On Our Tenth Anniversary, He Announced His Mistress’s Pregnancy – At our lavish wedding anniversary party, with North Carolina’s elite gathered in attendance, my husband, Clint Fleming, announced something. He and Odette Ervin—the housekeeper’s daughter—would be preparing to have a child. I overturned the dinner table in front of us. Yet instead of shame, his furrowed brow and cold words made me the object of ridicule. “Soleil! When did you become so unreasonable? I married you even knowing you’re infertile.
Now, do you mean to condemn this family to die without an heir?” The moment the word infertile left his lips, the entire hall filled with sighs. Dozens of disdainful and disappointed gazes pierced me like knives. “The Bellemares’s daughter doesn’t even know her place! Would the Flemings, standing at the top of the business world, really allow their legacy to end with a woman like her?” “An infertile woman dares cling to the Flemings? My god, that’s shameless beyond belief!” His mother’s expression darkened.
She called for the family law: a rod as thick as a forearm, meant to strike across the flesh. “Pull down her trousers and beat her. This family does not need a daughter-in-law who disregards the greater good.” The searing pain came swiftly and brutally. I fainted three times, only to be revived each time by buckets of cold water. By the time my body was broken and raw, flesh and blood mangled beyond recognition, Clint finally opened his mouth to intercede. “Mom, that’s enough.
Odette is still preparing for pregnancy. Such a bloody scene—it’s not good for your future grandchild to witness it.” He shielded Odette in his arms, covering her eyes gently. “Don’t look,” he murmured. “It’s filthy.” I let out a bitter laugh. In that instant, I understood—the ten years of marriage I believed to be built on devotion had been nothing but a complete defeat. With trembling hands, I opened a chat window that had remained unopened for a decade. [You once said you’d steal me away at the wedding. Does that promise still stand?] —— The reply came instantly.
[On one condition.] I stared at the chat window with the remark name, Alec Sargent, momentarily stunned. My marriage to Clint had been arranged since childhood—an agreement sealed by our families. Alec, my childhood companion, knew all too well how impossible it was to escape such alliances in North Carolina’s circle of power. That so-called “stolen marriage” back then had long been brushed off as just a joke between us. This time, when I reached out to him, it was only because I needed someone to confide in, a place to let my emotions spill.
Never had I expected him to say he’d waited ten years for me. My fingers trembled above the keyboard, afraid that whatever condition he would raise might be too difficult to bear. But before I could reply, another message popped up on the screen. [I want you to start dancing again.] My heart skipped a beat. Memories I thought buried surged up like a tide. If not for his words, I might have almost forgotten—I was not only Clint’s wife but also the cherished daughter of the Bellemares, and once upon a time, a world dance champion.
Once, I had been a rising star with the world at my feet. But marriage had reduced me to nothing more than a man’s accessory, nearly no different from a tool for bearing children. I typed slowly.