Pregnant, Betrayed, And Seeking My Vengeance

I discovered I was pregnant with my boyfriend of five years, empire heir Cash Robinson, in the same clinic where I learned his fiancée was also pregnant with his child.

His family' s response was to have me thrown to their guard dogs. As they mauled me, I heard Cash walk away, believing the lie that I had taken their money and left.

But they made one mistake: I survived. And with the help of his best friend, I' m coming back to burn their entire world to the ground.

Chapter 1

Eliza POV:

I found out my five-year relationship was a lie in the sterile silence of a clinic waiting room, the same place I had just discovered I was pregnant.

For five years, everyone in New York knew me as Eliza Fuentes, the charity case, the housekeeper' s daughter who had somehow captured the heart of Cash Robinson, the heir to the Robinson empire.

They talked about us in hushed tones at galas I attended on his arm. They whispered about the tragic accident on the slick Hamptons road, where he' d swerved to save me, leaving him with a permanent limp. A noble sacrifice. A testament to his love.

That limp was the reason his family, led by the ice-cold patriarch Alton Thornton, had tolerated me. They' d made a pact with their son, a five-year deal I wasn' t supposed to know about but learned of through hushed arguments behind study doors. If Cash could successfully launch the new Robinson tech subsidiary, proving his worth despite his "disability," they would finally approve our marriage.

The five-year deadline was next week.

A nervous energy had been thrumming under my skin for days. Cash had been distant, his nights spent at the office growing longer, his texts shorter. He' d chalked it up to the pressure of the launch.

"Just one more week, 'Liza," he' d murmured into my hair two nights ago, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Then it' s just you and me. Forever."

I' d held onto those words like a prayer.

So when the nausea started, when my period was laughably late, a spark of wild, terrifying hope ignited in my chest. A baby. Our baby. It would be the perfect, undeniable seal on our future.

I didn' t tell him. I wanted to see the confirmation in writing, to hold the proof in my hands before I surprised him. I scheduled an appointment at the most exclusive private clinic on the Upper East Side, the kind of place where discretion was the most expensive service they offered.

And that' s where I saw her.

Catherine Yang.

She glided into the waiting room like she owned it, her Hermes Birkin swinging from her arm. She was the daughter of a new-money tech giant, a socialite whose picture was plastered across every gossip column. She was also a permanent fixture in Cash' s life, a "childhood friend" he could never quite shake.

I hated her. I hated the effortless way she belonged in this world, and I hated the way Cash' s eyes would sometimes follow her at parties, a flicker of something I refused to name.

She didn't see me, tucked away in a corner chair. She approached the front desk, her voice a low, confident murmur.

A small, triumphant smile played on her lips as she turned away from the desk, her perfectly manicured hand resting unconsciously, almost possessively, on her flat stomach. A cold dread, sharp and sudden, washed over me. It was an instinct, a primal recognition of a threat I couldn't yet name.

My own name was called then. I walked past her in a daze, my heart hammering against my ribs.

An hour later, the doctor' s cheerful confirmation felt like a death sentence. "Congratulations, Ms. Fuentes. You' re about six weeks along."

I clutched the printout of the ultrasound-a tiny, blurry speck that was supposed to be our future-and walked back into the waiting room on unsteady legs.

Catherine was gone. But her presence lingered, a sickly-sweet perfume in the air. As I was about to leave, I heard one of the nurses speaking quietly to the receptionist.

"Can you believe it? Catherine Yang. Another one for Dr. Miller. She' s about six weeks, too. Said she wanted to confirm everything before the engagement announcement with Cash Robinson next month."

The world tilted.

Cash Robinson.

Six weeks.

The nurse' s words echoed in the sudden, roaring silence of my mind. It couldn' t be. It was a mistake. A different Cash Robinson.

But I knew it wasn't.

My phone felt impossibly heavy in my hand. My thumb trembled as I scrolled through my photos. There was one from a charity ball a month and a half ago. Cash was laughing, his arm around my waist, but his eyes were angled just slightly away from the camera. Following someone. Following a flash of emerald green silk.

Catherine Yang' s dress.

The memory hit me like a physical blow. He' d come home late that night, smelling of champagne and Catherine' s perfume. He' d said it was a business dinner, that she' d spilled a drink on him. He' d pulled me into his arms, his mouth silencing my questions, his hands working a familiar magic until I forgot what I was even asking.

It was all a lie.

The late nights. The "business" trips. The pact.

My fingers, clumsy and numb, dialed his number. He answered on the second ring, his voice warm and familiar, a blade twisting in my gut.

"Hey, 'Liza. Everything okay?"

I couldn' t speak. The sound of his voice, the easy affection in it, made me sick.

"Babe? You there?" he asked, a hint of concern creeping in. "Just wrapping things up here. I' ll be home soon. I miss you."

A choked sob escaped my lips. It was a wounded, animal sound that I didn't recognize as my own.

I couldn' t breathe. The tiny ultrasound picture in my hand felt like it was burning my skin. This speck of life, our child, was conceived from deceit. It was proof not of love, but of my own monumental stupidity.

I thought of the past five years. The way I' d managed his physical therapy schedules. The way I' d defended him to my mother, who never trusted the Robinsons. The way I' d put my own Columbia Law degree on the back burner, taking a quiet teaching position at a prep school because Cash didn' t like the idea of me working in a competitive, high-stress environment.

"It' s not fitting for a Robinson wife," he' d said with a charming smile, as if the title were already mine. And I' d believed him. I' d given up a top-tier law firm offer for him. For this.

For a lie.

The casual way the nurse had said it. The engagement announcement with Cash Robinson. Not a secret. Not a rumor. A fact. A scheduled event.

" 'Liza?" His voice was closer now, laced with genuine worry. "What' s wrong? Talk to me."

How could I? What would I even say? Congratulations on your impending fatherhood. Which one of us did you plan on telling first?

The bitterness was a poison in my throat.

I hung up.

My thumb hovered over his contact photo-his smiling face, the one I' d kissed good morning for 1,825 days. The man who saved my life and then systematically ruined it.

I watched him smile at Catherine in my mind' s eye. I saw his hand on her stomach. I heard him whisper the same promises to her he' d whispered to me.

I took a deep, shuddering breath.

I deleted the contact.

Then, I blocked his number.

The little black box in my hand, once a lifeline to him, was now just a piece of glass and metal. Cold and empty.

Just like me.

---

Eliza POV:

I spent the night methodically erasing him. I deleted every photo, every message, every digital trace of our five years together. Then, I pulled out my laptop and began updating my resume, applying to every top-tier law firm I had once turned down for him. It was a cold, robotic process, my grief packed away in a neat little box in the corner of my mind.

The next morning, my phone buzzed with an unknown number. I almost ignored it, but a sliver of morbid curiosity made me answer.

The voice was unmistakable. Alton Thornton. Cash' s father.

"Eliza," he said, his tone as crisp and cold as a winter morning. There was no greeting, no preamble. "Be at the estate in an hour. We need to talk."

He didn't wait for a reply. The line went dead.

A shiver of apprehension traced its way down my spine. This wasn't a request; it was a summons. They knew. I wasn't sure what they knew-about the clinic, about my discovery, about the baby-but they were preparing for battle.

The old Eliza would have been terrified. But the old Eliza was gone, burned to ash in the waiting room of that clinic. A strange, icy calm settled over me. I wasn't going to run. I was going to walk straight into the lion' s den and face them.

When I arrived at the Robinson estate in Greenwich, the oppressive silence was the first thing that hit me. The grand foyer, usually bustling with staff, was still. The entire Robinson clan was assembled in the formal living room: Alton on his throne-like armchair, Cash' s mother, Eleanor, perched on the sofa beside him, and his two sisters flanking them like sentinels.

And standing next to Eleanor, her hand resting on the older woman' s shoulder in a gesture of intimate familiarity, was Catherine Yang. She was wearing a cream-colored cashmere dress, the very picture of demure elegance. A future lady of the manor.

She gave me a small, pitying smile as I entered. It was the same triumphant look I' d seen at the clinic.

I ignored them all, my gaze sweeping the room before I chose an armchair directly opposite Alton, forcing him to look at me straight on. I sat down, crossed my legs, and waited.

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken hostility.

"You' ve been a... distraction for my son for five years, Eliza," Eleanor finally said, her voice dripping with disdain. "That time is now over."

Catherine' s smile widened. She squeezed Eleanor' s shoulder affectionately.

"We are prepared to be generous," Alton cut in, his voice flat and businesslike. "For your time and... services. We will give you a check for five million dollars. In return, you will sign a non-disclosure agreement and disappear from Cash' s life. Permanently."

Five million dollars. The price they put on five years of my life. On my love. On their grandchild.

The icy calm inside me began to crack, replaced by a slow-burning rage.

"Where is Cash?" I asked, my voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil inside. "I want to hear this from him."

"Catherine is pregnant," Eleanor announced, as if this explained everything. "They are to be married next month. Cash has a duty to his family and to his child-his legitimate child."

The word legitimate was a deliberate, calculated strike. I felt it land, but refused to show the wound.

"I' ll ask one more time," I said, my voice dropping lower. "Where is Cash?"

"You insolent little..." Eleanor began, her face contorting with fury, but a commotion at the door cut her off. A maid appeared, looking flustered.

"Mr. Robinson is on his way, ma' am. He' s five minutes out."

Panic flashed in Eleanor' s eyes. She exchanged a look with Alton. This wasn' t part of their plan. They wanted me gone before he arrived.

"Get her out of here," Eleanor hissed to the two burly security guards standing by the doorway.

"Wait," Catherine said, her voice smooth as silk. "The stables are too close to the main drive. He' ll see her car. Take her to the kennels on the back acreage. He never goes there."

I saw the flash of pure malice in her eyes and I understood. She wasn' t just trying to hide me. She knew about my childhood fear of dogs, a fear so severe it was almost a phobia. A story Cash had probably told her in a moment of careless intimacy.

The guards grabbed my arms. I struggled, my heart seizing with a terror that was entirely separate from the emotional devastation of the past twenty-four hours.

"No! Don' t!"

They were too strong. They dragged me out a side door, my heels digging uselessly into the manicured lawn. The barking started before we even reached the wrought iron gate of the kennels. It was a chorus of deep, menacing growls. Dobermans. The Robinsons' prize-winning guard dogs.

They shoved me inside the enclosure and locked the gate behind me. The stench of animal and damp earth was overwhelming. Three sleek, black Dobermans began to circle me, their teeth bared, low rumbles vibrating in their chests.

My blood ran cold. I backed away slowly, my breath catching in my throat.

One of them lunged.

Searing pain shot up my leg as its teeth sank into my calf. I screamed, stumbling backward, falling hard onto the muddy ground. The other two dogs closed in, snarling, their hot breath on my face.

And then, through the fog of terror and pain, I heard his voice. Cash. He was calling my name from the direction of the house.

"Eliza? Are you here?"

A desperate, primal hope surged through me. He was here. He would save me.

But then I heard Catherine' s voice, sweet and concerned. "Cash, darling, what' s wrong? I saw her car leaving as I pulled in. She took the check and left. She said she was sorry for the trouble."

There was a pause. The world held its breath.

"She... she just left?" Cash' s voice was laced with a disbelief that shattered what was left of my heart. "Without even talking to me?"

"I' m sorry, darling," Catherine cooed. "She' s not one of us. We always knew that."

I heard the sound of their footsteps receding, the murmur of their voices fading as they walked back toward the house together.

He believed her.

Without a moment' s hesitation, he believed her.

The dog lunged again, its teeth clamping down on my arm. The world dissolved into a vortex of pain and barking and the gut-wrenching, soul-destroying sound of the man I loved walking away.

---

Eliza POV:

I woke to the sharp, antiseptic smell of a hospital room and the throbbing pain that seemed to radiate from every part of my body. My arm and leg were bandaged, and an IV line was taped to the back of my hand.

Alton Thornton stood at the foot of my bed, his face an unreadable mask of cold indifference.

"The official story is that you trespassed on the property and were unfortunately injured by the guard dogs," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "You will not contradict this story. Do you understand?"

I stared at the ceiling, the white plaster tiles swimming in and out of focus. I didn' t have the energy to respond. The physical pain was a dull, distant echo compared to the gaping wound in my chest.

She took the check and left.

Cash' s words played on a loop in my mind. The disappointment in his voice. The easy acceptance of my supposed betrayal.

The door burst open and Cash rushed in, his face pale and frantic. He stopped short when he saw my injuries, his eyes wide with a confusion that felt like another insult.

" 'Liza? My God, what happened? Dad said you..." He trailed off, looking from me to his father.

I just looked at him. Really looked at him. It was like seeing a stranger for the first time. The handsome face I had loved, the eyes I had trusted-they were just features now, assembled into the face of a man I didn' t know at all.

He moved to my bedside, his hand reaching for mine. "Babe, I was so worried. When they said you left..."

The moment his skin touched mine, my body recoiled. Anaphylactic shock. The doctor' s words from years ago, after a severe reaction to a bee sting, came flooding back. Your body now sees it as a poison.

That' s what he was to me now. Poison.

The room started to spin. Black spots danced in my vision. The heart monitor beside the bed began to shriek, a frantic, high-pitched wail.

" 'Liza!" Cash' s voice was filled with panic.

The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me was his terrified face. The last thing I felt was a bitter, ironic satisfaction. My body knew, even if my heart had been slow to catch up. He was toxic.

I woke again in the dead of night. The room was quiet except for the steady beep of the monitor. A sliver of light fell from under the door, and I could hear voices from the hallway.

Catherine and Cash.

"You should go home and get some rest, darling," Catherine said, her voice soft and cloying. "You' ve been here for hours."

"I can' t leave her," Cash replied, his voice rough with exhaustion.

"But the baby and I need you, too," she murmured. I could picture her perfectly, her hand on her stomach, her eyes wide and pleading. "I' ve been so worried about you. About us."

There was a long pause.

"I know," he said, and the tenderness in his voice was a physical blow. "I' m sorry, Cat. I' m so sorry this is all happening."

I heard a soft rustling sound, then Catherine' s contented sigh. He was holding her. Comforting her. While I lay broken in a hospital bed, he was in the arms of the woman who orchestrated it all.

They started talking about their day, about a new restaurant they wanted to try, about plans for the nursery. Their voices were low and intimate, weaving a tapestry of a shared life that I had no part in. He laughed at something she said, a low, easy sound that I had once believed was reserved only for me.

That was the moment the last vestiges of my love for him died.

It wasn't just that he had lied, that he had cheated, that he had a whole other life I knew nothing about. It was the crushing realization that his tenderness, his affection, the very things I had built my life around, were not special. They were commodities he dispensed freely, to whomever was most convenient.

I had spent five years believing I was the exception, the one who had broken through his gilded cage. But I was just the appetizer. Catherine, with her fortune and her family and her "legitimate" child, was always meant to be the main course.

He hadn' t chosen her over me. He had simply chosen the path of least resistance, the future his family had pre-approved. He had chosen to have it all.

And I had been left with nothing.

---