His Secret Life, My Broken Trust

Name: His Secret Life, My Broken Trust
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Gavin

Short stories | Completed

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My perfect life shattered when I heard another woman's voice on my husband's watch, but that was just the beginning of his betrayal. He orchestrated a car crash that killed our unborn child, all to steal my company and be with his secret family. He thought he broke me, but he just unleashed a monster hell-bent on burning his entire world to the ground.

Crime Betrayal Revenge Pregnancy CEO

Chapter 20

Yesterday 15:27

Chapter 1

My perfect life shattered when I heard another woman's voice on my husband's watch, but that was just the beginning of his betrayal.

He orchestrated a car crash that killed our unborn child, all to steal my company and be with his secret family.

He thought he broke me, but he just unleashed a monster hell-bent on burning his entire world to the ground.

Chapter 1

Alexandra Smith POV:

The first crack in my perfect life wasn't a fight or a lie, but a woman's voice on my husband's watch, a voice that wasn't mine.

I was seeing Edward off at the door, our morning ritual. His hand was on the small of my back, a familiar, warm pressure. The scent of his cologne, sandalwood and bergamot, filled the space between us. He was flying to a tech conference in Seattle, a trip I usually made with him, but at three months pregnant, my doctor had advised against non-essential travel.

"I'll miss you," he murmured, his lips brushing my temple. "Both of you." His other hand came to rest gently on my still-flat stomach. A genuine smile, the kind that had made me fall for the heir to the Cardenas tech dynasty, lit up his handsome face.

"We'll miss you too," I said, leaning into his embrace. "Call me when you land."

"Always." He gave me one last, lingering kiss before turning to go.

As he picked up his briefcase, his smartwatch, a sleek silver band I'd gifted him for our anniversary, slipped from his wrist and clattered onto the marble floor.

"Oops," he said, already halfway out the door. "Can you grab that for me, darling? I'm going to miss my flight."

"Of course." I bent down, my fingers closing around the cool metal. As I picked it up, the screen lit up with a notification. It was a voice memo. My thumb brushed the play icon by accident.

A woman's voice, husky and low, filled the quiet foyer. "Don't forget our little arrangement, Eddie. I'm counting on you to get it done."

The air in my lungs turned to ice. My blood ran cold. Eddie. No one called him Eddie except for his mother and... Carla Patterson.

My breath hitched. I stood frozen, the watch heavy in my hand, the ghost of that voice echoing in the sudden, cavernous silence of our home. It couldn' t be. Carla was my professional rival, a ruthless executive at a competing firm. But she was also Edward's childhood friend. He'd always assured me their relationship was purely platonic, a relic of their shared upbringing.

My mind raced, trying to piece it together. An arrangement? What arrangement? My thoughts were a tangled mess of disbelief and a rising, sickening dread.

I had to know.

The decision was instant, a spark of adrenaline cutting through the fog of shock. I wasn't going to sit here for three days, letting this poison fester in my mind.

Without a second thought, I grabbed my purse and keys, leaving the watch on the hall table. I didn't call him back. I didn't send a text. I just walked out of our house, got into my smart car-one of my own company's prototypes-and booked the next flight to Seattle on my phone as the engine purred to life.

The flight was a blur of anxiety. Every benign smile from a flight attendant felt like a judgment. Every bump of turbulence felt like my world tilting off its axis. I kept replaying her voice in my head. Our little arrangement. It was intimate. Conspiratorial.

When I landed in Seattle, the city's signature gray gloom matched my mood perfectly. I took a cab to the hotel where the conference was being held, my heart hammering against my ribs. I didn't have a plan. I just needed to see him, to look him in the eye and gauge his reaction.

I found him not in a conference hall, but in the hotel's dimly lit lounge bar. And he wasn't alone.

He was in a secluded booth, laughing, his head bent close to another's. A woman's hand, nails painted a sharp, predatory red, rested on his arm. It was Carla. Her sleek blonde hair fell like a curtain, partially obscuring their faces, but there was no mistaking her.

Then, she leaned in, and her lips met his in a kiss that was anything but platonic. It was hungry, familiar, possessive. My husband, the man who had placed a tender hand on our unborn child just hours ago, kissed her back with equal fervor.

The sight shattered something deep inside me. It wasn't just a crack anymore; it was a complete implosion. The glass I was holding slipped from my numb fingers and crashed to the floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden silence that had enveloped my world.

Carla's head snapped up. Her eyes, cold and blue, widened in shock as they met mine across the room. A flicker of triumph, quickly masked, danced in their depths. I remembered the day she' d attended our wedding, her smile as bright as her dress, telling me, "You're so lucky, Alexandra. Edward is one of the good ones. I'll always look out for him for you." The memory was now coated in a thick layer of poison.

She nudged Edward, her expression shifting to one of feigned alarm. They scrambled out of the booth, their movements clumsy with guilt, and were gone before I could force my legs to move.

I tried to follow, stumbling over the broken glass, but my body wouldn't cooperate. A wave of nausea and dizziness washed over me, my vision blurring at the edges. My hand went to my stomach, a primal, protective instinct.

Somehow, I made it out of the hotel and onto the rain-slicked street. My mind was a chaotic storm of denial. It was a mistake. A misunderstanding. There had to be an explanation.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling as I dialed his number. It rang once, twice, before he picked up.

"Alex? Is everything okay?" His voice was strained, breathless.

"Where are you, Edward?" I asked, my own voice a hoarse whisper.

"In my room, darling. Just got out of a long session. Exhausted. Why?"

The lie was so blatant, so effortless, it stole the air from my lungs. Behind him, I could hear it-the faint, distinctive chime of the Seattle streetcar passing by. He wasn't in his room. He was outside. He was with her.

"Liar," I choked out, the word tasting like bile. I hung up before he could respond.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and blinding. The betrayal was a physical weight, crushing my chest, making it impossible to breathe. I started walking, with no destination in mind, just needing to move, to escape the image of that kiss burned into my brain. The city lights blurred into a watercolor of pain.

I stepped off the curb, my mind completely detached from my body.

The squeal of tires was the last thing I heard.

A blinding light, a horrific impact, and then... darkness.

My next conscious thought was a dull, throbbing pain. I was floating in a sea of white. White ceiling, white sheets, the sterile, antiseptic smell of a hospital.

A nurse was checking my IV drip. She gave me a gentle, pitying smile. "You're awake. You were in a bad accident. A targeted cyberattack on your car's navigation and braking systems. The police are investigating. You're very lucky."

But I didn't feel lucky. I felt hollowed out. A deep, aching emptiness centered in my womb.

My hand flew to my stomach. It felt different. Lighter. Wrong.

"My baby," I rasped, my throat raw. "Is my baby okay?"

The nurse's smile faltered. She looked away, her expression softening into one of profound sadness. "The doctor will be in to speak with you soon."

But I already knew. I knew from the cavernous void inside me, a place that had been filled with hope and life just hours ago. The doctor's words were just a formality, a clinical confirmation of the wreckage I already felt in my soul.

"Due to the trauma of the crash," he said, his voice gentle but firm, "we were unable to save the pregnancy. I'm so very sorry, Ms. Smith."

A scream clawed its way up my throat, but no sound came out. The world dissolved into a silent, agonizing vortex of grief. My child. Our child. Gone.

Edward arrived hours later, his face a perfect mask of concern and devastation. He rushed to my bedside, grabbing my hand. "Alex, my God. I was so worried. They just told me."

His touch felt like a brand. I recoiled, snatching my hand away.

"I called you," I said, my voice flat, dead. "You lied to me."

"What? No, darling, I was in a meeting that ran late, my phone was on silent. I rushed here as soon as I heard." The lies kept coming, smooth and practiced.

His phone, which he'd placed on the bedside table, buzzed. I glanced at the screen. A message from someone named "J.H."

My eyes narrowed. While Edward was feigning comfort, wrapping his arms around me in a hug that felt like a cage, I reached for his phone. My fingers moved with a life of their own, my tech-CEO brain taking over. His password was our anniversary. The irony was a bitter pill.

I opened his messages. The chat with "J.H." was at the top. It wasn't long, but it was enough to destroy what was left of my world.

J.H.: Is it done? Did the crash work?

Edward: Yes. The baby is gone.

J.H.: Good. Mother will be pleased. Carla's getting impatient. Remember the plan. Secure the source code for 'Prometheus' and we transfer the funds. Then you're free to be with her and little Theo.

Prometheus. My revolutionary AI source code. The lifeblood of my company.

Little Theo.

My blood turned to ice. A name. They had a child together. A son.

He hadn't just married me for love. He had married me to destroy me. The car crash wasn't an accident. The loss of my baby wasn't a tragedy.

It was an execution.

The grief that had been consuming me moments before solidified into something else. Something cold, hard, and razor-sharp.

He was still holding me, whispering empty comforts into my hair. I let him. I leaned into his embrace, my mind a chillingly calm sea of calculation.

He thought he had broken me. He thought he had won.

He had no idea what he had just unleashed.

I closed my eyes, and in the darkness, a single, burning thought took root.

Vengeance.

I reached for my own phone, my fingers flying across the screen, my movements hidden by the hospital blanket. I dialed a number I had sworn I would never call again. The number of my mentor, the only father figure I'd ever known, Gabriel Oliver.

He answered on the first ring.

"Alexandra?" His voice was laced with concern.

"Gabriel," I whispered, my voice breaking with a pain that was now morphing into pure, unadulterated rage. "I need you. They tried to kill me."