Scars of Betrayal, Sisters' New Power

Alexis

Modern | Completed

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My unborn child died because my husband ignored my desperate pleas. He chose to prioritize a staged emergency from his manipulative adopted sister, Holly, leaving me and my own sister to be brutally attacked by thugs. As I bled out on the street, my sister, Jayde, finally got him on the phone. We heard his voice, calm and soothing, telling Holly everything was fine. When Jayde screamed that I was having a miscarriage, he accused us of being dramatic. "This is exactly what Holly warned us about," he said coldly, before hanging up. In the hospital, the doctors confirmed the worst. My baby was gone, and I could never have another. Jayde's hands, the hands of a brilliant concert pianist, were permanently crippled. Our husbands, the men who were supposed to protect us, had abandoned us for a lie. But as I stared at Jayde' s ruined hands and felt the crushing emptiness in my own body, a cold resolve solidified within me. They thought they had broken us. They had only forged us into something far more dangerous.

Betrayal Revenge Pregnancy Revenge Pregnancy

Chapter 10

01-06 22:33

Chapter 1

As I bled out on the street, my sister, Jayde, finally got him on the phone. We heard his voice, calm and soothing, telling Holly everything was fine. When Jayde screamed that I was having a miscarriage, he accused us of being dramatic.

"This is exactly what Holly warned us about," he said coldly, before hanging up.

In the hospital, the doctors confirmed the worst. My baby was gone, and I could never have another. Jayde's hands, the hands of a brilliant concert pianist, were permanently crippled. Our husbands, the men who were supposed to protect us, had abandoned us for a lie.

But as I stared at Jayde' s ruined hands and felt the crushing emptiness in my own body, a cold resolve solidified within me. They thought they had broken us. They had only forged us into something far more dangerous.

Chapter 1

My unborn child died because my husband chose to ignore my pleas, prioritizing a staged emergency from his manipulative adopted sister.

My name is Kaitlin Robles. For years, I was the perfect corporate wife, a beautiful accessory to Jayson Morgan, the elder heir of the Morgan Corporation. My sister, Jayde, a brilliant concert pianist, married his younger brother, Elliott. We were the envy of our social circle, living in gilded cages, believing ourselves loved and secure. The Morgans were known for their lavish displays of affection, for their unbreakable family bonds. We were part of that, weren't we?

I was eight months pregnant, feeling the flutter of life within me, a promise of the Morgan dynasty's future. Jayson had been distant, preoccupied with some vague family crisis involving Holly. He always was, whenever Holly needed attention. But this time felt different, a cold absence that chilled me more than usual.

The day everything shattered began like any other. Jayde and I were out for a walk, enjoying the crisp autumn air, talking about nursery colors and concert schedules. Our phones buzzed constantly with the usual social pleasantries, but a sense of unease settled over me. Jayson had been unreachable for hours, and my calls went straight to voicemail. Elliott was no different. Holly, I knew, had called them both, claiming a severe allergic reaction to a rare flower. An allergy she' d never mentioned in her entire life.

Then the world tilted.

A black van screeched to a halt beside us. Men, their faces covered, jumped out. My blood ran cold. This wasn't a random mugging. Their eyes, even through the slits in their masks, held a predatory focus. They knew who we were.

"Morgan wives," one sneered, his voice a gravelly whisper. "Time for a little chat about territory."

Panic seized me. I fumbled for my phone, my fingers slick with sweat. Jayson. I needed Jayson. I dialed, again and again. Nothing. Just the hollow ring, then voicemail. My heart slammed against my ribs. Jayde, stronger and quicker, had tried to fight, but they were too many, too strong. They shoved her against a wall, a sickening crack echoing in the quiet street.

"Call your husbands!" I screamed, my voice raw with terror, a plea torn from my very soul. "They won't let this happen!"

The leader, a hulking man with eyes like chipped ice, snatched my phone. He held it up, displaying Jayson's contact. "They're not answering, pretty lady. Too busy with their precious Holly, I suppose."

A cold dread spread through me, colder than any fear of pain. He knew about Holly. He knew about Jayson and Elliott's complete preoccupation. This wasn't just a mugging. This was orchestrated.

"Please," I begged, my hand instinctively going to my swelling belly. "Don't hurt my baby. I'll give you anything."

He laughed, a harsh, dry sound. "Anything? We want respect. And your husbands... they've forgotten where their priorities lie. A message needs to be sent."

I called Jayson again, my voice pleading, raspy. It rang, then went to voicemail. I left a message, a desperate cry for help, for him, for our child. I told him we were being attacked, that Jayde was hurt, that our baby was in danger. I begged him to listen.

There was no answer.

The leader grabbed me, his grip like iron. "Your husband thinks a little 'allergic reaction' is more important than his own flesh and blood?" He pressed a sharp object against my abdomen. "Let's see if he changes his mind when he loses his heir."

Fear, so profound it became a physical entity, clogged my throat. This wasn' t about territory for them, not really. It was about us, about Jayson and Elliott' s neglect. Someone had pointed them our way, knowing our vulnerability. Knowing our husbands would choose Holly.

I heard Jayde's scream then, a guttural sound of agony. One of the men was twisting her hands, her beautiful, artistic hands. Her career, her identity, was being crushed in front of my eyes.

"No!" I shrieked, struggling, fighting with a ferocity I didn't know I possessed. "Please! Just let us go! I'll tell Jayson to give you anything!"

The leader chuckled again. "Too late. The message is already sent. But we can make it clearer." He pressed harder against me. "Tell your husband... he doesn't deserve an heir."

Pain, hot and searing, ripped through my lower abdomen. A sharp, unbearable agony. I screamed, a long, piercing sound that tore from my core. I felt a gush, warm and sticky, between my legs. My baby. My baby was...

Darkness swirled at the edges of my vision. I collapsed, the world spinning. The pain was too much. The loss was too much. I was drowning in it, a cold ocean of despair. I felt myself fading, wishing for oblivion.

Then, through the haze, a familiar face blurred into view. Jayde. Her face was bruised and streaked with tears, her hands mangled and swollen, but her eyes held a fierce light.

"Kaitlin!" she cried, her voice hoarse, broken. "Kaitlin, stay with me!"

She was on her knees beside me, trying to stem the flow of blood, her ruined hands shaking. "Kaitlin, did you call Jayson? Elliott?"

"Voicemail," I whispered, the word tasting like ash. "They're with Holly."

Her face crumpled, a mask of shared betrayal. She fumbled for her own phone. "Elliott! Jayson! Pick up! Please, please, pick up!"

She put it on speaker. We heard it then. Jayson's voice, calm and reassuring. "Holly, darling, just breathe. We're here. Everything's fine." And Elliott's, equally soothing. "We'll get you the best doctors, Holly. Don't worry about a thing."

Jayde screamed into the phone, a sound of pure rage and agony. "You fools! Your wives are dying! Kaitlin is bleeding out! Are you deaf?! Are you blind?!"

A cold, clipped voice, Jayson's, cut in. "Jayde? What is this? Is this some kind of sick joke? Holly just had a severe anaphylactic reaction. We can't deal with your dramatics right now."

"Anaphylactic reaction?!" Jayde shrieked, tears streaming down her face. "Kaitlin's having a miscarriage! My hands are broken! Your precious Holly is playing you both for fools!"

There was a moment of stunned silence, then Jayson's voice, colder than ever. "You're lying. You're both always so dramatic. This is exactly what Holly warned us about." The line went dead. He had hung up.

Jayde stared at the phone, her face a mixture of disbelief and utter desolation. "He hung up," she whispered, her voice hollow.

A primal scream tore from my throat. My baby. My beautiful, innocent baby. They had let this happen. They had chosen a lie over us.

"We have to get you out of here," Jayde gasped, struggling to lift me. She scanned the empty street, her eyes wide with desperation. She tried calling emergency services, but her hands, swollen and mangled, made it difficult to dial.

"It's no use," I choked, my voice weak. "Just let me go."

"Never!" Jayde declared, her eyes blazing with determination. Despite her injuries, she somehow managed to drag me, inch by painful inch, down the alley. Every jostle sent fresh waves of agony through me. The attackers, having delivered their message, were gone, fading into the city's underbelly.

But the fear lingered, a raw, open wound.

As Jayde dragged me around a corner, we heard sirens. A patrol car, its lights flashing, turned into our street. Relief, so potent it made me dizzy, washed over me. The attackers, hearing the sirens, scattered like vermin.

The next thing I knew, I was in a hospital. The sterile white walls, the insistent beeping of machines. A doctor stood over me, his face grim.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Morgan," he said, his voice soft but firm. "We did everything we could. But the baby... it was too late."

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the last breath from my lungs. My baby was gone. The future I had envisioned, the tiny fingers and toes, the lullabies I would sing... all gone.

Then came the other blow. "And due to the extent of the trauma, Mrs. Morgan... it's highly unlikely you'll ever be able to carry another child to term."

The world went silent. My body was a wasteland. My womb, once a sanctuary, was now a tomb. Jayson's heir. The future of the Morgan dynasty. Gone. And the path to having another was sealed shut.

Jayde was in the bed next to mine, her hands heavily bandaged, splints holding her fingers rigid. The doctor had been equally grim with her. "Permanent nerve damage. Her career as a concert pianist... it's over."

Her vibrant, passionate sister, whose life was defined by the music she poured from her soul, was broken. And it was because Jayde, despite her own pain, had fought for me, had saved my life. She had sacrificed everything.

I looked at my sister, her eyes mirroring my own devastation. The husbands we had worshipped, the men who were supposed to protect us, had abandoned us. They had chosen Holly's lie over our lives, over their own children, over everything. And now we were left to pick up the pieces of our shattered existences. Two broken women, discarded, ruined.

But in that moment, as I stared at Jayde' s bandaged hands and felt the crushing emptiness in my own body, a new, cold resolve began to solidify within me. This wasn't the end. This was the beginning of something else. Something they wouldn't expect.