Chapter 4: Pregnant With Revenge

When I arrived, the two of them were strolling in the cathedral gardens. Both were refined and elegant—a perfect match. Though they were to be married in a month, there was little intimacy between them. No wonder Michael had so many rules in bed. Before we married, every kiss was a big deal—he thought I wasn’t respectful enough. After marriage, even sleeping together was a hassle. No lights, no sharing the shower, not even in the living room. It was all ingrained from birth.

Not like me—I live for the day, rules be damned.

I watched as his fiancée stumbled and fell into his arms. Michael looked down; their faces were inches apart.

Are they about to kiss?

I quickly pulled out some sunflower seeds, ready to snack and watch.

But then Michael’s face twisted like he’d stepped in dog crap.

I froze. What kind of reaction was that?

Does Miss Covington have bad breath or something?

I stifled a laugh, wondering if the perfect couple was about to have their first real fight.

The next moment, Rachel gasped, covered her nose, and stepped back.

I looked closely—hah! Michael really had stepped in dog poop.

Not far away, a young altar boy was holding a chubby golden retriever puppy, broom in hand, clearly there to clean up the mess. But seeing the scene, he was petrified.

Rachel Covington was ruthless—she wanted to beat the puppy and break the boy’s hands.

She raised her voice, face twisted with rage, but the boy just cowered, clutching the squirming pup. I felt a flicker of sympathy—nobody deserved to be on the wrong end of Rachel’s temper.

But Michael, a bit impatient, said, “Why stain this sacred place with their blood?”

His tone was icy, cutting through the tension like a knife.

Even Rachel hesitated, her anger cooling in the face of his indifference.

Only then did Rachel let it go, and the two went off to see the rose garden.

I watched them walk away, Rachel’s heels sinking into the soft earth.

Originally, I’d planned to brush off Michael, tell him Lena had found another man. But now I’d changed my mind—these two didn’t deserve to marry so easily.

A slow grin spread across my face.

I would give them a wedding gift they’d never forget—something to haunt them for the rest of their lives.

I strapped on a prosthetic belly, and soon I looked convincingly pregnant.

A little padding, a little acting, and suddenly I was the scandal of the season.

With my big belly, I checked into a restaurant owned by the Covington family.

I made sure to waddle just a bit, hand on my stomach for effect.

“Manager, you’ve seen a lot of people—have you seen this man?” I showed him Michael’s portrait.

His hands shook as he took the photo, eyes darting between me and the door.

I said, matter-of-fact, “He’s my husband. He’s from New York, and I’m here seeking my family because I’m carrying his child.”

I said it loud enough for the room to hear, making sure every gossip-loving patron caught every word.

The manager was terrified. He ordered the waiters to keep an eye on me and rushed to report to the Covingtons.

I sat leisurely on the second floor, sipping sweet tea.

When I got into town, I’d “accidentally” dropped the portrait. I was sure Sterling security had already flagged my search.

Let them come to me for once.

Michael, let’s see who gets here first—you or Rachel Covington.

Rachel arrived just before Michael.

Her eyes narrowed when she saw me, lips curling into a sneer.

She sneered, “A lowly country girl like you, and you think you can compete with me? Even if you’re pregnant, it’s just a bastard.”

She said it quietly, so only I could hear.

I stood up and slapped her hard across the face, my laugh ice-cold: “Vicious woman! It’s bad enough you’re stealing my husband—now you want to kill my unborn child!”

The crack of my hand echoed in the room, drawing gasps from the staff.

Rachel was stunned, as if she couldn’t believe I’d dare hit her.

Her cheeks flushed, eyes wide.

I was sure she wouldn’t dare expose her identity. If word got out that a Covington got slapped by a country girl, she’d be the laughingstock of New York society. That’d hurt more than death.

Reputation was everything in their world, and I knew exactly how to twist the knife.

Michael arrived just then. He came over, frowning, trying to explain. Before he could speak, I slapped him too.

My palm stung, but it was worth it. I’d waited a long time for this moment.

Michael’s eyelashes trembled. His face was blank, but his ears were bright red.

He looked at me like he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or impressed.

I smirked, daring him to make a move.

I meant to slap him a few more times, but hesitated—what if this bastard actually enjoyed it?

His guards instantly reached for their holsters.

The tension in the room spiked, hands hovering over guns.

Rachel glared at me. “Ignorant hick! Do you even know who you’re standing in front of?”

“Shut up!” I slapped her again. “This is between me and my husband—when did it become your place to butt in?”

Her eyes filled with tears, but I didn’t buy it for a second.

Michael spoke softly, “Lena, let’s talk in private.”

His voice was gentle, almost pleading. For a second, I saw a flicker of the man I used to know.

“No need.” I handed him the divorce papers, coldly. “Michael Sterling, you’ve been gone for half a year seeking your family. Clearly you’ve found fortune. This woman says she’s your fiancée—I don’t want to be involved anymore. From now on, I’ll be happy, you’ll be miserable, and we’ll live our own lives!”

The words tasted bittersweet, but I meant every one. I was done being anyone’s second choice.