The Billionaire's Betrayal She Was the Only One

The day of my prenatal checkup, I discovered my husband had swapped my postpartum care package for a termination plan.

I was about to laugh it off as a mistake when he said, his voice perfectly even: It's not wrong. And actually, there's something I need to come clean about.

I've been keeping a college girl on the side. She's a sweet thing. Never asked for a title, never tried to take your place in this family.

"But she's pregnant now. I've already put her through enough. I won't let her child suffer too. I need to give that baby a legitimate birth status." I lay frozen on the ultrasound table, my voice shaking beyond my control. "So you're going to divorce me and marry her?"

He wiped the gel off my stomach, smiling as he spoke.

"What are you talking about? I told you on our wedding day, you'd be the only wife I'd ever have. Besides, your parents are gone. If we divorced, where would you even go?"

"I just want you to adopt Beryl Swanson's child. Getting rid of yours is just a precaution, really. I don't want you playing favorites down the road, neglecting the child Beryl and I have together."

His expression didn't change as he held out the surgical consent form. "Be good. I promise, you'll always be Mrs. Sanchez. No one will ever come above you."

I looked at him, long and hard, then turned and stumbled toward the operating room. "Don't bother with promises." "Dennis Sanchez, I hope you never regret the decision you made today."

What he didn't know was that I was the only woman on this earth capable of bearing a child for him. He had necrospermia. Without me, his bloodline ended.

I didn't wake up until three days later.

The first words I heard were:

"Mr. Sanchez, what you did this time was extremely reckless. Forcing the termination of an eight-month fetus was dangerous enough, but demanding a hysterectomy at the same time? Your wife very nearly bled out on the table."

Dennis's voice came back, indifferent.

"I promised Beryl I'd only ever have one child in this lifetime, and that child would be hers and mine. The safest way to guarantee that was to have Veronica Pruitt's uterus removed so she could never conceive again."

His gaze swept across the room and landed directly on mine.

Not a flicker of panic crossed his face. He reached over and tucked the blanket around me, then spoke with a tone that almost sounded put-upon.

"You heard that? Look, I had no choice. Beryl said adoption is only approved when the mother has a medical condition that prevents her from having children. Since you were already going in for the termination, I figured we might as well take care of the hysterectomy at the same time. Save you a second surgery."

He noticed the tears slipping from the corners of my eyes and gently wiped them away, his voice carrying a hint of teasing.

"I didn't expect a hysterectomy during pregnancy to cause that kind of hemorrhage, honestly. But lucky for you, the top OB-GYN I brought in for Beryl happened to be on standby at the hospital. You could say Beryl's good fortune rubbed off on you. Saved your life."

My whole body trembled. I gathered every ounce of strength I had left and swung my hand at his face.

The pain in my chest was so sharp it felt like something was being torn apart inside me.

"Dennis Sanchez, you're not human."

But my hand barely grazed his cheek. It didn't even leave a mark.

A small figure came shrieking across the room and slapped me hard across the face.

I fell back against the bed. The oxygen mask slipped off. I gasped for air, helpless and exposed.

I looked up.

A young woman stood there, tears brimming in her eyes, shielding Dennis behind her as she screamed at me:

"How dare you hit him! Do you have any idea he's been standing outside the ICU for three straight days waiting for you? If I hadn't brought him meals every single day, he would have collapsed!"

"This is the man I love more than anything, and you think you can just use him as a punching bag for your emotions?"

I didn't miss the flash of tenderness that passed through Dennis's eyes. Tenderness and heartache, all for her.

I'd seen that look before.

It was the same look he'd given me the night I drank myself into alcohol poisoning taking shots meant for him, and lost our first child because of it.

It was the look in his eyes when the debt collectors were about to chop off his hand, and I knelt on the ground crying, kowtowing until blood ran down my face, pawning the only keepsake my mother ever left me to buy him a way out.

I had done so much for him. Yet in the end, none of it mattered as much as a single tear from his new lover.

It felt like a blunt knife being driven into my heart, over and over again.

I propped myself upright and looked at the two of them wrapped in that tender little tableau. A bitter laugh escaped me.

"Should I be grateful to him? Grateful that for your sake, he terminated my full-term baby, secretly had my uterus removed, nearly killed me, and still graciously stayed by my bedside to wait for me to wake up?"

Beryl's tears fell like a broken string of pearls. She glared at me, stubborn defiance blazing through the wetness.

"Fine, it's all my fault! I'm the one who ruined you! Let me atone for it, then!"

She shoved Dennis away like a woman possessed, snatched the fruit knife from my bedside table, and drove it toward her own stomach.

"I'll cut my baby and my uterus out right now to make it up to you! Is that enough?!"

Dennis locked his arms around her, one hand clamping the blade. Blood streamed through his fingers. He lifted his head and fixed me with a stare so cold it could freeze bone.

"Veronica. Are you satisfied now?"

He scooped Beryl up, cradling her limp body against his chest, and walked out without a backward glance. Only one sentence trailed behind him:

"Clearly I've been too good to you. Made you think you could do whatever you pleased. Fine. Then suffer."

I watched his retreating figure, smiling as the tears rolled down.

The man who once swore he would spoil me for a lifetime, who promised I would never know a moment of hardship, had finally died somewhere along the way.

Dennis's bodyguards seized me by the arms and dragged me out the door.

"Starting today, Mr. Sanchez is reclaiming everything he ever gave you. If you'd like to keep this hospital room..."

I smiled, and it tasted like ash. I turned and walked away.

"No need. Dennis and everything that belongs to him. I don't want any of it."

My phone and wallet were both confiscated. Because every last thing I owned had come from Dennis.

I stood on the street with nothing to my name, trying to flag down a car to take me home. But every time a kind stranger slowed to a stop, Dennis's bodyguard stepped forward and delivered the same line:

"If you're not afraid of crossing Mr. Sanchez of Grandeur Group, go ahead and let her in."

They would shake their heads at me, apologetic but helpless, and hit the gas.

The bodyguard watched my body sway, barely upright, and spoke without a shred of warmth.

"Mr. Sanchez asked me to pass along a message. This is what happens when you defy him. If you're willing to apologize to Ms. Swanson and agree to personally attend to her for the rest of her pregnancy, he'll have me drive you home."

I didn't hear a word. I just put one foot in front of the other and started walking toward home.

Blood trickled down my thighs and dripped onto the asphalt, drawing stares from passersby. But I was beyond feeling any of it. One step, then another, then another, until the sky turned black and I finally reached the front door.

The house blazed with light, pushing back the cold of the late hour. I raised my fingers, stiff and half-frozen, and punched in the code.

The keypad answered with an error tone.

I clenched my teeth and entered it again. And again. The system rejected me every single time.

The housekeeper finally stormed to the door, flung it open, and stared at me with flat, pitiless eyes.

"Ma'am, you can stop trying. Until you apologize to Mr. Sanchez, you're not allowed to use anything he paid for."

"This house belongs to Mr. Sanchez. If you won't apologize, you can't come in."

She looked me up and down and let out a scornful laugh.

"If you ask me, you should just hurry up and apologize. Do you have any idea who Mr. Sanchez is? There's a line of women out there waiting to take your place. Look at yourself. No family background, no looks to speak of. Over thirty and you can't even have children anymore..."

"That woman of his is already carrying his child, and he still hasn't divorced you. That's more than you deserve. So what exactly are you throwing a fit about?"

I cut her off quietly.

"I'm not going in. I just need to take one thing and leave."

The housekeeper choked on her words for a moment, then sneered.

"Everything you own was bought by Mr. Sanchez. What could possibly belong to you? Don't tell me you're planning to steal his jewelry and handbags to pawn off somewhere."

"I just want my medical file," I said calmly. "Is that not allowed?"

She rolled her eyes, went upstairs, and came back down with a manila envelope that she threw at me.

I picked it up and looked at the document inside: a necrospermia diagnosis report bearing Dennis Sanchez's name. I smiled without making a sound.

This was the medical examination report from our premarital checkup ten years ago.

The day I received it, my heart was a tangled mess. I had no idea how to tell Dennis.

A man as proud as him. How could he possibly accept that his body had failed him?

And his competitors. How would they use something like this to tear him down?

But the doctor had told me a secret. My body was unique. I could activate Dennis's otherwise inert cells, making conception possible.

"Ms. Pruitt, Mr. Sanchez is truly fortunate to have married you. In all my years of practice, you're the only person I've ever encountered with a condition like yours..."

I had planned to bury this secret in my heart forever, to never let Dennis find out.

I never imagined that one day, I would be the one to expose it to the world with my own hands.

I pulled the last of my loose change from my pocket, printed over a dozen copies of the report, and handed them to a courier.

Each copy was addressed to a different company that rivaled Dennis's, along with the private contact information of each CEO.

"Please deliver these as fast as you can," I said softly. "Just tell them it's a gift from Mrs. Sanchez. They'll tip you generously."

Dennis, this is my parting gift to you.

I hope you enjoy it.

I left the house that had been our marital home and made my way back to the tiny studio apartment where Dennis and I had lived when we first started the business ten years ago.

Back then, we were dead broke. All we could afford was the cheapest rental in the worst part of town.

The place was awful. But we were happy.

We were so poor that instant noodles were all we had, and Dennis would lie and tell me he'd eaten plenty at a business dinner, pouring both servings into my bowl.

Late at night, I would find him standing at the kitchen sink, drinking glass after glass of tap water to fill his stomach.

Our wedding took place in that same cramped little apartment. No reception. No guests. Just a plain silver band that cost less than a hundred dollars.

This place meant everything to me.

So even after we moved into the penthouse at Bayshore Villa, I secretly bought the apartment and kept it.

I used to imagine that when Dennis and I grew old, we would move back here and live out our days together.

I never thought the day would come when our marriage would be over, and I'd return to the place where it all began.

I turned the key and pushed the door open.

Two bodies were tangled together on the couch.

And the matching pajamas I had kept tucked away in the closet, the ones Dennis and I once wore together,

They were wearing them right now. Dennis and Beryl, standing in my apartment, dressed in my pajamas.

My mind went blank. The words tore out of me before I could stop them.

"Dennis! How could you bring her here? You know this is where we..."

I didn't finish. Beryl's hand was already moving. She slapped herself across the face with practiced precision, her cheek blooming red in an instant. She stepped in front of Dennis, eyes brimming with tears, and stared me down.

"Mrs. Sanchez, I just wanted to understand what Dennis's life was like before. I begged him to bring me here." Her lip trembled. "If it upsets you, I'll get on my knees and apologize. Just please stop hurting him."

Dennis looked shattered. He cradled her face in both hands, blowing gently on the mark she'd made herself.

Then he glanced at the bodyguard behind me. One look. That was all it took.

Hands clamped down on my arms. A palm the size of a dinner plate cracked across my cheek. Then again. And again. My ears rang, a high-pitched whine drowning out everything else.

I don't know how long it lasted before they finally stopped and let go.

I crumpled to the floor. Dennis looked down at me, his expression flat, utterly unmoved.

"Vee, why do you insist on making things difficult for yourself? If you're not feeling well, go home and rest. Why chase me all the way here just to start trouble?"

A bitter laugh scraped out of my throat.

"Go home? Do I still have a home? Is that place even mine anymore?"

I looked up at him, eyes burning. Tears and blood from my nose dripped onto the floor between us.

"Dennis, why did you have to bring her here?"

"You can go wherever you want to fool around. I don't care anymore. But why did you have to defile this place?"

"The Dennis Sanchez at thirty is rotten to the core. So why did you have to destroy the only memory the twenty-year-old version of you ever left me?"

Something flickered behind his eyes. A tremor, barely there.

Then it was gone, swallowed by rage.

"Rotten to the core? How am I rotten? Don't forget, Veronica, if it weren't for me, you'd have spent your whole life crammed into a dump like this!"

"And don't forget, the money you used to buy this place came out of my account! This is mine too! I'll do whatever I want with it!"

His fury twisted into a laugh.

"You think I've dirtied this place? Forget dirtying it. I could blow this shithole to rubble and it still wouldn't be any of your business."

He ordered them to drag me out.

They hauled me through the door while men wired explosives to the walls of the old apartment. A few pounds of charges, rigged to the crumbling exterior.

One command. That was all it took.

The building that held the only good memory we'd ever shared collapsed into dust and ash.

Firelight filled the sky. My tears wouldn't stop.

Dennis stared at the wet streaks on my face. The anger drained from his expression, replaced by something cold and distant.

"Veronica. What do I have to say to make you understand?"

"I gave you the title of Mrs. Sanchez. I put you in Bayshore Villa. I let you carry handbags that cost over ten thousand dollars apiece. The clothes on your back right now are couture that ordinary people couldn't afford in a lifetime. Haven't I been good enough to you?"

"You're thirty years old. You're not young anymore. Do you honestly expect me to still be in love with a woman whose looks are already fading?"

"I'm giving you the dignity of being my wife. I'm giving you a life of luxury. All I need is for you to turn a blind eye and make room for Beryl and the child. Is that really so impossible?"

I met his gaze. Every word came out steady and clear.

"No."

"Dennis, you erased everything we had with your own hands."

"I want a divorce."

Irritation and anger bled into his eyes. He looked at me for a long moment, then spoke, his voice flat.

"Divorce? Not a chance. Even if I don't love you anymore, you're still the most important person in my life. I will never divorce you."

He looked at me and spoke, enunciating every word: "Veronica, I have never wronged you. If I owe anyone, it's Beryl. I couldn't give her a proper title. She spent the best years of her life following me with nothing to show for it." "I was going to let you keep your dignity. But you had to make a scene and turn everything ugly." He turned around, dropped to one knee, and pulled an enormous diamond ring from his pocket. His eyes were soft, his voice tender as he gazed up at Beryl. "Beryl, I blame myself for not finding you sooner." "I can't give you a legal title in this lifetime, but I want to give you the grandest wedding there is. I want the whole world to know that you are the one I love." Beryl covered her mouth with both hands, eyes glistening. But she turned her head away, her voice small and forlorn: "I can't say yes. I love you, so I was willing to swallow my pride and be your mistress. But I won't let the whole world know I'm your mistress." "Unless..." She turned to look at me. "Unless Mrs. Sanchez officiates for us. Unless she stands in front of everyone and admits that the unloved one is the real homewrecker. That she is the third wheel." I met the venom in the young woman's eyes without expression. Dennis watched me say nothing, then spoke, his voice like a blade on ice: "Vee, don't forget. Your parents' ashes are still buried in the cemetery plot I paid for." "You wouldn't want them to end up like this apartment... would you?" Something inside my chest tore loose, as if a knife had carved out a chunk of living flesh. Even the air I breathed tasted like blood. I nodded, slowly. "Fine. I'll do it." Beryl's tears vanished into a radiant smile, and she threw herself into Dennis's arms. He took her to pick out a wedding gown and book a venue. On his way out, he paused at the door. For once, his tone was almost civil: "Veronica, it's just a wedding. It won't change your position as Mrs. Sanchez." My voice was level. "Okay." He studied me for a long moment, and a smile finally broke across his face. "You won't need to look after Beryl for a while. Just rest at the hospital. Once the baby's born, the three of us will take a trip together, you, me, and the child. Consider it my way of making it up to you." I said okay again, just as calmly. Only then did Dennis leave, satisfied.

On the day of the wedding, Dennis was so afraid I'd cause a scene that he had the bodyguards escort me to the dressing room early and keep watch over me.

Beryl pouted and said her gown was too heavy for her to put on her own shoes.

"Mrs. Sanchez, would you help me?"

Dennis frowned slightly and glanced at me on instinct.

I lowered my eyes, crouched down, lifted the hem of her gown, and slipped the shoes onto her feet.

Dennis stared at me with something unreadable on his face. His lips pressed together as if he wanted to speak, but Beryl nudged him.

"Babe, I'm thirsty. Could you go grab me some orange juice?"

He smiled at that, ruffled her hair, and turned to walk out the door.

The second he was gone, Beryl's foot slammed into my chest.

She looked down at me, lip curled in contempt.

"Veronica, you don't actually think I'm some kept little trophy who latched onto a rich man, do you?"

"You probably had no idea. Dennis and I have been together for almost ten years."

She saw the shock in my eyes and her smile turned poisonous.

"He said I was too young to suffer alongside him. So he dated me and married you."

"He was so worried about shortchanging me that the very first paycheck he earned, he told you debt collectors took it. The truth? He bought me a designer handbag. Every single time I felt the slightest bit wronged, he'd send people to your door to stage those debt-collection scenes, shake you down, and funnel every last dollar to me for more bags."

"One million eight hundred thousand dollars total. Oh, and a bracelet that wasn't worth much. I tossed it."

My whole body wouldn't stop shaking.

One million eight hundred thousand. That was every cent I'd earned during those years, working myself half to death to pay off Dennis's debts.

At my most exhausted, I'd collapsed right on the assembly line and nearly been dragged into the machinery.

When Dennis found out, he held me and couldn't stop trembling, telling me it was all his fault.

How pathetic that I'd actually patted his back and smiled, telling him I didn't blame him.

It was all a lie.

He'd been lying to me the entire time.

Beryl was still going, still talking:

"Then you got pregnant. I was so furious I wouldn't let him touch me. So he just staged the whole thing with a business partner, got you drunk until you miscarried. You don't even know that while you were unconscious in the operating room fighting for your life, he was on the phone with me, begging me not to be mad at him."

The words hit me like a blunt instrument to the skull. My vision went black.

Beryl's face twisted, her expression turning vicious as she glared at me:

"But even though he loves me that much, he still refused to divorce you and marry me!"

"You were only ever holding that over my head because Dennis felt guilty, because you went through hard times with him when he was starting out. That's all it ever was."

Then she laughed.

"What do you think would happen if Dennis found out you attacked the baby in my belly? Think he'd still feel any of that guilt for you?"

Every hair on my body stood on end. I spun around and bolted for the door.

Behind me, Beryl lifted the champagne bottle and slammed it into her own stomach, then let out a piercing scream.

"Dennis! Save me!"

The dressing room door flew open under Dennis's kick. He seized my wrist and hurled me to the ground.

His eyes were bloodshot as he stared at Beryl crumpled on the floor, blood spreading out from beneath the hem of her dress.

"It wasn't me..."

My words died in my throat, strangled under his hand.

His eyes burning red, he roared at me:

"Veronica! You won't even spare a child! You make me sick!"

"You made Beryl lose her baby, so don't blame me for what I do to your dead parents."

Through my tears of horror and agony, he gave the order:

"Dig up Veronica's parents' graves. Grind the bones to dust and dump them in the sewer."

"No!"

I screamed until my voice broke:

"Dennis! You're insane! There are cameras in the dressing room! Go check! It wasn't me!"

Beryl staggered to her feet, swaying, and lurched toward the window:

"The baby's gone. What's the point of me being alive? I might as well just die!"

"Mrs. Sanchez, go ahead and frame me however you want!"

Dennis went white. He flung me aside and rushed to catch Beryl in his arms.

He stared at me, his expression carved from stone, and spoke one word at a time:

"Veronica. You've used up the last shred of feeling I had for you. You hurt the woman I love and our child. I will never let this go."

His voice dropped, cold and flat:

"Put her in jail. Tell them to take good care of her."

"I don't want her to have a single good day in there."

...

Dennis ran every red light on the way to the hospital.

He carried Beryl in his arms and burst straight into the emergency room:

"Save her! Save my child! If you can save my baby, I'll donate ten million to this hospital!"

The attending physician startled, then froze when he recognized Dennis.

"Mr. Sanchez?"

He frowned, looking from Dennis to the pale, fragile woman lying on the gurney.

Then, hesitantly, he spoke:

"Your child? Mr. Sanchez, you have necrospermia. You're infertile. What child are we talking about?"