My Body, Their Betrayal: A Political Game

was just a calculated move in my husband's political game. A

ction, custody of my baby would be tra

s-discussing the plan. They called me a "walking incubator," a str

saction. They had turned my body into a po

at night, replaced by a cold, ca

trapped, a perfect prop

ade a fata

st tie that bound me to their monstrous ambition. Then, I picked up the phone

pte

ts. The faint hum of the server room in Cannon' s study was usually a comforting white noise, a steady beat to the rhythm of his ambition. Tonight, it was a predator' s purr. I was

name, Cannon's name, and Britni's, intertwined in a cold, clinical contract. My stomach dropped, a visceral lurch that echoed the sudden, brutal emptiness in

nnon' s voice, smooth as silk, drifted from the half-open door of his study. It was a murmu

ated. She' ll do anything for the family, for u

he desktop wallpaper, a picture of Cannon and me, smiling, arm-in-arm, mocked me with its

' s past. And the baby, it' ll be a beautiful, healthy one. Perfect genetics, perfect narrative.

mbol of our love, but as a strategic asset. A pawn in their political game. My throat

ect, healthy baby, will solidify her new image. It' s what she needs to truly be accepted." My father' s voice,

ed, unstable social media "influencer," whose life was a series of chaotic missteps and public m

trickling down my temples. My heart hammered against my ribs, an erratic drumbeat of terror and d

isioning the little hands that would soon reach for it. I had spent hours researching prenatal vitamins, d

y ribs. It wasn't just heartbreak; it was the violent tearing of the fabric of my entire existence. My life

shield the life within from the cruelty that surrounded it. A choked sob escaped my lips, quickly stifled, a desperate

only sound in my ears. Every fiber of my being screamed in silent protest. I was nothing more than a vessel. A

body stiffened, a primal instinct to hide. I scrambled to my feet, my muscles screaming in protest, my head throbbing.

ed, called out. He appeared in the doorway, his handsome face etch

ged to completely hide. His brow furrowed, a performance of affection that now felt like a grotesque par

manipulative balm designed to soothe, to reassure. He gently placed his palm on my forehead, his touch sending shivers

ponsive. I could feel the fake concern radiating off him, a sickening warmth that only amplified the cold emptiness within me. He

tbeat, strong and steady, vibrated through me, a stark contrast to the frantic chaos in my own.

ives. My parents, always distant, always prioritizing Britni' s latest drama, had pushed me towards stability, towards anything that would reflec

nce had balanced his flashy persona. I had even helped him discreetly manage some questionable campaign donations, brushing them und

ly stroking my hair. "Imagine, a little boy or

cal game. The realization solidified within me, cold and hard. The old Kira, the trusting, lo

" The lie tasted like ash. My gaze met his, and for the first time, I saw him not as my husband, but as