After His Affair, I Faked My Death
Vivian Cross · Completed · 200.2k Words
Introduction
Then my half-sister handed me her ultrasound. His baby. Growing inside her.
Three years of marriage. Three years of building everything together. Gone in one moment.
I should have thrown the proof in his face.
But my doctor gave me news that made his betrayal feel like nothing.
So I did something he will never expect.
I disappeared.
Let him search. Let him lose his mind.
He will never find me.
Chapter 1
"Camila, I'm pregnant. And it's Stanley's baby."
"Three years of marriage and you couldn't give him a child. One night with me, and here we are." A slow, venomous smile. "You really are useless, aren't you?"
The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor buzzed overhead as Camila Gonzalez stared at the ultrasound report being waved in her face. The words blurred, then sharpened—seven weeks along. Exactly when Stanley Martinez had been away on his business trip.
"Camila, dear sister, cat got your tongue?" Laura Gonzalez settled onto the bench across from her, legs crossed, radiating smug satisfaction.
"What do you want?" Camila's voice came out hollow. She already knew the answer, but she asked anyway.
Her throat felt like it was closing. Every sound reached her ears muffled, as if filtered through gauze.
"Isn't it obvious? I want to be Mrs. Martinez." Laura's grin widened. "Let's be honest, Camila—you have no career, no family name worth mentioning, and you can't even give him an heir. What exactly qualifies you to be his wife?"
Camila closed her eyes. "I was the one who built everything with him from nothing."
When Stanley had returned to the Martinez dynasty to claim his inheritance, it was Camila by his side. When rivals sabotaged him and a car wreck left him comatose, it was Camila who sat at his bedside for months, who coaxed him back to consciousness, who pushed him through every agonizing hour of physical therapy until he reclaimed his empire.
"Oh, everyone in Silverlight City knows how good Stanley is to you," Laura said, leaning back, her eyes glittering with undisguised hatred. "Chartering a helicopter across the city just to bring you breakfast—that made the news, didn't it? And when someone crossed you, he shattered the man's bones with his bare hands. Everyone in our circle knows."
Her voice climbed higher, sharper. "But here's the thing—everything he's given you? He can give to me too."
"You know what they say, Camila—the one who isn't loved is the real other woman. Your mother lost her place as Mrs. Gonzalez and threw herself off a building. Maybe you should follow her example."
Laura stood, smoothing her skirt. "Oh, and tonight? Stanley's taking me out for our anniversary. The fireworks at the harbor—those are his gift to me. Watch the news if you don't believe me. I'll be telling him the happy baby news tonight."
She waggled the ultrasound report one last time, then turned on her heel and walked away, her footsteps light and unhurried.
Camila didn't move until Laura disappeared around the corner. Then her eyes squeezed shut, and two tears slid down her cheeks.
She pulled out her phone and opened her messages with Stanley, scrolling up to last night's conversation. She'd seen another tabloid photo of him—another rumor, another woman—and had texted him about it.
His reply: "How could I possibly be interested in anyone else?"
They'd talked on the phone after that. He'd come home. The message thread ended there.
Now, her fingers moved before she could stop them: "But what if you did meet someone you wanted? Would you leave me for her?"
His call came through instantly.
But at the same moment, the door to the consultation room swung open. Dr. Travis Mitchell stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand, gesturing her inside.
Camila silenced her phone. She walked toward him on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else.
"The news isn't good." Travis slid the pathology report across his desk. "The biopsy confirmed it's malignant. Astrocytoma—one of the most aggressive types. My recommendation is to terminate the pregnancy immediately and begin chemotherapy. You're about eight weeks along?"
"Almost nine." The words left her lips with something that might have been a smile if it hadn't looked so broken.
Laura was carrying Stanley's child as a trophy. Camila was carrying his child alongside a death sentence.
She drew a breath. "If I don't terminate—if I choose to carry the baby to term..."
"You'll miss your window for treatment entirely." Travis's brow furrowed deeply. "However, astrocytoma doesn't cross the blood-brain barrier. The baby would be unaffected."
He leaned forward. "Camila, I cannot in good conscience advise you to sacrifice your life for this pregnancy."
But my baby is a life too.
Camila nodded slowly. "I'll think about it."
"You have a month at most before treatment must begin. Please—don't wait."
She left the consultation room and exhaled a long, shaking breath. The corridor stretched before her, sterile and endless, and despair pooled behind her ribs like something physical.
She'd found out about the pregnancy a week ago. The same day, the tumor. As if the universe had decided to deliver hope and destruction in the same breath.
If she told Stanley, he would choose her over the baby without hesitation. She knew how much he loved her—or at least, how much he claimed to.
But they'd wanted a child for so long. And now Laura was pregnant too...
Her phone lit up again. And again. And again.
Finally, she answered.
"Camila." Stanley's voice was tight with worry. "Why weren't you picking up? Are you feeling okay? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I was just—dealing with something." She opened her mouth, then closed it. What was she supposed to say?
"Why are you asking me those strange questions again?" A note of fond exasperation crept into his tone.
Camila cut him off. "Stanley. If I were diagnosed with a terminal illness—what would you do?"
"Baby, where are you right now?" The worry sharpened instantly.
A nearby machine chimed—an appointment reminder echoing through the corridor. Stanley caught it immediately. "You're at a hospital. I'm coming to get you—"
"Don't. It's my friend—she's sick, and I came with her for support." Camila grasped for a name, offered it up like a shield. "Seeing all these patients just got to me. That's why I asked."
She heard him exhale. "Don't overthink things, okay?"
"I never used to overthink anything. I gave you my complete trust. But you—" She stopped herself. She couldn't face what lay on the other side of that sentence.
"I will never betray your trust." His voice dropped low, intimate. "You are the love of my life. Always."
"Mm." Camila made a small sound of acknowledgment.
The love of his life. But the second and third loves—how many other women filled those spots?
"Are you free tonight?" she asked. "Can you come home for dinner?"
"I've got a conference call with our overseas suppliers. It'll probably run late." Not a single beat of hesitation. The excuse rolled off his tongue too smoothly—clearly rehearsed.
"Just the meeting? Nothing else?"
She needed to know. What would he and Laura do tonight? The thought twisted in her chest like a serrated blade, nausea rising in its wake.
"Nothing else. I'll come straight home after."
His voice was steady, certain. He sounded nothing like a man planning to spend the evening with his mistress.
After they hung up, Camila felt as though every ounce of energy had been wrung from her body.
"Camila."
The consultation room door opened again. Travis hurried toward her.
"I thought of something." He'd clearly read the conflict written across her face. "I have a colleague from medical school—he's based abroad. If you could get to Novaria, there's an experimental protocol that might allow you to continue the pregnancy while undergoing treatment."
He paused. "But the success rate is only thirty percent."
"And if it fails?"
"You and the baby both die."
Thirty percent. A gamble with two lives on the table.
Or she could carry the baby to term, forfeit treatment entirely, and guarantee her own death—but give her child a chance at life.
Camila's decision came without hesitation, though it carried the weight of a woman with no good options left.
If she died, her child would not be safe with Stanley. Not with Laura in the picture. Not with everything she now knew.
This baby had already lost its father. It couldn't lose its mother too.
"I don't need more time to think," she said quietly. "I'll go abroad for treatment."
She paused, and when she looked at Travis again, her green eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"But before I leave—can you do something for me? Can you issue a death certificate?" Her voice barely held. "I need everyone here to believe I'm dead."
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