BENEATH HER ASHES

Delilah Tomson – Point of View

Delilah Tomson always gets what she wants. Nothing is ever out of her reach. I am fearless, bold, and unapologetically determined. I write my own love stories, and nothing will stand in the way of my happy ending.

Jackson Jack is my soulmate. He may be married to Emily now, but that was clearly a mistake. Very soon, he will kick her out of that oversized mansion and out of his life for good.

"How far along are you? I have been waiting for this baby for months!" I ask the woman carrying my future in her womb.

When Jackson told me he wanted to leave me to focus on the family he and Emily had always dreamed of, I had to act fast. The brilliant idea that saved everything? I told him I was pregnant. Ever since, he has been doting on me, completely fooled by the fake belly I have been sweating under in this unbearable heat.

I even put my modeling career on hold, sacrificing everything so the world believes this perfect lie. I cannot risk Emily giving birth before my surrogate does. If she does, everything I have built will collapse.

As if the day could not get any worse, I get a text from Jackson demanding to meet. Not requesting , demanding. My gut twists. He never talks to me like that. Something is wrong.

Rumor has it Jackson has been selected for the next Best Businessman Issue magazine cover, and they plan to feature him with his wife. Of course. Jackson cares deeply about his image. News of a pregnant mistress would ruin him, but he would not dare break up with me. Not when he thinks I am carrying his son.

After a quick shower, I stare at myself in the mirror. My body is perfect. Sculpted. Beautiful. But hidden beneath maternity dresses and this ridiculous prop of a belly. The moment my surrogate gives birth, I will show the world who I truly am again.

I pour myself a glass of wine and settle on the balcony with an hour to spare before meeting Jackson. I should be enjoying the quiet, but my peace is shattered by a phone call.

"Delilah, you have to do something or we are ruined! Everything we have worked for will be in vain. I cannot go back to poverty!"

It is my sister, Rosaline who is my eyes and ears. She has been working as Jackson's personal assistant for months, and he still does not know she is my sister. She is around him more than anyone, including his wife.

"Jackson is planning to break up with you today," she says.

I laugh. Loudly.

Jackson thinks I am pregnant with his heir. He would never walk away. Rosa must be mistaken.

But then she says something I never thought Jackson would say . "He told his friend he would never raise a bastard child."

That one stings.

Clearly, Jackson has forgotten who he is dealing with. It is time this affair became public.

"Tell your guy to message Emily. Send her Jackson's location. Let us end this perfect little fantasy she calls a marriage."

Today, Emily Jacobs will receive the worst news of her life.

Her best friend is her husband's mistress.

No one walks away from Delilah Tomson.

Emily Jacobs – Point of View

A typical morning for a pregnant twenty-five-year-old married to a wealthy man looks something like this: My husband, Jackson, is rarely home when I wake up either he is traveling for business or off to an early meeting. Still, he always makes sure I am well taken care of in his absence.

The alarm rings, and I hit snooze a few times before sliding into my soft, fuzzy slippers. I head to my peaceful garden, where my yoga instructor waits.

Nothing compares to this garden : the scent of delicate roses, cheerful tulips, and the gentle murmur of the waterfall statue at its center. It is my daily paradise.

After yoga, I follow the irresistible smell of toast and avocado coming from the kitchen, where my personal chef is already preparing breakfast.

Just as I sit at the dining table, a notification flashes on my phone.

"Your husband is cheating on you with your best friend."

Attached is a photo: Jackson and Delilah entering hotel room number seven.

I stare in disbelief. My pregnant best friend... and my husband?

No. This has to be fake. Someone must have doctored this image. Jackson and Delilah adore me. They would never!

I force myself to ignore the message, refusing to give it power. I return to my breakfast and gently cradle my belly, smiling at the kicks of my growing babies.

Still... the thought creeps in.

Could they really betray me?

I shake my head, trying to push the suspicion away, but it will not leave me alone. Finally, curiosity wins.

I reply to the message.

"Send me his live location."

Within seconds, I receive a pin.

If this is true... I need to see it with my own eyes.

Delilah's Point of View

"Everything has been set. The car tracker shows that she is on her way to the hotel as we speak."

I read the message my younger sister sent me, and a wicked smile curls on my lips. The trap has been laid perfectly. I have waited too long for this moment, and soon Emily will witness the truth with her own eyes. She will finally know that her precious husband, Jackson, has been mine for years.

I smooth down the satin red dress that hugs every curve of my body. The slit along the side rides high, revealing just enough leg to keep Jackson intrigued but not suspicious. My fake baby bump presses tightly against the fabric, giving me the illusion of carrying his child. The irony makes me chuckle. I went all out tonight : flawless makeup, blood-red lips, and stilettos that could stab the heart of any woman who dares to cross me. But it is not the heels doing the stabbing tonight, it is the truth.

As soon as we enter the hotel room, I walk over to the minibar and pour Jackson his favorite whiskey : two cubes of ice, no more. I know how to calm him. I know how to lull him into comfort. Every little detail matters because I need him in that room when Emily walks in.

Jackson takes the glass from me, his eyes scanning me with a mixture of desire and confusion. He tries to speak, to bring up why we are meeting on such short notice, but I cut him off with chatter about work, travel, anything to keep him distracted. I cannot let him leave before she arrives.

He finally places the glass on the nightstand, clears his throat, and fixes me with a cold, almost detached stare.

"Delilah, I think it is best that we put an end to this relationship," he says flatly. "Emily's due date is near. I need to focus on my little family. I do not need distractions."

His words hit me like a slap across the face, but I do not let it show. Five years. Five years of lies, lust, and stolen time, and this man dares to treat me like some passing fling? I place my hand over my faux bump and let my eyes well with fake tears.

"You cannot just walk away, Jackson. I am carrying your child," I whisper, voice trembling on cue.

He narrows his eyes at me. "You will never be half the woman Emily is."

That one sentence cuts deeper than I expected. My fists clench behind my back, but my smile does not waver. Instead, I soften my voice, letting the emotion crack through.

"Then give me just one last night," I plead. "Let me say goodbye the right way."

His expression shifts, lust darkening his features. He nods slowly, foolishly thinking I want him one last time. What a pathetic man. I reach for the buttons on his shirt, fingers slow and sensual, feeding the illusion.

He has not seen me undressed since my fake belly began to show. It has been four long months of dodging intimacy and staying one step ahead. I cannot risk him discovering the truth that there is no child. Just a carefully crafted lie.

Suddenly, a knock at the door interrupts our twisted dance.

My heart skips.

I pray it is not room service. I cannot stall much longer. The fool beside me is seconds from pouncing. I glide across the room, stalling with every step, hoping and praying that it is her.

Emily.

Emily's Point of View

My palms are damp, and my heart feels like a wild animal caged in my chest. The ride here was a blur. I do not even remember getting dressed, but somehow I am in one of my favorite maternity dresses, the pale blue one Jackson once said made me glow.

As I step out of the cab in front of the luxurious five-star hotel, my belly shifts and I pause. A sudden kick from inside startles me.

"Ow," I whisper, gently rubbing my side. The babies' movements are sharper these days. Stronger. Like they know something is wrong too.

There is another kick. A hard one.

"It is okay, babies," I murmur, trying to soothe all of us. "We are going to be okay."

I walk into the hotel, pretending to be calm. My heels click against the marble floors with the confidence I do not feel. I keep my head high. I have been here before, for brunch with Jackson. I remember the chandeliers, the scent of roses in the lobby, the friendly staff. All of it now feels fake. Like part of a dream I am about to wake up from.

The elevator doors open, and I step inside. A hotel staff member joins me , a young man with kind eyes. I slip a hundred-dollar bill into his hand, hoping the desperation in my voice does not give me away.

"Room seven. Please. Take me there."

He nods, no questions asked. On the way up, my babies kick again, this time a steady rhythm against my ribs. Each movement is a reminder that I am not alone. That whatever I am about to walk into, I must survive. For them.

Room number seven.

He leaves me at the door.

I take a deep breath, every bone in my body trembling. My hand shakes as I knock.

The door opens almost immediately.

She was expecting me.

Delilah stands there, glowing. Her red dress is flawless, her belly proudly displayed. Her eyes sparkle, and her lips part into a smile that makes my stomach twist.

"Emily," she says sweetly. "Come in."

I step inside.

"Delilah, who is at the door? Another room service? How many whiskey bottles did you order? Come here and serve Daddy!"

His voice.

I round the corner and find him Jackson my husband. Naked. Rose petals cover the floor, candles flicker in the dim light, and soft jazz plays in the background. The bed is unmade. His favorite whiskey sits half-finished by the stand. The entire room reeks of betrayal.

He sees me and stumbles, scrambling to cover himself.

"Emily, I - this is not -"

But I do not hear him. I am too busy watching Delilah close the door behind me, victorious. She wanted this. She planned this. Every detail, every lie, every betrayal it all led to this moment.

I stand frozen, my arms instinctively wrapping around my belly as another sharp kick hits me.

My babies are still fighting.

But right now, I feel like I am breaking.

DELILAH – Point of View

The moment I hear a knock on the door, a rush of adrenaline hits me like a wave. I take a deep breath and walk toward the door with a victorious smile playing on my lips. Finally, she is here. My long-awaited guest of honor. Emily.

The timing could not be more perfect , Jackson my unsuspecting lover already has his shirt off and his ego puffed up thinking we are about to make love. Poor fool. He has no idea he is minutes away from destruction.

I open the door slowly, letting the suspense build. And there she is-Miss Perfect, standing in her heels and neatly pressed dress, her face a canvas of disbelief, hurt, and confusion. I drink in her expression like it is champagne. It was all worth it the lies, the scheming, the fake pregnancy, and even getting my little sister to track her location. This moment is my reward.

The priceless look on Emily's face nearly makes me laugh. Truly, I have never felt this satisfied. Watching her world crumble is the best kind of high. She finally knows the truth: her darling husband is not the saint she thought he was, and her perfect little family is built on lies.

"Babe, please, do not jump to conclusions," Jackson blurts, practically tripping over himself to get out of the bed and reach for his pants. "There is an explanation for all this... Right, Delilah?"

He turns to me like I am going to help him spin a story, but I have never had any intention of saving him. I am here to burn it all down.

I smirk and cross my arms, the fake bump beneath my tight crimson dress slightly shifting. The satin hugs my curves, accentuating every inch of me, just as planned. My long hair cascades over my shoulders in soft waves, and my deep red lipstick completes the look of betrayal with elegance. Jackson's favorite scent vanilla and amber lingers on my skin, a subtle reminder of our nights together. I planned every detail, down to the shimmer on my cheekbones and the sultry lace of my lingerie peeking through the slit in my dress.

I move closer to Emily and let the words drip from my mouth like poison.

"I am pregnant with Jackson's child. He is the secret billionaire boyfriend I have been gushing about. The one who promised to leave his wife for me." I pause and rest my hand on my belly. "I am due any day now. I am carrying his firstborn son. His heir."

Emily's jaw drops slightly, her mouth parting as if she wants to speak but does not have the strength. Her eyes flick to Jackson, who is desperately pulling his shirt over his head, his hands trembling. I bet she never imagined this betrayal coming from both of us. Her best friend and her husband.

And I do not stop there.

"Jackson and I have been together for years. Long before your little fairytale wedding. He was mine before he was yours, and now he is coming back to where he belongs. With me and our son."

Jackson opens his mouth, probably to deny it all, but I cut him off with a sweet smile that could curdle milk.

"Do not act like you did not want this, Jackson. Remember what you told me last week? That you could not stand the sound of her voice anymore? That I am the only woman who understands you?"

I lie with such ease, I almost convince myself.

Emily staggers slightly, and I can see her knees weaken beneath the weight of the truth or at least the version of truth I am feeding her. The air in the room shifts. Even the flickering candles seem to sense the drama unfolding. Jackson's whiskey glass sits untouched by the bed, a symbol of a plan disrupted.

Suddenly, Emily lets out a scream, clutching her stomach in pain. At first, I think she is just overwhelmed, but then I see it.

Blood.

It trickles down her legs and pools on the expensive carpet.

"Jackson..." she gasps, her voice raw with panic. "The babies... Something is wrong..."

Her legs give out and she collapses to the floor. I step back instinctively, shocked. This... was not in the plan.

"Emily!" Jackson yells, falling to his knees beside her, cradling her head. "Delilah, call an ambulance! Now!"

He is panicking. The man who just had his hands on my waist is now weeping for his wife. I freeze for a moment, heart racing not out of concern, but strategy. This could work in my favor. If she loses the babies...

I finally take out my phone and dial emergency services.

"Hello, we need an ambulance. A pregnant woman is bleeding and in severe pain. Room seven. Please hurry."

As I hang up, I kneel beside her with fake concern plastered on my face.

"Stay strong, Em," I say softly, brushing hair from her sweaty forehead. "Help is on the way."

She does not respond. She is in too much pain, whispering over and over again, "Please, not my babies... please..."

Inside, I am cold. Calculating. If those babies do not make it, Jackson will be broken and vulnerable. And I will be right there to pick up the pieces. My surrogate is due soon. Once my 'child' is born, and hers are gone, there will not be any more questions. No more competition. Just me, Jackson, and our future.

But for now, I play the role.

The sirens wail in the distance, getting closer.

Jackson clutches Emily, rocking her slightly as if that will keep the babies safe. His tears fall freely now, soaking into her dress.

"Please hold on, my love," he pleads, kissing her forehead. "You and the babies... please be okay..."

I look at him, still holding her hand, and for the first time in a long time... I feel something stir. Jealousy. Real, gut-deep envy. The way he is holding her like she is his whole world, the way his voice cracks in despair... he has never looked at me like that. Never.

But he will.

When she is gone, he will.

The paramedics burst through the door moments later, and chaos takes over. They ask questions, check vitals, and lift Emily carefully onto a stretcher. Blood still pools on the floor, staining the plush carpet. Jackson does not look back as he follows her out the door.

And just like that, I am alone.

I walk to the bed and sit on the edge, the silence of the room swallowing me whole. My fingers glide over the smooth curve of my fake belly. It is uncomfortable now, but necessary. My baby no, the surrogate's baby is the key to everything.

Everything is going exactly as planned.

Except now... a small, unfamiliar voice whispers in the back of my mind.

What if he never chooses you?

I shake it off and reach for Jackson's glass of whiskey, sipping slowly as I stare out the hotel window.

He will. He has no choice.

Because once Emily's babies are gone...

I will be the only family he has left.