Part 2The Childfree Wife's Secret Baby

I sat on the curb, wiping the blood from my brow, when the front door opened again.

Margot walked out. She didn't look worried; she looked annoyed, like I was a stain on her driveway she needed to scrub out.

"Roman, look. Not telling you was... an oversight," she said, crossing her arms.

"An oversight?" I laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. "I haven't even had a chance to congratulate you, Mrs. St. James. Or is it Mrs. Felix now?"

Her expression hardened. "Stop being dramatic. Your mother had a second family, didn't she? Your dad sucked it up for your sake. Why can't you have the same grace?"

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a reasonable, almost business-like tone. "Felix and I... it was an accident. But his family needs an heir. I couldn't deny him that. Leo can call you 'Dad' too, if you want. He'll take care of us when we're old."

"So, I'm supposed to just accept this? Share you?"

"Stop acting like a jealous woman, Roman. It's unbecoming."

My crushed fingers throbbed, but the pain in my chest was worse. I tasted copper in my mouth. She knew—she knew—that my father died of a heart attack the day he found out about my mom’s affair. She was using my deepest trauma as a bargaining chip.

"You were gone for months at a time," she continued, gaining momentum. "Always talking about training, missions. You came home smelling like sweat and gun oil. What woman wants that?"

She paused, delivering the final blow with surgical precision. "I told you I wanted to be 'child-free' because the thought of you touching me made my skin crawl. I just didn't want to hurt your feelings."

The silence that followed was deafening.

For ten years, I lived like a monk for her. I climbed the ranks for her. I pretended to be rich when we met because she said she liked ambitious men, then found out she was the rich one, and I stayed humble.

"You were disgusted by me," I whispered. "Margot, I worshipped the ground you walked on."

"Oh, grow up," she snapped, checking her watch—a delicate Cartier, not the stolen Omega. "Apologize to Felix. Immediately. I can get your job back with one phone call. You want to be a Captain, right? I can make that happen. In my heart, you're still my legal husband. Felix is just... necessary. He won't threaten your status."

My status.

She thought I wanted a promotion? I wanted to give her a good life.

"No," I said.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the house. "Fine. Sulk. Come back when you're ready to be an adult."

I limped back to our old apartment—the one I paid for.

The key didn't work.

I called a locksmith. When the door finally swung open, I wish it hadn't.

My sanctuary, the 900-square-foot apartment where we’d spent our first years, was unrecognizable. It was filled with histhings.

I walked into the master bedroom. My side of the closet was empty. My clothes, my uniforms, my gear—gone. Replaced by rows of garish designer suits that reeked of Felix’s cologne.

The doorbell rang.

It was Margot’s personal assistant, a man named Lee. He looked at me with open disdain.

"We got a call from building management about a break-in," Lee sneered. "You've got some nerve, breaking into private property."

"Private property?" I laughed, feeling the edge of hysteria. "The deed has my name on it, Lee."

Lee pulled out his tablet and held it up. A digital copy of the deed.

Owner: Felix Henderson.

"Mr. Henderson owns this unit," Lee said, looking down his nose at me. "You’re just a squatter. Get out before I call the cops. The real cops."

The grief finally hit me then, a tidal wave of black water. But I refused to cry. Not in front of them.

"Tell her," I said, my voice shaking with suppressed rage, "that I don't want the apartment. I don't want the money. I want a divorce."