The April Fools' Dare

Every April Fools' Day, my billionaire husband's childhood sweetheart loved to play a twisted game of "I dare you" with him.

Last year, she dared him to throw our wedding ring into the lake. This year, she dared him to divorce me and marry her by midnight.

He agreed instantly, dragging me to court just to win.

"I'm pregnant," I whispered, holding the ultrasound photo in my pocket.

He laughed in my face, accusing me of faking it to ruin his fun.

He signed the papers, married her, and left me to bleed out in the pouring rain.

When I called him for help, he threw two hundred dollars at me and drove off to "win the game."

He thought I was just throwing a tantrum. He thought I would come crawling back.

But when he finally realized the truth—that he had killed our unborn baby—it was too late.

————

Every April Fools' Day, Carter Sterling and his childhood sweetheart, Chloe, played a ruthless game of "I dare you."

"Remember eighth grade when I dared you not to turn in your final paper?" Chloe giggled, swirling her champagne. "You ripped it up and made paper airplanes out of it."

Carter leaned back in his leather chair, a nostalgic smirk on his face. "That was nothing. In high school, I dared you to steal the principal's glasses, and you swiped his hairpiece while you were at it."

I stood in the doorway of his office, my fingers trembling as I gripped the ultrasound printout in my pocket. Five years of marriage. Countless appointments at sterile fertility clinics. Today, the doctor finally confirmed the pregnancy.

Chloe’s gaze flickered to the doorway and landed on me. Her chin tilted up in a subtle challenge. She turned back to Carter, drawing out her words in a sickeningly sweet drawl.

"Let's play for real this year, Carter. I dare you to marry me right now."

A chorus of whistles went up from Carter's frat brothers around the room.

Carter casually glanced my way and chuckled. "Why wouldn't I? Give me a sec." He stood up, strode over, and grabbed my arm, practically dragging me into the hallway.

"Harper, everyone's watching. Don't ruin the vibe," he muttered, his tone light, as if arranging a dinner reservation. "It's just an April Fools' joke.  Judge Whitman owes me a favor. He can fast-track the paperwork this afternoon. You sign the divorce settlement, I marry Chloe in his chambers to win the dare, and first thing tomorrow morning, you and I get remarried. I can't look like a coward in front of her."

I stared at the man I called my husband. For five years, I had swallowed my pride and compromised to accommodate his twisted "childhood games" with Chloe.

This time, I hid my hands behind my back, my fingernails digging into the printout. "But I'm pregnant."

Carter froze for a split second. Then, a loud, booming laugh echoed down the hall.

"Harper, that is brilliant!" he gasped, wiping an imaginary tear. "Making up a pregnancy just to stop me from winning? Wow. You’re actually better at April Fools’ pranks than I am."

Chloe sauntered out of the office, leaning against the doorframe. "Come on, Harper. It's just a game. If you're a sore loser, just say so. Don't use a fake baby as an excuse."

"Exactly," Carter agreed, his grip on my wrist tightening like a vise. "Let's go. Hurry up. If we're late, the judge goes home for the day, and how am I supposed to get married?"

He yanked me down the corridor, his strides long and hurried.

Five years. Using my bestselling novels, he had built Sterling Publishing from an empty storefront into a publicly traded company. Yet every April, I was subjected to this absurd humiliation just so he could entertain Chloe.

The drive to the county courthouse passed in a blur. In Judge Whitman's chambers, a clerk slid an uncontested divorce settlement across the mahogany desk.

"Sign it fast. I still have to file the marriage paperwork with Chloe," Carter urged, impatiently tapping his Rolex.

I picked up the pen, staring at the bold letters spelling out Carter Sterling.

"Fine. I'll give you exactly what you want."

I signed Harper Sterling on the dotted line. I didn't hesitate. I didn't tremble.

The judge signed the divorce decree, and the court seal slammed down. Just like that, five years of marriage ended as a punchline.