Faked Death, Found Freedom

Sakakawea

Modern | Completed

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At eight months pregnant, I discovered my husband Holden' s secret living trust. The password wasn't our anniversary, but the birthday of his young protégée, Anika. His entire fortune wasn't for me or our unborn child. It was all for her. When I confronted him, the truth was a death sentence. He called me a "vessel," a surrogate to carry an heir for Anika, who was too fragile to bear a child herself. "She will raise him," he said, his eyes cold. Then I found the recordings. Once our son was born, I was to be eliminated in a "tragic accident." My seven-year marriage was a lie, a transaction to produce an heir. They wanted me dead and my baby stolen. So I gave them one of their wishes. I faked my own death, burned my old life to the ground, and disappeared with my son.

Betrayal Revenge Rebirth Transactional love Revenge

Chapter 9

01-06 22:24

Chapter 1

At eight months pregnant, I discovered my husband Holden' s secret living trust. The password wasn't our anniversary, but the birthday of his young protégée, Anika.

His entire fortune wasn't for me or our unborn child. It was all for her.

When I confronted him, the truth was a death sentence. He called me a "vessel," a surrogate to carry an heir for Anika, who was too fragile to bear a child herself.

"She will raise him," he said, his eyes cold.

Then I found the recordings. Once our son was born, I was to be eliminated in a "tragic accident." My seven-year marriage was a lie, a transaction to produce an heir.

They wanted me dead and my baby stolen.

So I gave them one of their wishes. I faked my own death, burned my old life to the ground, and disappeared with my son.

Chapter 1

My world didn't just crack the day I discovered Holden's living trust; it shattered into a million irreparable pieces. I was eight months pregnant, my body heavy and unwieldy, but my mind was still sharp enough to notice the subtle digital breadcrumbs Holden often left scattered. He was careless, sometimes, in his brilliance. A protected folder, a password hint disguised as a casual anniversary date, except it wasn't ours.

I typed in the date, my fingers trembling slightly with a premonition I couldn't explain. Not our wedding day, not my birthday, not even the day we first met. It was a day I' d heard him mention once, years ago, in passing-Anika McCall' s birthday.

The folder opened. Inside, nestled among legal documents and obscure tech patents, was the latest amendment to his living trust. My eyes scanned the legalese, skipping past the dense paragraphs until they landed on the crucial clause. It wasn't just a portion, not a generous gift. It was everything. His entire fortune, the empire he' d built, was designated, unequivocally, to Anika McCall.

The air left my lungs in a silent gasp. My hand flew to my swollen belly, a protective instinct. This wasn't some minor adjustment. This was a complete erasure of my existence in his financial future, in our future.

I remembered our wedding day, seven years ago, feeling like a fairytale. Holden, the enigmatic tech genius I' d pulled from the wreckage of a car crash, had proposed a year later. He' d called it a "life debt," a playful phrase that had felt romantic at the time. I was young, naive, and so deeply in love with the man whose life I' d saved. I believed every word he said about our shared future, about building a life together.

The prenuptial agreement had been a formality, he'd assured me. "Elinor, darling, you know I'm a public figure. It's just for appearances, to protect us both from predatory litigation. My heart, my home, my life-they're all yours." His words had been a warm blanket, shielding me from the chill of the legal clauses that left me with virtually nothing. I hadn't questioned it. How could I? I loved him. My love was enough, wasn't it?

Now, staring at the screen, the truth burned like acid in my throat. He hadn't just protected his assets; he'd protected her assets. Anika McCall, his young protégé, the girl he' d plucked from obscurity and funded through college. The girl I' d heard him praise countless times, always with a clinical detachment that had fooled me into thinking it was professional admiration.

I heard the front door open, followed by the familiar click of his expensive shoes on the marble floor. Holden. My husband. My betrayer.

I closed the laptop, the screen going dark, mirroring the sudden emptiness inside me. I walked into the living room, my steps heavy, each one an effort against the weight of discovery. He was loosening his tie, his gaze already on his phone.

"Holden," I said, my voice flat, devoid of the usual warmth.

He looked up, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. "Elinor. You're still up. I thought you'd be asleep."

"I found something," I stated, cutting through his dismissive tone. I watched his face closely, searching for any sign of remorse, any hint of the man I thought I married.

He didn't flinch. "Found what?"

I laid the laptop on the coffee table, opening it to the trust document. His eyes narrowed, a cold, calculating mask replacing the faint irritation.

"Anika McCall," I whispered, the name a venomous taste in my mouth. "Your entire fortune. To her."

He walked over, picked up the laptop, and quickly minimized the window. His fingers flew across the keyboard, changing the password with a speed that spoke of practiced deceit. He didn't even look at me when he finished.

"It's just a placeholder, Elinor," he said, his voice annoyingly calm. "A contingency plan. You know Anika's health is delicate. I'm her benefactor, her protector."

"A placeholder for seven years?" I asked, my voice rising, finally cracking. "Since before we were married, Holden? The password is her birthday! What kind of placeholder is that?"

He sighed, a sound of profound annoyance. "Must you be so dramatic? It's a complex financial strategy. Not everything is about 'love,' Elinor. Some things are simply... arrangements."

Arrangements. The word sliced through me. Our marriage, my devotion, my belief that he loved me for saving his life – it was all an arrangement. A repayment. A transaction.

"I want a divorce," I said, the words tasting like ash.

He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "A divorce? After all this time? Now, when you're carrying my child?" He leaned closer, his eyes cold and hard. "Don't be foolish, Elinor. You' re not going anywhere."

"What do you mean, I'm not going anywhere?" My heart pounded, a frantic drum against my ribs.

"Anika," he began, and the name alone sent a shiver down my spine, "she has a congenital heart condition. You know this. It's exacerbated by stress. Carrying a child would be too dangerous for her."

My blood ran cold. The implications hit me like a physical blow. "You mean... I'm just a vessel?"

He didn't deny it. "You're strong, Elinor. You're healthy. This child... this is for Anika. Our legacy. I always intended for you to bear my heir, to carry on the Terry name. But Anika will raise him. She deserves that."

He spoke of my child, our child, as if he were a commodity. As if I were a surrogate, easily discarded once my purpose was served. He planned to take my baby, the child I already loved with every fiber of my being, and give him to her. To Anika.

A sudden, sharp pain flared in my lower back, a tightening in my belly. My baby. My precious, innocent baby. They wouldn't have him. Not over my dead body.

The thought, dark and chilling, settled in my mind. Not over my actual dead body. No. But what if I wasn't here? What if I simply... disappeared? What if I ceased to exist in their world? The thought, once terrifying, now felt like the only path to freedom.

I looked at Holden, his face devoid of warmth, his eyes fixed on some distant, calculated future that didn't include me as a loving wife or a mother. He saw me as a means to an end.

A new kind of resolve hardened within me. A protectiveness so fierce it eclipsed everything else. I would not be his vessel. My child would not be Anika's trophy.

I closed my eyes, took a shaky breath, and swallowed the bitter taste of betrayal. I would vanish. I would become a ghost. And I would take my son with me, to a place where his father's cold, calculating grasp could never reach him.

Holden turned away, already done with the conversation. He walked into his study, the heavy oak door slamming shut, a final punctuation mark on our seven-year lie. I was alone, standing in the opulent living room that now felt like a gilded cage. My hand stroked my belly, tracing the curves of the life forming within me. My son. My reason.

The seed was planted. A desperate, terrifying, yet utterly clear plan began to form in the shattered pieces of my mind. I would burn it all down. Not his empire, but my own existence within it. I would fake my own death. And I would reclaim my life, and my child's, from the ashes. I had to. For my baby, I had to.

The tightening in my abdomen intensified, a sharp warning. This wasn't just pain anymore; it was a battle cry. I would fight for us. And I would win.