Reborn in His Rival's Arms

Seven months pregnant. My daily commute was a brutal, boneaching grind. Yet my husband, Weston, took a massive detour every single morning.

All to chauffeur his female coworker to the office. He claimed the subway was too crowded for a girl like Aria. He told me to just call an Uber.

Watching him grab his car keys, rushing out the door for her yet again, I stepped directly into his path. "So my safety—and our baby's—matters less than her having to stand on a train?" Weston dragged a hand down his face, a muscle feathering in his tight jaw. "She's Conrad's niece," he clipped out. "I can't afford to get on her bad side.

I pay for your Ubers, don't I? For once, can't you just try to understand the pressure I'm under?" My violent morning sickness. The swollen, aching joints.

The sleepless nights staring at the ceiling. All of it dismissed as irrelevant background noise.

None of it carried the same weight as his desperate need to play the hero for an outsider. Fine. If his burden was so heavy, I would gladly share it with everyone.

I hauled my heavy belly straight into the glass lobby of his corporate building.

I bypassed the security gates, pulled the receptionist's PA microphone toward me, and pressed the button.

My voice cut through the morning chatter, echoing off the marble walls. "Aria. Good morning.

This is Weston's wife." "He's been acting as your personal chauffeur every morning, leaving his heavily pregnant wife to fend for herself in rush hour.

Would you mind showing some basic decency and handling your own commute?" I paused, letting the static hum over the speakers. "After all, my safety and his baby's life… well, he really can't afford to get on our bad side." Chapter 1 The words dropped.

Dead silence blanketed the lobby. Weston stormed out of the elevator.

His fingers clamped around my wrist like a steel trap. "Blair, what the hell are you doing?" A sharp breath hissed through my teeth against the pain. I didn't pull away.

Aria trailed out right behind him. The second she saw me, her eyelashes fluttered.

Her eyes brimmed red. "Weston… is this because of me?" "It has nothing to do with you." Weston didn't even turn his head.

His gaze stayed pinned to my face. "Go upstairs." "But Blair…" Aria edged a halfstep forward. She pushed out a trembling, textbook apology. "I'm so sorry.

This is all my fault." "Done with the act?" I cut her off. "Every morning at seven, he takes a twentyminute detour to chauffeur you.

When I needed him for my OBGYN appointment, he suddenly had to drive you to a client." "Now you squeeze out two tears, and he treats me like the crazy one." I tilted my head. "How long did you practice that little pickme routine, Aria?" Someone in the crowd sucked in a sharp breath.

Weston's face went rigid. "Blair! Aria is Conrad's niece. Looking out for her is Conrad's direct order!

For once, can you just act like an adult?" A laugh scraped my throat. "Did Conrad order you to drive her every single day?" I fired back. "Did Conrad order you to change your phone passcode to her birthday?

Did Conrad order you to come home with her perfume baked into your collar?" His Adam's apple bobbed. Nothing came out.

Aria's tears began to freefall, splashing onto the marble floor. "Blair, you're getting this all wrong.

Weston and I are completely innocent…" "Innocent?" I unzipped my bag, ripped out a stack of photos, and slammed them directly against Weston's chest.

The glossy prints scattered across the floor. Dashcam screenshots. Timestamps. GPS coordinates. Crystal clear.

In every single one, Aria sat in the passenger seat, grinning from ear to ear. "Sixtyseven trips in three months," I stated, keeping my voice dead flat. "Twentythree of those times, you idled outside her apartment building for over half an hour.

The longest was two hours and seven minutes." I locked eyes with him. "Tell me, Weston. What exactly did you two talk about in a parked car for two hours?" Dead silence.

Weston stared down at the photos. A visible tremor hit his bottom lip. Suddenly, Aria lunged forward, her manicured fingers digging into my forearm. "Blair, please don't do this!

Weston only did it for his career!" I yanked my arm back. Barely any force.

Yet she threw her upper body backward, letting out a piercing shriek as she collapsed onto the hard tiles. "Blair, what the hell is wrong with you!" Weston shoved past me to scoop her up.

He shot me a glare that could kill. Aria buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking with sobs. "Don't blame Blair.

I just lost my footing." Chapter 2 Watching them cling to each other, a laugh suddenly tore from my throat. "Great performance," I said, clapping my hands slowly. "Too bad—" Before I could finish the sentence, Weston dropped Aria's shoulders and closed the distance between us in a single, massive stride.

Smack! The sharp, brutal sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed off the high lobby ceiling. My head whipped to the side. The skin on my cheek exploded in a sudden, stinging fire.

A collective gasp ripped through the crowd of onlookers. "Are you done throwing this tantrum!" he roared, the veins bulging in his neck. "Are you not going to stop until you completely ruin my career!" A highpitched ringing pierced my ears.

The entire world muted around me. I slowly turned my head back. I stared at his furious, contorted features.

This was the same face that used to look at me with nothing but gentle smiles. Right now, he looked like a complete stranger. The tears finally broke past my lashes.

It wasn't physical pain. It was the sensation of my chest hollowing out, leaving nothing but cold ash inside. Ding. The elevator doors slid open behind me.

I stepped inside and jammed my thumb against the Close Door button. Before the metal panels shut, I saw Weston staring back at me, his jaw tight as he shielded Aria.

The elevator plummeted. The woman staring back at me in the mirrored walls had bloodshot eyes. Just hold on, I told my reflection. Hold on, Blair. Just for the baby.

Once the baby was born safe, we would leave. Leave forever. My phone buzzed in my palm. [ A Zelle notification from Weston: $5,000. ] [ Stop acting crazy.

Go home. ] I tapped Accept. If I couldn't get his love anymore, I was damn well taking his money. I pushed through the revolving glass doors.

The midmorning sun slashed against my eyes, blindingly bright. I raised a hand to block the glare. A sudden memory from years ago forced its way into my mind.

Weston pedaling a bicycle, me on the back, riding through the dappled shade of oak trees. The breeze was so light. "Blair," he had promised, "I'm going to treat you right.

Always." Always. Turns out, forever wasn't very long at all. After that day, Weston stopped chauffeuring Aria. Or at least, he stopped letting me find out about it.

He left early and came home late. His clothes always carried faint traces of different perfumes. We barely spoke. We were just two strangers coexisting under the same roof.

I threw myself into packing my hospital bag, organizing baby supplies, and booking my own OBGYN appointments. Every flutter, every kick against my ribs only cemented my decision.

Until that night. Weston crashed onto the mattress, reeking of alcohol.

The sharp stench of liquor mixed with an unfamiliar, cloying perfume hit my throat, making me gag. "Weston." I shoved his shoulder. "Go shower." He mumbled something incoherent and didn't move an inch.

I reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp to wake him up. My gaze instantly locked onto his neck. A fresh, dark red mark. Static flooded my brain. My hand moved on its own.

My fingertips brushed against the bruised skin. It was still warm. The contact jolted him awake.

Weston blinked, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. "What are you…" "What is this?" My voice shook. He rubbed his neck in a drunken daze. Then, his entire body went rigid.

The alcohol seemed to evaporate from his system. He shot up into a sitting position, his eyes darting frantically. "It's—it's a mosquito bite!

The private dining room was full of them…" "A mosquito in the middle of winter?" The tremor left my voice, replaced by ice. "Weston.

Whenever you lie, your eyes dart to the right." His jaw worked, but no sound came out. "Was it Aria?" The terrifying calm in my chest was absolute. "No!" He panicked, his hands shooting out to grip my wrists. "Blair, listen to me." "Tonight was Conrad's birthday dinner.

I drank too much.

She was just helping me stand and it was an accident." "She accidentally helped you stand with her mouth?" "I swear it was an accident!" His eyes rimmed red. "I swear to God, you're the only one in my heart.

Please, you have to believe me…" I stared dead into his eyes. I saw panic. I saw guilt. But I didn't see a single shred of honesty. Seven years.

I knew him too damn well. "Let's get a divorce." He froze like someone had ripped the plug from the wall, staring at me in dead silence.

Chapter 3 It took a long time for him to force the words out. "What… did you say?" "I said, divorce." Every syllable was a shard of ice. "You're out of your mind!" He grabbed my shoulders. "Over a single mark?" "Blair, there is nothing between me and Aria!

Driving her around, entertaining clients—it's all work!" "So you just let her stamp her name on your neck?" I laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "Weston, do you think I'm an idiot, or are you just playing one?" "Then what do you want from me!" he yelled, the whites of his eyes turning a furious, bloodshot red. "Beg on my knees?

Write an apology letter?" "Blair, I'm playing the good little lapdog out there every single day. I'm exhausted.

And you're still suffocating me at home?" Turns out, all those months of silent endurance—the violent morning sickness, the solo doctor visits, the lonely nights—were just me suffocating him. "Fine." I nodded, throwing the duvet off and swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress. "Then I'll stop suffocating you." The second my bare feet hit the floorboards, my lower stomach seized.

Like a fist had reached inside and twisted violently. A muffled groan ripped through my teeth.

I slapped my palm against the drywall just to stay upright. "What's wrong?" Weston finally noticed. "Nothing." I ground my teeth together. "I'm not dying." But the pain flared.

Vicious and sharp. I doubled over, pressing my clammy forehead against the freezing wall. "Blair!" Weston rushed over, gripping my arm. "Why are you so pale?" His phone rang. Aria.

The name flashed on the screen, blindingly bright in the dim room. He stared at it. Then at me.

His fingers gave a slight, traitorous twitch. "Answer it." The pain made my voice shake. "Maybe her stomach hurts too.

Maybe she needs you to drive her to the ER." "Don't do this…" He gripped the phone, paralyzed. It rang. Once. Twice. On the third ring, he swiped answer. "Hello?

What's wrong?" A pause. "Don't cry. Slow down… You fell? How bad is it?

Okay, I'm coming right now." He turned back to me, his features contorting with conflict. "Aria fell down the stairs. She thinks her leg might be broken.

She lives alone…" "Go." I cut him off. "She's more important than me and the baby. I know." "That's not what I mean! Just wait for me.

I'll drop her at the ER and come right back—" "Don't bother." I stared dead into his eyes. "Weston.

We're done." He stood rooted to the spot, his gaze darting erratically between my face and the glowing screen in his hand. Finally, he spoke. "Give me half an hour!

I'll be right back to take you to the hospital!" He bolted out the door. He didn't even stop to change his shoes. The heavy front door slammed shut, vibrating the entire apartment.

My legs gave out. I slid down the wall until I hit the floor. Thick, hot liquid rapidly pooled between my thighs. My phone had slipped into the corner.

I dragged myself across the floorboards, my shaking fingers dialing 911. Another wave of blinding agony hit. The edges of my vision blacked out.

The phone slipped from my sweaty palm, clattering against the wood.

The last thing I heard was my own hoarse, desperate whisper. "Help me… my baby…" Sirens ripped through the dead silence of the early morning.

By the time the paramedics hauled me onto the stretcher, I was soaked in blood. The contractions hit in brutal, rolling waves. Tearing me apart from the inside out.

The nurses sprinted down the stark white hallway, shoving the gurney forward. The wheels shrieked against the linoleum. "Family! Where is her family!" a nurse shouted as she ran.

I opened my mouth. No sound came out. The delivery room doors swung open, then crashed shut. They shifted me onto the delivery bed.

My legs were hoisted into the cold metal stirrups. The doctor did a rapid check, his face dropping into a grim mask. "She's dilating too fast!

Preterm labor." "The baby is much too small.

We need a family member to sign the surgical consent forms immediately!" "I'll… sign them…" My consciousness was fracturing under the pain. But my fingers clamped shut.

Locking in a death grip around the doctor's scrub sleeve. Chapter 4 "No! We need a direct family member!" The nurse's voice pitched up in panic. "Where is your husband?

Call him!" They dug my shattered phone out of my bag. They dialed Weston's number and put it on speaker. The dial tone stretched on.

Finally, his hushed voice filtered through. "Blair? I'm in the ER.

Aria fractured her leg and needs surgery, I can't leave…" "This is the maternity ward!" the nurse cut him off. "Your wife is in preterm labor and hemorrhaging!" "She needs emergency surgery right now!

We need you here to sign the consent forms!" A beat of heavy silence. "I… I really can't leave right now," he stammered. "Aria needs a family member to sign for her too, and her uncle hasn't arrived yet…" A pause. "Can't Blair just sign it herself?" The nurse froze, the clipboard stalling in her hands as she stared down at me