I Faked My Death To Ruin Him

My labor pains flaring violently the same day my husband’s widowed sister-in-law, Nancy, went into labor.

Nancy tricked everyone into believing I carried a girl while she bore the heir son.

Obsessed with securing the inheritance for Nancy’s fake male child, Rowdy locked me inside a hospital morgue cold storage, transferring all doctors, blood reserves and emergency gear to her VIP ward.

I knelt on icy ground, begging him to spare our baby and swore to renounce all family wealth, yet he kicked me aside and called me a greedy schemer.

His adopted sister Gina sneaked down, beat me brutally and injected a high-dose labor suppressant straight into my womb to stall my delivery.

It was only after Nancy delivered her baby that Rowdy belatedly remembered I was also stuck in labor downstairs.

Before he could head down to the basement, his panicked subordinate rushed in and cried, “Boss, Awful!—your wife and your son are dead!”

A sharp tear in my lower abdomen stopped me dead in my tracks. A second later, warm fluid rushed down my legs, soaking into my maternity dress.

"My water broke," I gasped, my hands instinctively flying to my swollen belly.

Ten feet away, in the hospital's grand lobby, Nancy, my husband’s sister-in-law dropped her handbag. She clutched her own stomach, her face twisting into panic. "Rowdy! Oh my god, the baby!"

The reaction was instantaneous. My husband, Rowdy Shepherd, didn't even cast a glance in my direction. He sprinted across the polished marble floor and caught her in his arms.

He held Nancy with a desperate, trembling tenderness—like she was his dying wife, not the widow of his late older brother.

"Stay with me, Nancy. I've got you," Rowdy coaxed, his voice tight with an anxiety I had never, ever heard him use for me.

Another brutal contraction hit me. I stumbled, my knees buckling. Before I could hit the floor, heavy, rough hands clamped down on my arms. I looked up, expecting medical staff. Instead, I saw the stone-cold faces of Rowdy’s personal bodyguards.

They didn't lead me toward the elevators heading to the maternity ward. They dragged me backward, toward the bleak, concrete stairwell leading into the basement.

"Let go of me!" I screamed, digging the heels of my shoes into the floor. "Are you crazy? My baby is coming!"

The lead bodyguard yanked my arm harder, hauling me down the stairs into the freezing, sterile corridors of the hospital's lower levels.

"Boss's orders, Mrs. Shepherd," he said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "The low temperature down here can delay your labor. You have to wait until Nancy’s delivery is done."

"Wait?" I shrieked, the sheer absurdity of the words cutting through the agonizing pain in my pelvis. "You can't pause childbirth! Take me to a doctor!"

He shoved me through a heavy, steel-reinforced door. The biting, glacial air hit my sweat-drenched skin like a wave of needles.

I looked around, my heart dropping into my stomach. Stainless steel drawers lined the walls. Drain grates on the floor.

The morgue. The underground cold storage.

My knees finally gave out. I collapsed right onto a rusty metal gurney. The heavy door slammed shut behind me, the lock clicking into place.

Five minutes later, the door creaked open. Two women in scrubs rushed in, shivering violently the second the cold air hit them. One was a middle-aged nurse, the other merely a terrified intern holding a meager tray of basic supplies.

"Where is Dr. Evans?" I choked out, a fresh wave of agony ripping through my spine. "Where is the anesthesiologist?"

The older nurse avoided my eyes, hurriedly prepping an IV bag. "Mr. Shepherd diverted them. He ordered all senior obstetricians, all the emergency equipment, and every single dose of coagulant to the VIP suite on the third floor. For Nancy."

I stared at the peeling paint on the ceiling, a bitter, broken laugh escaping my lips.

A vicious contraction tore through me. I

The older nurse shook her head, muttering to her intern in a hushed whisper, completely unaware of how well sound carried in the echoing, empty room.

"Rich families are so messed up," she scoffed softly, prepping a syringe. "I've never seen a husband act like this. Doesn't even care about his own wife giving birth just because she's having a girl. Leaving her in a freezer while he plays daddy upstairs."

Just because she's having a girl.

The words hit me harder than the physical pain. It was the brutal, undeniable truth of my pathetic existence in the Shepherd family.

It all traced back to a charity gala six months ago. A spiked drink. Rowdy and I completely lost our minds, ending up naked and tangled together in a drug-fueled one-night stand. I never planned to sleep with him, but that single mistake ruined both our lives.

While we were sweating off the drugs in that hotel bed, Rowdy’s older brother was ambushed in a brutal syndicate shootout. He called Rowdy’s phone, desperately begging for backup. But Rowdy was too busy with me to hear it. His brother bled out in an alley. Overnight, Rowdy became the sole heir to the ruthless Shepherd mafia empire—and a man consumed by crippling, toxic guilt.

A month later, his father suffered a massive stroke. On his deathbed, the old don grabbed my hand with a vice-like grip, using his final, rattling breaths to force Rowdy to marry me.

“Marry her. Wash away the bad luck.”

Rowdy did it. He married me.

Then came the bombshell. Nancy and I both announced our pregnancies in the exact same week.

Every single time I suffered through severe morning sickness, Nancy would casually mention a minor headache, and Rowdy would drop everything to cater to her. Every time I begged him to accompany me to an ultrasound, Nancy would suddenly have a "panic attack." He chose her. Every single time.

"My brother died for my fault, Celeste," Rowdy had told me once, staring at me with dead, icy eyes when I finally snapped and asked him why he bothered marrying me at all. "His child is my absolute priority. I must take care of them. You can manage on your own."

He never came to a single checkup. Not one.

And then the gender results leaked. Nancy was having a boy. I was having a girl.

I’ll never forget the family dinner that night. Rowdy’s younger sister, Gina sneered "A girl? A money-losing commodity. Do you really think a girl deserves to compete with our eldest grandson for the family trust? Know your place, Celeste."

I had dug my fingernails into my palms, praying my husband would defend me. Defend his own flesh and blood.

"Ah!"

A sudden, violent tearing sensation ripped me out of my memories. It wasn't just a contraction. It felt like my very core was being ripped in half.

"Oh my god," the intern shrieked, backing away from the gurney.

I looked down. The pale blue sheets beneath me were soaking through with a dark. It was spreading too fast.

"She's hemorrhaging!" the older nurse yelled, her previous calm completely shattering. She slammed her hands onto my stomach. "We need blood! Where are the O-negative packs?"

"They took them!" the intern cried, tears streaming down her face. "Mr. Shepherd ordered all the blood reserves to the third floor just in case Nancy needed them!"

The freezing air of the morgue was seeping into my bones, but my body felt strangely hot. My vision started to blur at the edges. My breathing grew shallow.

The baby inside me kicked weakly, as if fighting for her own life.

A primal surge of adrenaline—pure, unadulterated motherly rage—flooded my veins. I wouldn't let them kill my daughter.

I reached out with a trembling, blood-soaked hand and grabbed the older nurse by the collar of her scrubs. I pulled her down to my face.

"Phone," I wheezed, my voice barely a rattle in my throat.

"Ma'am, you need to stay still—"

"Give me your damn phone!" I screamed, tasting blood on my tongue. "Call Rowdy. Put him on speaker. Now."