Nine Pregnancies, Nine Betrayals,The Billionaire Wife's Revenge

After marrying Darrell Farley, I dreamed of having a child with him. But in eight years, I'd been pregnant eight times and lost every single one.

By the ninth, my doctor warned me that if I couldn't carry this baby to term, I would never have another chance.

Thankfully, Darrell and I had been impossibly careful this time, guarding every fragile week of the pregnancy. The day before my scheduled delivery, the doctor confirmed that everything looked good.

I took the report and went to find Darrell, my heart brimming with joy.

But the moment I reached his office door, I heard a long, heavy sigh from inside.

"Darrell, the baby in Beverly Gilbert's womb is a fully formed human being by any medical definition. If you terminate this one, it's murder."

"Cut the nonsense. It has to go. I promised Becca I'd only ever be a father to her children."

"But Beverly's body is destroyed! If she loses this baby, she'll never be able to carry another child. You'd be taking away her last chance at motherhood!"

"Enough!"

Darrell's voice dropped to a furious snarl.

"Letting the kid survive this long was already a mercy."

"I'll perform the procedure myself. Keep pushing me, and you won't like what happens next."

My nails dug deep into my palms.

I clutched my cramping belly and crumpled to the floor outside his door.

So that was it. All those years of agony. All eight babies I'd lost.

It had been Darrell. Every single time.

If that's how it is, then you can follow them into the grave.

Shaking from head to toe, I dragged myself back to my hospital room and found a number I hadn't dialed in eight years. An overseas line.

Before I married Darrell Farley, I was more than the woman everyone knew as the wealthiest woman in the capital.

I was also The Crimson Rose, a name that made the entire criminal underworld tremble.

The call connected quickly. The man on the other end spoke in a voice as steady and cold as steel.

"I'll mobilize a team immediately. Eight hours."

Hearing that voice from a world I'd left behind, I finally felt a sliver of calm settle over me.

The moment I hung up, Darrell pushed through the door.

His eyes flicked to the phone screen, still glowing in my hand. He walked over, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me into his chest. His gaze never left the phone.

"Beverly, who were you calling? Being all secretive on me."

I held the screen up so he could see the string of foreign digits.

"Some random number. They said for a fee, they could pray for the baby's safety and bless a smooth delivery."

The suspicion in Darrell's eyes dissolved.

He gave me the same tender smile he always wore.

"Beverly."

He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.

"You're too anxious."

"Relax. We've been so careful this time. I'll handle your surgery personally, just like always. Our baby is going to be born safe and sound."

Darrell's warm breath drifted across my neck.

That scent, the one that used to make me feel so safe, now turned my stomach.

I pulled free of his arms and locked my eyes onto his dark pupils.

"Will our baby really be born safely this time?"

His voice softened even further.

"Of course."

I studied the man in front of me, his eyes full of unwavering conviction.

A cold sweat crept down my spine.

If I hadn't heard those words with my own ears just moments ago, I would have fallen for that counterfeit tenderness all over again without a second thought.

Eight years. Eight trips to the operating room. Eight children ripped away from me. The memory of that pain pulled me back to the present.

I looked up at him.

"Darrell, for the surgery in three days, I want a different doctor."

He froze. Then he shot upright on the edge of the hospital bed, his voice climbing several notches.

"Beverly, what's that supposed to mean? You're saying you don't trust me? I'm the baby's father. If you can't even trust me at a time like this, who can you trust?"

He was getting anxious. Just like that, he was still the same boy who'd knelt before me eight years ago, begging me for a million-dollar investment to save his company.

"It's not that I don't trust you."

My voice came out soft, almost weightless.

"Darrell, you haven't slept well a single night since I got pregnant. I just don't want you running yourself into the ground."

My words smoothed the crease between his brows.

"I'm sorry, Beverly. I was overthinking it. You're right. We'll switch doctors."

"I'll arrange the best OB-GYN for you, second only to myself. Don't worry. Our baby is going to be born safe and sound."

A shrill ringtone shattered the quiet of the hospital room.

Darrell glanced at the caller ID, and something flickered deep in his eyes. A flash of unmistakable elation, there and gone in an instant.

He reached out and gently rubbed the top of my head.

"Beverly, something came up at the office. I need to run, but if you feel uneasy about anything, call me. Anytime."

He was already heading for the door, waving his phone at me over his shoulder.

"I'm always here for you."

The door closed with a soft click.

Then, from the hallway, came the hushed voice of Darrell's assistant.

"Mr. Farley, are we really switching doctors for the surgery in three days? That's going to be tricky to pull off..."

"We're not switching anything!"

Darrell's voice cut through like a blade.

"I was just humoring her. Once the anesthesia kicks in, how's she going to know who's operating on her? Don't tell me you've become as stupid as the woman in that room."

Sycophantic laughter trailed off down the corridor until the hallway fell silent again.

I dug my nails into my palms until the skin screamed.

I hated myself. Hated that for eight years I'd willingly stripped off my armor and forged, with my own hands, the very blade now aimed at my throat.

But it didn't matter.

If I had the power to forge him, I had the power to destroy him.

The moment Darrell left, the listening device I'd planted on him picked up a signal.

I opened the app.

His low voice bled through the speaker.

"That was careless of me. If she wants a different doctor, we play the part. Send over an unfamiliar face later."

"Oh, and prepare an abortion pill. Have her take it first, just to be safe. Something about this whole thing feels off. I can't shake it."

"Relax, Mr. Farley. The boys have been watching her around the clock. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Fine. Get it done."

Two hours later, an unfamiliar doctor knocked on my door.

Darrell followed him in.

A cold draft slipped through the window, and with it came a scent I recognized immediately. Women's perfume. The kind Rebecca always wore.

My gaze drifted upward.

There, tucked beneath the collar of his dress shirt, half-hidden in the fabric's fold, sat a fresh lipstick stain.

I thought of the sounds that had come through the app just moments ago. The unmistakable, intimate sounds of a man and a woman together.

My stomach lurched. I grabbed the edge of the bed and retched, a dry, violent heave that tore through the silence.

"Beverly..."

Darrell rushed toward me, eyes wide with manufactured concern.

The closer he got, the stronger that cloying perfume hit. It flooded my nostrils, thick and suffocating.

I shoved him away.

The doctor stepped forward at once, steadying Darrell by the arm, his voice low and reassuring.

"Mr. Farley, don't worry. It's perfectly common for expectant mothers to experience nausea from pre-delivery anxiety."

He placed a single pill in Darrell's palm.

"Have your wife take this. She'll feel better."

Darrell locked eyes with the doctor for one brief, loaded moment.

Then the doctor left the room.

Darrell pointed toward the doctor's retreating figure and smiled at me, his expression warm and tender.

"Beverly, those two hours I was gone? I went to find you a doctor. That was Dr. Finch, the one who just left. He was named the top OB-GYN surgeon in the capital this year. You're in good hands. He'll make sure you and the baby are safe."

He sat down on the edge of the bed and held the pill to my lips.

"Take this. It'll keep you comfortable for the three days before surgery. Be good. Take it."

I picked the pill from his palm, slipped it into my mouth, then grabbed the glass of water and drank the whole thing down.

Something loosened behind Darrell's eyes. Relief, settling into satisfaction.

He tucked the blanket around me, gave me one last gentle smile, and left.

The second the door clicked shut, I dug the pill out from under my tongue and wrapped it in a tissue.

Whatever this was, Darrell, I would make you taste it a thousand times over.

"Darrell..."

A woman's coy, whining voice drifted through the door, pulling me from my thoughts.

"I feel like you're distracted this time. Did something happen? Don't tell me you went soft and you're actually going to let that old hag have the baby."

"Don't worry, Becca." Darrell's voice was low, soothing, dripping with tenderness. It seeped through the crack in the door. "You're the only one I've ever loved. Why would I let her keep it?"

"It won't be much longer now. She's almost bled dry. I've cleaned up the company, moved everything over. Once she loses this baby, I'll use her inability to carry a child as grounds for the divorce. Then I'll take you, and we'll disappear."

"Darrell, you've sacrificed so much. For me and our son, you kept up the act for eight years. You even lost two fingers..."

"It's nothing. If it weren't for those two fingers, she never would have believed me so easily. For you and our boy, any price is worth paying."

The rest of their words blurred into static.

A deafening roar filled my skull.

I lay frozen on the hospital bed, rigid as if lightning had split me open.

Eight years ago, in that pileup on the highway, Darrell had crawled through the wreckage to pull me free. He'd lost two fingers saving my life. That was why I fell in love with him.

But the crash itself had been a setup.

Cold sweat broke across my spine.

The sharp buzz of my phone cut through the haze. A message from that number.

We've landed at the capital's civilian airport. Two hours out.

I stared at the screen, and some small measure of calm returned. They were ahead of schedule. Much faster than planned.

I had barely finished typing my reply when Darrell burst through the door with the unfamiliar doctor in tow, panic carved across his face.

"Beverly."

He rushed to my side and seized my hand. His eyes were wide with alarm.

"Dr. Finch reviewed your scans. The baby's condition might be deteriorating. We need to move your surgery up."

My mind flashed to the moment just before the message arrived. Those faint, muffled sobs from Rebecca Simmons outside the door.

My heart clenched.

Rebecca must have pressed him. She wasn't willing to wait.

So Darrell moved the timeline up. For her.

This hospital belonged to Darrell's company. Every department, every nurse, every orderly answered to him. If I went into that operating room now, my baby and I were as good as dead.

I grabbed Darrell's wrist before he could wheel me toward the door.

When my eyes met his, the tears came on their own, spilling down my cheeks.

"Darrell."

I locked my other hand around the door handle and held on with everything I had.

"Every checkup has been perfect. You saw the scans yourself. Everything was fine. How could something go wrong all of a sudden?"

"Besides, the baby is inside my body. If something were wrong, I'd be the first to feel it. And right now, I feel fine."

I took Darrell's hand and gently placed it against my lower belly.

"Darrell, feel that. Our baby is perfectly fine in there."

The skin beneath his palm suddenly pushed outward in a tiny kick.

Something unreadable flickered in the depths of his eyes.

The hands that had been shoving me toward the door went slack.

I seized the opening immediately.

"Darrell, just wait three more days. Or if you're really that worried, we can monitor things for a few more hours. If you're still not at ease after that, I'll do whatever you say."

"Alright..."

"Darrell!"

The door burst open from the outside. Rebecca cut him off before he could finish.

She stood in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes locked on him.

"Did you already forget what you just told me?"

Darrell's entire body went rigid.

He yanked his hand off my belly as if he'd been burned and grabbed the rail of my hospital bed.

His voice turned ice-cold as he barked at the assistant trailing behind Rebecca.

"Get my wife into the operating room."

I clamped both hands around the doorframe. My nails bent backward, and blood seeped from beneath them.

"Darrell Farley, this is my child. I decide what happens. I'm not going!"

His tone stayed gentle, but underneath it was something immovable.

"Beverly, I'm doing this for your own good. Be a good girl."

He pried my fingers off the doorframe one by one, wrenching them loose, then shot a look at the assistant frozen in place.

"Are you stupid? What are you standing there for? Get her into the OR!"

The words had barely left his mouth before a dozen hulking men flooded in from behind the door.

They didn't ask. They didn't explain. They just shoved my bed toward the operating room.

The one in front pressed a towel reeking of alcohol over my mouth and nose.

The figures around me began to blur, edges dissolving like watercolors left in the rain.

Through the haze, I could just make out Rebecca's face. That triumphant smile. That dripping contempt.

"Beverly Gilbert. Richest woman in the country, and so what? You still ended up raising my man for me like a good little wife. Eight babies. He killed eight of your babies for me. Today makes nine, the last one. After today, your empire, your husband, they're all mine."

Rebecca's laughter rang out, wild and unrestrained.

Through the fog, I saw Darrell pick up the anesthesia needle.

I dug my nails into my own thigh, hard enough to draw blood, forcing myself to stay conscious.

The moment Darrell and Rebecca looked away, I slipped the pill hidden in my sleeve cuff into my mouth.

The pill counteracted anesthesia.

The second I swallowed it, the fog in my head began to lift.

The anesthetic flowed through my veins anyway.

Darrell watched me pretend to drift off, and a long, slow breath left his lungs.

He reached behind him and pulled Rebecca into his arms, holding her so tight his knuckles went white. His voice trembled with barely contained excitement.

"Becca, our good days are almost here."

He buried his face against her, his eyes rimmed red.

After a long moment, he picked up a surgical blade the length of his forearm and walked toward me.

When I'd swallowed that pill, I knew what was coming.

But when the cold edge of the blade actually split my skin open, the agony hit like lightning through every nerve. Sweat drenched the sheets beneath me in an instant.

The tearing, ripping pain radiated from my lower belly and flooded through my entire body.

I didn't dare make a sound. I didn't dare move. Not even a twitch.

By some mercy, Darrell's attention was fixed entirely on my abdomen. He never noticed the sweat soaking my forehead, plastering my hair to my temples.

"Darrell, hurry up!"

Rebecca stepped forward, dabbing the sweat from his brow with one hand while urging him on with barely concealed anxiety.

Then his fingers seemed to brush against something soft. Something small and tender.

Darrell's hands went still.

When he didn't respond, Rebecca rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips gently against the beads of sweat rolling down his temples.

"Darrell, I know this is your flesh and blood too. But think about our child..."

The moment the words left her mouth, Darrell's hands moved with sudden, brutal force.

A loud, piercing wail split the air.

Through eyes blurred by sweat and tears, I saw my baby.

Eight years. Eight babies had lived inside me.

This was the first time I'd ever laid eyes on my own child.

"Darrell, what are you waiting for? Do it!"

He hesitated. Rebecca pulled out her phone and played a voice recording.

"Daddy, when are we going to be together again? I miss you so much..."

Rebecca wrapped her arms around Darrell's sweat-soaked waist from behind.

"Darrell, our child is waiting for you to come home. Hurry up."

The hesitation in Darrell's eyes drained away.

He spun toward the screaming infant and lunged.

The baby's cries grew weaker. Fainter.

No one was coming in time.

I threw myself upright on the operating table. The massive, unsutured incision across my abdomen meant nothing. I rolled off the edge of the bed, hit the floor, and grabbed Darrell's ankle with everything I had.

"Darrell, what are you doing? This is our child! Don't do this!"

He clearly hadn't expected me to be conscious. He stared at me like he was looking at a ghost, released his grip, and stumbled two steps back.

I looked up at him, trembling, fighting to keep my voice steady.

"Darrell, if you stop now, I'll pretend none of this ever happened. You're this baby's biological father. Don't let someone manipulate you into this!"

"Darrell!"

Rebecca cut me off. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her.

"Don't believe her. She's seen everything. She'll never let you go. Or have you forgotten? Before tonight, you already killed eight of them!"

"Darrell Farley, if you stop right now, I'll let everything before this go!"

"That's impossible, Darrell!"

Rebecca threw her arms around him, tears streaming down her face.

"Have you forgotten the promise you made me? Don't let a moment of weakness destroy me and our child!"

Something shifted behind Darrell's eyes. The wavering finally settled into resolve.

He kicked me aside and charged toward the wailing infant.

"Darrell Farley!"

"If anything happens to that baby today, you die too!"

His body stiffened for a fraction of a second. Then he let out a cold, contemptuous scoff.

He turned slowly, crouched down, and seized my chin in a crushing grip.

"Beverly, I regret keeping this thing alive until today. I had a shred of reluctance left, but after what you just said? This baby has to die."

"And not just the baby. You're going with it."

"Darrell!"

He drove his foot down onto the open incision across my lower abdomen and ground his heel into it with every ounce of his weight.

Then he turned and rushed toward the infant.

His eyes locked on mine, savage and pitiless.

"I'm going to kill it first. Then I'm going to kill you."

"I'd love to see you try."

With that, his hands closed around the baby's tiny throat.

The infant's cries grew thinner. Weaker. Rebecca's laughter rang out, wild and unrestrained.

The cries faded to almost nothing.

Then the operating room door exploded inward.

A squad of heavily armed mercenaries poured through the breach, their weapons raised. Every muzzle locked onto Darrell.