His Faked Infertility, My Sweet Revenge

I made my husband, Damian, the youngest Chief of Surgery in the country. I built his career from scratch, defying my own family to marry him.

Then, he asked me to give our au pair a six-figure salary and a company car.

He called me a cold-hearted bitch when I refused, claiming she was a poor single mother of five. But I saw her wearing my missing diamond bracelet and carrying a Chanel bag worth more than my car.

He flaunted their affair at a professional conference, calling me a "worthless capitalist princess" while she played the victim.

For years, I'd spent a fortune trying to cure his infertility. It was our secret pain. Now, he was using it to justify his affair with a "hyper-fertile" woman he claimed could give him the sons I couldn't.

As he stood on stage for his keynote speech, ready to accept an award, I walked past him to the podium. I had my own presentation to share with the live-streamed global audience-a slideshow of their eight-year affair, complete with hotel receipts and bank transfers.

Chapter 1

Ainsley POV:

My husband, Damian, the man whose career I built from scrap, whose name I elevated from obscurity, just sat across from me at our marble dining table and suggested we give our au pair a six-figure salary.

The candlelight flickered between us, casting long, dancing shadows on his face. He looked earnest, his brow furrowed with a manufactured concern that made my stomach tighten.

"A hundred thousand a year, Ainsley," he said, his voice low and reasonable, as if he were discussing a minor stock purchase. "And a company car. One of the Audis from the corporate fleet."

I set my wine glass down, the soft clink echoing in the sudden silence of the room. I kept my face a perfect, placid mask, the same one I wore in boardrooms when a junior executive presented a flawed projection. "Why?"

He sighed, a theatrical sound of weary compassion. "Casey's had it rough. You know her story. Single mother, five kids, sick parents back home she's supporting. She told me today her ex-husband hasn't paid child support in months. She's thinking of quitting, moving back to her parents' place to find a better paying job."

I let my gaze drift past Damian's shoulder. In the soft light of the living room, I could see Casey. She was ostensibly dusting a bookshelf, but her movements were slow, languid. She was wearing a pair of Lululemon leggings that hugged her curves and a simple white t-shirt that was just a little too tight. Her long, dark hair was piled messily on her head, tendrils escaping to frame a face that was always tilted in a look of gentle, wide-eyed innocence. On the floor beside her was a vintage Chanel bag, one I recognized from a charity auction last year. A bag that sold for more than the average person's annual salary.

Rough, indeed.

"A hundred thousand dollars, Damian," I repeated, my voice as cool and even as the polished stone of the table. "For an au pair."

He leaned forward, his hands clasped. "And full family health insurance. For her and her five children. Through the Pierce Corp plan."

The audacity of it was breathtaking. It was a punch to the gut delivered with a polite smile.

"Ainsley, please," he said, his eyes pleading. "I just want her to be stable. To feel secure here. For the sake of... continuity."

I picked up my fork and pushed a single pea around my plate. "Or, we could fire her and hire a new au pair. There are thousands of qualified candidates who would be grateful for the standard package."

He flinched, a subtle tightening around his eyes. "That's a cold way to look at it. We're talking about a human being."

"We're talking about an employee, Damian," I corrected him softly. "And what you're proposing sounds less like employment and more like... a kept woman."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he snapped, his voice rising. The mask of the compassionate husband was slipping.

"It means what it means."

"You're always like this!" he accused, his voice thick with a resentment I knew all too well. "Always so cynical, so suspicious. Can't you just have a little compassion? She's a single mother trying to survive."

I finally looked up, meeting his gaze directly. "You're the Chief of Surgery at a major hospital, a position I helped you secure. Your salary is substantial, but it's not enough to hand out a hundred-thousand-dollar charity package to the help. Where did you imagine this money would come from, Damian?"

He was silent, his jaw working. He had no answer, because the answer was obvious: it would come from me. From my family's wealth.

"We should be kind," he finally mumbled, looking away. "It's what decent people do."

I let out a soft, humorless laugh. "I'm not decent people, Damian. I'm a Pierce. We don't build empires on compassion. And I don't play the role of the benevolent saint."

I pushed my chair back and stood up, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. "Here's the deal. You have two options. You fire her by tomorrow morning, or I'll have my lawyer draft our divorce papers."

His head snapped up. "You'd divorce me over an au pair?"

"I would divorce you over this blatant disrespect." I looked at him, the man I had once loved so fiercely I had defied my own family for him. "Don't think I'm a fool, Damian. I know what's going on."

"Nothing is going on!" he yelled, slamming his hand on the table. The silverware jumped. "You're just a cold-hearted ball-buster! It's no wonder no one could ever love you!"

The words hung in the air, sharp and ugly. He had never spoken to me like that. Not once in our ten years together.

Just then, Casey scurried over, her eyes filled with crocodile tears. "Oh, Mrs. Pierce, please don't be mad at Dr. Hicks! It's all my fault. I shouldn't have burdened him with my problems." She looked up at Damian with pure, unadulterated adoration. "Dr. Hicks is the kindest man I've ever met. I'm just a divorced woman with five kids, a nobody. How could I possibly be a threat to someone like you?"

My eyes narrowed. The way she said "five kids" was pointed. A reminder. I glanced at the decorative pillows on the living room sofa, custom-made with a pattern from a niche anime Damian loved. The same pattern I' d seen on Casey' s phone case. I remembered the art prints in his study, a new acquisition he claimed he found online. They were by an artist whose work was almost identical to the selfies Casey posted on her private Instagram, the one he didn't know I had access to.

A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Is that what this is about, Damian?" I asked, my voice dripping with scorn. "You think I don't see it? Is it her looks? The way she plays the helpless victim? Or is it the five sons? You want to be an instant father without any of the biological trouble, is that it?"

His face went white. He glanced at Casey in a panic, then back at me. In one swift, shocking movement, he lunged forward and clamped his hand over my mouth.

"Shut up," he hissed, his eyes wild with fear and rage. He leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper right next to my ear. "I have a zero sperm count. I'm infertile. You know that. Are you trying to broadcast it to the whole world?"

Ainsley POV:

I shoved him away with a strength that surprised us both. He stumbled back, his hand falling from my face. The spot where he'd touched me felt contaminated, burned.

"So you're afraid she'll find out?" I sneered, my voice trembling with a rage so profound it felt like a physical illness. "Afraid your perfect, fertile little victim will be disgusted by your 'defect'?"

His eyes darted away, unable to meet mine. "That's between us, Ainsley. It's private." He tried to regain his footing, to appeal to a history I no longer recognized. "You were the one who took me to all those specialists. The best in the world. You said we'd find a cure."

"We will, Damian," he added, his voice softening into a weak, pathetic plea. "We'll have our own children one day."

Casey, ever the master of timing, chose that moment to speak, her voice a soft, wondering murmur. "That's so strange. Everyone in my family says I'm a 'hyper-fertile' type. You know, a baby magnet."

She preened, touching her flat stomach. "I had five boys, and the doctors said each one was a miracle. They said I could probably get pregnant even if my partner had... issues."

The implication was as subtle as a sledgehammer.

I watched Damian's face. A flicker of something-a desperate, ugly hope-flashed in his eyes before he quickly suppressed it. He took a step toward me, his movements stiff and unnatural, and wrapped an arm around my waist, a performative act of loyalty for Casey' s benefit.

"Ainsley is the only woman I will ever call my wife," he declared, his voice loud and hollow.

The words were meant to reassure me, but all they did was confirm my deepest fear. He was framing this as my failure. As if I were the one who couldn't give him a child.

A wave of nausea washed over me, so intense I had to grip the back of a chair to steady myself. The last six months replayed in my mind in sickening, high-definition clarity. The trip I took to a remote Swiss clinic, chasing a radical new treatment for him. The countless hours I spent on calls with researchers, pulling every string my family name could reach.

And while I was doing that, he had brought her here. Into our home.

Casey glided into the kitchen and returned with plates of food. The steak was charred on the outside and raw in the middle. The asparagus was limp and grey. It was the kind of meal a professional chef would be fired for.

Damian took a bite without a word, chewing mechanically.

Then, my eyes caught something on Casey' s wrist. A delicate diamond bracelet. My bracelet. The one Damian had given me for our fifth anniversary. I hadn't seen it in weeks and had assumed it was misplaced.

Every night for the past two weeks, he had come to bed late, long after I was asleep, smelling faintly of a cheap, sweet perfume.

I took a deep, steadying breath. The COO in me took over, shutting down the heartbroken wife. The time for emotion was over.

"Damian," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "This is your last chance. Fire her. Now."

"For God's sake, Ainsley!" He pushed me away, his patience gone. "Stop being so paranoid! You're ruining everything with your insane jealousy!" He sneered, his lip curling. "You're always trying to trample on my dignity."

My back hit the sharp corner of the sideboard. A hot, searing pain shot through my lower back. I gasped, stumbling forward.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Don't start pretending to be some delicate flower now. I've seen you take a punch from a construction worker and not even flinch."

He was talking about the time, years ago, when a drunk heckler had tried to start a fight with him outside a bar. I had stepped between them without a second thought. My strength, which I had used to protect him, was now another weapon he used to hurt me.

I dodged his attempt to touch me, to offer a fake apology. "Don't," I said, my voice low and filled with disgust. "You're filthy."

His face hardened. He clenched his fists at his sides. "Is it impossible for you to have a normal conversation?"

"There is nothing normal about this," I said, turning my back on him. "It's her or me, Damian. That's it." I started walking towards the grand staircase, my steps heavy.

He started to follow, his mouth open to say something, but Casey stopped him.

Her performance began anew. Soft, choked sobs filled the room. "Damian, it's my fault," she whimpered. "I'll leave. It's what I deserve. My ex-husband used to beat me, you know. He said I was worthless. Maybe he was right."

She took a dramatic step towards the wall. "Maybe I should just end it all!"

"Casey, no!" Damian rushed to her side, pulling her away from the wall as if she were about to dash her head against it. His eyes were filled with a raw, protective tenderness I hadn't seen directed at me in years.

"You're not worthless," he murmured, stroking her hair. "You're the sweetest, kindest woman I know."

She looked up at him, tears miraculously gone, replaced by a doe-eyed smile. "Really?"

"Really," he said, his voice softening. Then, he deliberately raised his voice, ensuring I would hear every word as I paused on the stairs. "Unlike some people, you're not a cold-hearted, ball-busting bitch who only cares about power and money."

Casey glanced past him, her eyes meeting mine over his shoulder. A triumphant smirk flickered across her face before she buried it in Damian's chest.

Something inside me snapped.

The world went red. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, painful rhythm. I turned, marched back down the stairs, and snatched the heavy crystal vase from the console table.

With a scream of pure, undiluted fury, I hurled it at them.

"Get out," I roared, my voice raw and broken. "Get out of my house!"

Ainsley POV:

Casey shrieked as the vase flew towards them.

Damian' s reaction was instantaneous. He spun around, shielding Casey with his own body. The heavy crystal shattered against his back with a sickening thud. He grunted in pain but his first instinct, even as he stumbled, was to steady her, his hands protectively on her arms.

He turned to face me, his eyes red-rimmed and blazing with a righteous fury. "What is wrong with you?" he screamed. "Why don't you just kill me? But why do you have to drag an innocent person into this?"

Innocent. The word was so absurd it was almost funny.

"She's a kind, simple woman, Ainsley! She works as a nanny to support her family! She has a college degree, for God's sake. She could be doing something respectable, but she chose this to be close to her children!" He was shouting now, his voice echoing in the cavernous hall.

"And what are you?" he sneered, his face contorted with years of repressed anger and insecurity. "A worthless capitalist princess! You've never worked a real day in your life! You're not fit to even touch a single hair on her head!"

Every word was a perfectly aimed dart, striking at the heart of every sacrifice I had ever made for him. I had defied my family, who saw him as nothing more than a gold-digging charity case. I had shouldered the immense pressure of running a multi-billion dollar empire, working myself to the bone to double the family's profits in five years, just to prove to them that my choice in a husband hadn't made me weak.

And he called me worthless. He stood there with another woman and called me a man-eater.

A primal rage took over. I stormed past him into his study and grabbed the anime-themed pillows from the couch. With a guttural cry, I began tearing them apart with my bare hands, feathers and foam exploding into the air like toxic snowflakes.

Then I started grabbing anything I could reach-books, picture frames, awards-and hurling them in their direction.

Damian easily pulled Casey out of the way, his movements agile. He held her tightly, as if protecting a precious treasure from a madwoman.

"I've had enough of this!" he roared over the sound of shattering glass. "Enough of living in your shadow, of being treated like an employee in my own home! I'm the youngest Chief of Surgery in the country! I have skills! I don't need to rot away in your brother's hospital!"

He was delusional. He didn't seem to understand that his entire career was a product of my family's influence.

"Dozens of top hospitals are trying to recruit me!" he boasted, his voice cracking with a mix of desperation and bravado. "If you push me away one more time, we're getting a divorce! And you'll be the only one who regrets it!"

I gripped the back of a chair, my knuckles white, forcing myself to stand tall. I met his furious gaze with an icy calm that seemed to unnerve him.

"Fine by me," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Casey, ever the actress, began to tremble in his arms. "Damian, don't," she sniffled. "She's your wife. A woman's life is so hard after a divorce. You should be patient with her."

Damian let out a cold, cruel laugh. "Not all women deserve to be cherished, Casey."

A profound, bone-deep weariness washed over me. The fight drained out of me, replaced by an empty, hollow ache. I had nothing left to say.

I let go of the chair and turned, walking silently up the stairs.

He stared after me, his bravado faltering. For a moment, I saw a flash of panic in his eyes, as if he hadn't expected me to call his bluff. He opened his mouth to call out to me.

But then, Casey's phone rang, a cheerful, tinkling ringtone that cut through the tense silence.

"Hello?" she answered, her voice suddenly filled with maternal panic. "What? A fever? How high? Okay, okay, I'm coming right now!"

Damian's face went pale. "What's wrong? Is it the kids?"

"Yes," she sobbed, clutching his arm. "My youngest has a high fever. I have to go to the hospital."

"I'll take you," he said without a moment's hesitation.

I heard the front door slam shut. The sound echoed through the empty house, a final, definitive punctuation mark on the end of my marriage.

I sank to the floor, my legs giving out from under me. The cold marble seeped through my clothes, but I couldn't feel it. All I could feel was the gaping hole in my chest.

He had children. It was the only explanation that made sense. Those five boys Casey was so proud of... were they his?

My hand trembled as I pulled out my phone and dialed my brother's number.

"Graham," I said, my voice tight and strained. "I need you to do something for me."

"Ainsley? What's wrong? You sound terrible."

"Investigate Damian," I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "And our au pair, Casey Valdez. I want to know everything."

"Did he cheat on you?" Graham' s voice turned hard, the protective older brother instantly on high alert.

"I think," I choked out, the possibility so monstrous I could barely speak it. "I think he might have a secret family."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "What? That's impossible, Ains. The doctors all said... he can't have kids. Can he?"

The question hung in the air, a testament to the absurdity of it all. I felt the last of my strength drain away.

"She calls herself a 'baby magnet', Graham," I whispered, my throat closing up. "She says she's 'hyper-fertile'."