The Pregnancy Swap's Dark Truth

The Hayes estate was a gilded cage, ruled by Eleanor's barbaric decree: the first to conceive would be the next Mrs. Hayes.

I was Sarah Walker, once a daughter of privilege, now just one of Ethan Hayes's many diversions.

Last time, I was the one who got pregnant first, and Tiffany, his supposed true love, faked her suicide.

The day my son was born, Ethan dragged me from the hospital bed, forcing me to kneel at her elaborate, empty grave.

He screamed that I'd stolen her place, driven her to despair, and destroyed everything my parents left me.

He knew about my blood disorder, yet he carved into me, watching the life drain out.

This life, I wouldn't play their sick game.

This time, I switched my urine sample with Tiffany's, and her pregnancy was announced.

Ethan's face lit up with manic joy, and he demanded the biggest wedding for Tiffany.

Everyone shot me pitying glances, but a small, polite smile played on my lips.

I thought I was finally free.

But I was pregnant.

And my hidden child would trigger a new, terrifying nightmare that would force me to confront his monstrous cruelty.

The polished marble floors of the Hayes estate always felt cold under my feet, especially on days like this.

Eleanor Hayes, Ethan's aunt and the family matriarch, had a rule.

A barbaric one.

"The first to conceive carries the Hayes heir. She will be the next Mrs. Hayes."

I was Sarah Walker, once a daughter of privilege, now just one of Ethan Hayes's many diversions. He kept us, a collection of women, in this gilded cage.

Last time, I was the one who got pregnant first.

And Tiffany Miller, Ethan's supposed true love, his "white moonlight," slit her wrists. Or so he believed.

The day my son was born, Ethan dragged me from the hospital bed. He forced me to kneel at Tiffany's elaborate, empty grave, my head hitting the stone a hundred times.

"If you hadn't tricked your way into pregnancy, puking up those pills, none of this would have happened!" he'd screamed, his face a mask of fury.

"Tiffany was ready! We were going to have a family! You stole her place, and then you drove her to this! You'll pay for her life with yours!"

He'd destroyed everything my parents left me, that small vineyard in Napa, scattering the ashes of my family's legacy before Tiffany's portrait.

He knew about my blood disorder, the way I bruised easily, the way cuts bled too long. He carved into me, watching the life drain out, a slow, agonizing spectacle.

This life, I wouldn't play their sick game.

This life, I switched my urine sample with Tiffany's.

"Mrs. Hayes," Dr. Peterson, the family's private physician, announced, his voice echoing slightly in the vast drawing-room. We were all assembled for the monthly ritual. "Miss Tiffany Miller is approximately one month pregnant."

The other ten women clutched their negative reports. Faces twisted with disappointment, some with poorly concealed envy.

"What? Tiffany actually did it?"

"Why her? It's not fair."

"Are you kidding? She's Ethan's obsession. We're just... placeholders. He paraded us around to make her jealous after she dumped him for that European count. But everyone knows he hasn't touched anyone else seriously. Who else would it be?"

"But I heard Ethan spent a night in Sarah's room last month. Sarah used to be from a good family, right? Old money. Eleanor always liked her."

A scoff. "Old money means nothing now. She's just desperate. Ethan wouldn't actually sleep with her. Probably just to appease his aunt."

Ethan heard the doctor's words. A brilliant, almost manic joy lit his features. He pulled Tiffany into a tight embrace.

"Eleanor," he said, his voice triumphant, addressing his aunt. "Tiffany is pregnant. She will be my wife. You gave your word. I want the biggest wedding this city has ever seen for her."

Tiffany, ever the actress, pressed a hand to her flat stomach, her eyes wide with feigned surprise, then nestled into his chest with a shy smile.

The tenderness in Ethan's eyes as he looked at her was a physical blow. It was as if no one else existed.

Everyone else in the room shot me pitying, contemptuous glances.

I had loved Ethan Hayes for ten years. Loved him enough to discard my pride, my dignity, to become one of his ornaments, a pawn in his twisted game with Tiffany. I was the laughingstock of San Francisco.

Eleanor Hayes stared, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows arching high. Her gaze shifted to me, a flicker of something – guilt, perhaps – in her sharp blue eyes.

Then, her frown deepened. "That's impossible," she declared, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "The report must be mistaken."

I understood her disbelief. Eleanor was my late mother's best