hand against my stomach, feeling nothing but the soft fabric of my sweater.

Three minutes. I forced myself to look.

Two pink lines stared back at me.

Positive.

"Oh my God," I whispered, sinking to the bathroom floor. "Oh my God."

A baby. My baby. Our baby.

The room spun again, but this time I didn't fight it. Instead, I let myself imagine Ethan's face lighting up when I told him. His strong hands gently touching my still-flat stomach. The way his eyes would crinkle at the corners when he smiled—really smiled, not the practiced grin he used for cameras and sponsors.

"This could fix everything," I murmured, cradling the test against my chest. "He'll want to be better. For us. For our family."

I didn't know if I believed it, but I wanted to. God, how I wanted to.

---

The grocery store was a blur of colors and scents that made my stomach turn. I focused on the list I'd made: Ethan's favorite beef Wellington. The garlic mashed potatoes he couldn't resist. The chocolate soufflé that took forty minutes to prepare perfectly.

I added a bottle of sparkling cider to my cart—non-alcoholic, but he wouldn't notice until after I'd made my announcement.

"Excuse me," I called to the clerk at the sports memorabilia counter. "I'd like to order a custom jersey."

"Sure thing," he said, pulling out a form. "What team?"

"No team," I replied, feeling a flutter of excitement. "Just a word on the back. 'Daddy.'"

His eyebrows shot up, but he nodded. "Congratulations. When do you need it?"

"Tomorrow if possible. I'll pay extra for rush."

Back home, I transformed our dining room. Candles. Fresh flowers. The good china we'd received as wedding gifts but never used. I rehearsed what I'd say a dozen times, practicing my smile in the mirror until it looked natural.

"Ethan," I'd say, handing him the jersey. "We're going to be a family."

Or maybe: "Remember how we always talked about kids? Well..."

Or simply: "I'm pregnant."

Whatever I said, I'd make sure to tell him how much I loved him. How this baby was a miracle that would bring us closer together. How we could start fresh.

---

The table was set. The food was ready. The jersey was wrapped in silver paper with a blue bow.

And Ethan was three hours late.

I checked my phone again. No messages. No calls.

The beef Wellington had gone cold. The potatoes had dried out. Even the soufflés had collapsed.

I was about to call him when I heard the apartment door swing open.

"Ethan?" I called, rushing to the entryway.

He stumbled in, his jacket slung over one shoulder. The smell of expensive whiskey and perfume—not mine—wafted from him.

"Hey," he slurred, barely looking at me. "You're still up."

"Where were you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "I made dinner."

He glanced past me toward the dining room, his eyes unfocused. "Looks nice."

"Did you forget? I texted you about dinner."

"Right." He dropped his jacket on the floor. "Got caught up celebrating with Lily. Big sponsorship deal came through."

My heart sank. Of course it was Lily.

"Ethan," I said softly, "I have something important to tell you."

He barely heard me, stumbling toward the couch. "Can it wait? I need to sit down."

I followed him, watching as he collapsed onto the cushions. "I'm pregnant."

He didn't respond.

"Ethan, did you hear me? We're going to have a baby."

His eyes were already closed, his breathing heavy. The whiskey glass in his hand tilted dangerously.

I reached for it, but he muttered something unintelligible and rolled away.

"Ethan," I whispered, but he was already snoring.

I stood there, the jersey box clutched in my hands, watching my husband sleep off a night of celebration with another woman while our unborn child grew inside me.

The candles flickered in the dining room, casting long shadows across the cold plates of food I'd spent hours preparing.

I placed the jersey box on the coffee table and sat beside him, one hand resting protectively over my stomach.

"Your daddy doesn't know about you yet," I whispered to my unborn child. "But he will. And he'll love you so much."

Even as tears slid down my cheeks, I wondered if I was lying to both of us.

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to recognize the woman looking back at me. Dark circles shadowed my eyes, and my skin had lost its glow. The pregnancy test sat on the counter beside me, two pink lines still visible against the plastic window.

"Today," I whispered to myself. "Today you tell him."

I'd spent the morning making chicken and rice soup—Ethan's favorite when he was feeling under the weather. The rich aroma filled our apartment as I ladled it into a thermos. The team would be at their practice facility all day, preparing for the upcoming tournament. Maybe away from the apartment, away from the reminders of our strained relationship, he'd be more receptive to my news.

Maybe he'd be happy about our baby.

I pressed my palm against my still-flat stomach. "We're going to try again," I promised my unborn child. "One more chance."

The drive to the esports facility took twenty minutes. I'd only been there twice before—Ethan preferred I stay away during practice hours. "It's unprofessional," he'd say, though Lily seemed to come and go as she pleased.

The building looked like a cross between a tech startup and a gaming lounge—all glass and steel with neon accents. I clutched the thermos against my chest like a shield as I approached the reception desk.

"I'm here to see Ethan Miller," I said, forcing a smile. "I'm his—"

"Wife," a voice called from behind me.

I turned to see Lily Sullivan leaning against a doorway, her sleek dark hair falling in perfect waves around her shoulders. She wore a team jacket—Ethan's team jacket—with designer jeans and heels that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent.

My stomach clenched. Not from morning sickness this time.

"Hello," I managed, extending my hand. "I'm Mia. I don't think we've formally met."

Lily's smile didn't reach her eyes as she took my hand, her grip just tight enough to be uncomfortable. "Lily. I'd say it's nice to meet you, but..."

She trailed off, her gaze dropping to the thermos in my hands. "Let me guess—you're here to drop off more money? Or is that soup? Homemade soup for your hardworking husband?"

The way she said "husband" made my skin crawl.

"I just thought Ethan might be hungry," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "The team must be working hard with Worlds coming up."

Lily laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "Oh, honey. Is that what he told you? That he's working hard?"

Something in her tone made me step back. "What else would he be doing?"

"Let's see." She counted on her manicured fingers. "Yesterday we had brunch at that little French place downtown. The one you've never been to because it's 'too expensive.' Today we're supposed to meet with the sponsors, but Ethan said he needed to 'check in with the team' first."

My fingers tightened around the thermos handle. "You're lying."

"Am I?" Her smile sharpened. "Ask him about the weekend we spent at the lake house last month. The one he told you was a 'team bonding retreat.'"

The thermos nearly slipped from my grasp. That weekend. The credit card statement for the luxury rental. The "team expenses" that never made it to the team.

"You're just his sugar mama," Lily continued, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "The pathetic little wife who thinks money can buy love."

"I'm Ethan's wife," I said, louder this time, my voice echoing in the reception area. "I'm the one who's been there for him for three years."

"And what exactly have you been there for?" Lily stepped closer, her perfume—expensive, probably another gift from my credit card—overwhelming me. "You think throwing money at him makes you special? Makes him love you?"

My chest tightened. The room seemed to tilt slightly.

"I bet you don't even know what he really wants," she continued, her eyes glittering with malice. "Let me tell you about our weekend at the lake house. How he couldn't stop talking about how suffocating you are. How desperate you look when you try to fit into his world."

"Don't," I whispered.

"Ethan says you're like a child playing dress-up," she ignored my plea. "Throwing around mommy and daddy's money because no one could possibly love you for real."

The receptionist looked up, her eyes wide as she pretended not to listen.

"You know what he calls you when you're not around?" Lily's voice dropped to a stage whisper. "His 'walking wallet.'"

I stepped back, my vision blurring. "Stop."

"He laughed about it," she continued, following me as I retreated toward the door. "Said you were so eager to please him you'd probably thank him for taking your money."

"Please," I begged, my hand pressed against my stomach. "I'm pregnant."

Something flashed in Lily's eyes—not surprise, but a cold, calculating rage.

"Of course you are," she hissed. "Another desperate attempt to trap him. Another pathetic move to buy what you can't earn."

She moved suddenly, her hands connecting with my shoulders. The force of the push sent me stumbling backward.

"Let me make something clear," Lily snarled, all pretense of sweetness gone. "Ethan will never choose his boring little wife over someone who actually understands his world."

I felt my heel catch on the edge of a step. The thermos flew from my hands as I tried to catch my balance.

"Ethan will never—"

The world tilted. My back hit the concrete steps leading down to the parking garage. Pain exploded through my body as I tumbled down the unforgiving edges.

"—choose you," Lily finished, standing at the top of the stairs, watching as I fell.

The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was Lily's face, twisted with satisfaction as she watched me crumple at the bottom of the stairs.

And somewhere in the distance, I heard someone shout my name—a voice that sounded strangely like Lucas, the team captain I'd only met once before.