I lowered my head, tears burning my eyes. This was his choice. He had chosen Chelsea, and her child. This wasn't about love, not anymore. This was about cold, calculating ambition.

The most painful part wasn't the betrayal itself; it was the layers of lies, the elaborate deception. Why didn't he just tell me? Why the secret divorce? Why the fake marriage certificate?

Chelsea's eyes, too, were red-rimmed. "I never meant to come between you two," she whimpered, her voice shaky. "But I had no choice. My body… I'm not strong. If I lost this baby, I would never be able to conceive again. Please, don't blame the child." Her shoulders trembled, a convincing facade of distress.

I looked at them, a suffocating tightness in my chest. I too was a mother now. I understood what a child meant to a woman, the fierce, protective love.

I took a deep breath, forcing a small, bitter smile to my lips. "I'm not angry," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. I took another deep breath, willing my voice to remain calm. "I understand."

Drake stared at me, dumbfounded. He hadn't expected such an easy capitulation. He knew my zero-tolerance policy for betrayal. He knew my fiery spirit.

"You… you really understand?" he asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

I nodded, the bitter smile still fixed on my face. "We both need to think about the family, Drake. I understand you need an heir. Your empire is vast. It needs to be passed on." I turned to Chelsea. "Bring her home, Drake. Take care of her. That way, I'll feel at ease too."

A wave of relief washed over Drake' s face. He let out a long, slow breath. "Thank you, Kaitlyn," he said, his voice thick with gratitude. He squeezed my hand, his eyes shining with relief.

Chelsea, sitting beside him, looked stunned. Her eyes narrowed, a smirk quickly replacing her look of surprise. She hadn't expected this either.

I met her gaze, my own eyes calm, empty. There was no emotion left in me. "If there's nothing else," I said, my voice flat, "I'd like to go home now." I stood up. "I'll prepare a room for her. And hire a nutritionist to ensure a healthy pregnancy. We need to make sure the baby is safe."

Drake nodded, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. "Go, Kaitlyn. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

I smiled, a cold, empty gesture, and turned to leave. My escape plan was in motion.

Drake brought Chelsea home that very night. He even cooked dinner, fussing over her, serving her favorite dishes, pouring her soup. He knew her preferences, her little quirks. Their easy intimacy, their whispered jokes, their shared glances, were a knife twisting in my gut.

My eyes burned, but no tears fell. I kept my head down, picking at my food, a silent ghost at my own dining table. I couldn't react. I couldn't show weakness. My plan depended on it. I had to hide my departure. I had to hide my pregnancy.

"Are you sure you don't mind, Kaitlyn?" Chelsea asked, her voice sweet, innocent, but with an underlying edge of malice.

Drake gave her a quick, reassuring glance. "Kaitlyn understands," he said, his voice firm.

I kept my gaze fixed on my plate, my face a carefully constructed mask of indifference.

After dinner, I sought refuge in the garden, needing air, needing space. As I reached the gazebo, I saw Chelsea approaching.

"Are you upset, Kaitlyn?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock concern. She sat across from me, a challenging glint in her eyes. "Why are you pretending? Don't you care that you'll be raising another woman's child? Don't you ever think about leaving?"

I merely glanced at her, my silence a deliberate provocation. I stood up, ready to walk away.

But she blocked my path, her face twisted in a snarl of fury. My composure only seemed to fuel her rage. She wanted to see me break, to scream, to lash out. She wanted to savor my pain, to confirm her victory. My pregnancy, she believed, had crushed me.

"Why are you pretending, Kaitlyn?" she hissed, her voice low and venomous. "Why are you pretending not to care, pretending to be so magnanimous? What kind of woman willingly raises her husband's child with another woman? Why don't you scream at him? Why don't you fight him?" Her voice rose, shrill with contempt. "You're pathetic."

She leaned in, her eyes narrowed. "Do you think playing the understanding wife will make him feel guilty and compensate you? That's not love, Kaitlyn. That's pity. Staying in a loveless marriage will only bring you pain."

I bit down hard on my lip, willing the burning tears to stay hidden.