I was eight months pregnant with our miracle baby when my husband brought his 22-year-old mistress to our baby shower. When I told them to go, he punched me in the stomach, making me fall into the table. "She's having the real heir, you useless woman," he scoffed as his rich parents cheered. The Countdown
A Nightmare at the Baby Shower
I was eight months pregnant with our long - awaited miracle baby when my world turned into a living nightmare.
My husband, Ryan, walked into our baby shower with his 22 - year - old mistress on his arm.
I stared at them in disbelief.
"You two need to leave," I demanded, my voice shaking.
Without a second thought, Ryan punched me right in the stomach.
I flew backward and crashed into the gift table.
Balloons popped, and presents went flying.
"She's carrying the real heir, you useless woman," Ryan scoffed.
His rich parents, sitting nearby, actually cheered.
I lay on the floor, my hands clutching my belly tightly.
The pain was unbearable.
But somehow, I managed a bloody smile.
What they didn't know was that I had been secretly working to bring down his father's company from the inside.
The FBI raid I had set up was scheduled for exactly 2:00 PM.
I looked at my watch, which was now shattered.
It was 1:59.
At 1:59 p.m., I was surrounded by the mess of my own baby shower.
Ryan stood over me, his arm around the young mistress, looking triumphant.
The room had gone completely silent after he pushed me so roughly.
Just a moment ago, I was standing there in a soft pink dress, so excited about our soon - to - be - born baby.
Now, I was lying among the wreckage of silver streamers and a cake that had toppled over.
My hands shot to protect my precious baby.
"Ryan," I gasped, struggling to breathe.
"How could you do this?"
He calmly fixed his fancy tie.
"You've been an embarrassment to me," he said coldly.
Next to him, his mistress, Lily, cooed, "She really shouldn't have made such a scene, Ry."
I had made a scene because he had the audacity to bring her into our home.
And his mother, just a few minutes ago, had stood up and announced to all the guests, "Finally, a woman who can give our family what it needs."
Ryan's father, the billionaire Carl Thompson, stepped forward.
"Enough of this drama, Emily. You're always too emotional for our family."
To my shock, his mother, Diana, started to clap slowly.
Then Carl joined in.
Two wealthy and heartless people were clapping while I lay there in pain, trembling.
Ryan sneered down at me.
"She's carrying the real heir, you barren waste."
I should have fallen apart, crying and begging.
But instead, a slow, cold smile spread across my face.
Ryan flinched.
For the first time that day, I looked completely calm.
He had no idea that for the past fourteen months, as the unappreciated and invisible wife, I had gathered every piece of evidence of his father's illegal activities.
I had handed over all the illegal ledgers and shell accounts to the federal investigators.
He definitely didn't know that the huge FBI raid was set to happen at exactly 2:00 p.m.
I glanced at my broken watch again.
1:59.
"Ryan," I whispered, my voice clear in the silent room.
"You really should have found out who you married..."
Ryan knelt down beside me.
He smelled of expensive perfume and betrayal.
I held back the pain until it burned inside me.
"You made a big mistake," I said.
His face turned hard.
"The only mistake I made was marrying a charity case with a bad womb."
The Tables Begin to Turn
Ryan's laugh did something to me.
It stripped away the last shred of kindness I'd saved for him.
For the past six years, I'd been by his side at fancy events.
I'd smiled through all the insults.
I'd let his parents treat me like I was nothing more than a piece of furniture.
I'd ignored what his mother, Linda, said about my so - called bad family background.
I'd put up with his father, Carl, saying I was pretty but useless.
I'd forgiven Ryan for being cold, for always being gone, and for all his lies.
But I could never forgive stupidity.
And Ryan was stupid enough to think my silence meant I was giving up.
A faint siren wailed outside.
Carl noticed it first.
His head turned towards the window.
I saw the look in his eyes change.
He'd heard that sound before in boardrooms when his rivals went down.
I was eight months pregnant with our miracle baby when Ryan brought his 22 - year - old mistress to our baby shower.
When I told them to leave, he punched me right in the stomach.
I crashed into the gift table.
"She's carrying the real heir, you barren waste," he sneered, and his wealthy parents actually clapped.
"Everyone," he said, spreading his arms, "I'm sorry for this scene. My wife has always had a problem with jealousy. Today, she attacked an innocent pregnant woman."
His mistress, Lisa, widened her eyes and leaned into him.
The pain was so bad that black spots started to dance at the edges of my vision, but I still laughed.
Ryan's jaw twitched.
"What's so funny?"
"You rehearsed that," I said.
"But you forgot about the cameras."
Ryan froze.
His arrogant smile wavered as his eyes darted to the high corners of the ceiling.
"The security system was turned off for the party," Linda said smoothly, though there was a hint of nervousness in her voice.
She adjusted her pearls and glared down at me with disgust.
"Stop trying to scare us, Emily. You've got nothing."
"The house cameras, yes," I managed to say, pushing myself into a sitting position even though my back and hips were throbbing.
I put my hands protectively on my stomach, feeling the strong, fast kicks of my unborn baby.
"Hang on, little one. Just a few more seconds."
I looked straight at Lisa, whose hand was still on her flat stomach.
"I'm not talking about the house cameras, Ryan. I'm talking about the diamond brooch your father gave your mother for their thirtieth anniversary. The one she made me wear today so everyone could see how 'generous' the family is."
