PART 2: MY HUSBAND FORCED HIS HIGH-RISK PREGNANT WIFE TO SERVE HIS GUESTS WHILE HIS MISTRESS MOCKED HER

PART 2 — HIS MISTRESS WALKED INTO MY BEDROOM LIKE SHE ALREADY OWNED IT

The bedroom door exploded open so violently that it slammed against the wall hard enough to shake the framed photographs hanging nearby.

I turned toward the doorway.

Logan stood there wearing an expensive navy tuxedo, though his perfectly rehearsed smile had disappeared. Behind him stood Sabrina Monroe, a glamorous social media personality who had recently begun appearing beside him at corporate events under the vague title of “brand ambassador.” Gossip websites speculated endlessly about their relationship, but neither of them had ever confirmed anything publicly. They didn’t have to. The smug expression on Sabrina’s face as she stepped into my bedroom without permission revealed more than any tabloid article ever could. She held a crystal champagne flute in one manicured hand and looked around the room as though she were already imagining how she would redecorate it once I was gone.

“There you are,” Logan said impatiently, as though he had been searching for an employee who had shown up late for work instead of his pregnant wife.

I blinked in confusion.

“I’m exactly where Dr. Collins told me to stay.”

He sighed dramatically before loosening his bow tie. “We’ve got a problem downstairs. One of the bartenders quit because he cut his hand unloading glassware. I need you to come help.”

For several seconds I honestly believed he was joking.

Then I realized he wasn’t.

“Logan… I’m on strict bed rest.”

“I know.”

“The doctor literally said I shouldn’t even be walking.”

“I heard her.”

I frowned. “Then why are you asking me?”

“Because my guests are expecting exceptional service tonight.”

His answer stunned me into silence.

Sabrina laughed quietly before taking a slow sip from her champagne. “Honestly, Natalie, pregnancy isn’t a disability. Women have been having babies for thousands of years. You’re acting like you’re made of glass.”

I ignored her completely.

“Logan,” I said carefully, “our daughters could be born tonight if I overexert myself.”

He folded his

arms across his chest and looked at me with obvious irritation instead of concern. “And if tonight goes badly, I could lose investors representing hundreds of millions of dollars. Everyone has something at stake.”

For the first time in our marriage, I realized exactly where I ranked on his list of priorities.

Not beside him.

Not even near the top.

Far below his reputation.

Far below his company.

Far below the opinions of strangers drinking expensive champagne in our living room.

I lowered my eyes to my stomach, gently rubbing the place where one of the babies shifted against my hand, and suddenly a feeling I hadn’t experienced in years settled quietly inside me.

It wasn’t fear.

It was clarity.

And somewhere downstairs, completely unaware of what was about to unfold, another round of applause erupted as Logan Prescott raised a toast to the future of the empire he believed

no one could ever take away.

The applause echoing through the mansion seemed to last forever. Every cheer drifting up through the floorboards carried Logan Prescott’s confidence with it, feeding the illusion that his world was untouchable. Downstairs, he was the brilliant entrepreneur whose investments had transformed tiny startups into billion-dollar companies. Upstairs, he was simply a man growing increasingly irritated because his wife refused to obey him. Those two versions of Logan had existed side by side for years, and almost no one had ever seen the second one. I had spent too much of my marriage protecting the image he worked so hard to cultivate, telling myself that every cruel word was the result of stress, every broken promise was temporary, and every apology meant he would eventually become the man I married again. The hardest lesson I ever learned was that people don’t accidentally reveal who they are during moments of pressure. Pressure simply removes the mask they were already wearing.

Logan walked farther into the bedroom, his polished Italian shoes clicking softly against the hardwood floor. He stopped beside the bed and looked down at me with the impatient expression of a CEO waiting for an employee to stop making excuses. His expensive watch reflected the warm glow of the bedside lamp as he glanced at the time.

“We’re already behind schedule,” he said. “The investors want another cocktail service before I introduce the keynote speaker.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“You’re actually serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious.”

“My doctor said one bad contraction could send me into labor.”

“And my board expects tonight to be perfect.”

I couldn’t help laughing, though it came out as little more than a breath of disbelief.

“You just compared our daughters’ lives to your investor presentation.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“They should be.”

For a brief moment his jaw tightened. He wasn’t used to being challenged. In the seven years we’d been married, I had become remarkably skilled at choosing silence over confrontation. It had seemed easier. Safer. Every disagreement with Logan eventually became my fault. If he lost his temper, I must have pushed him too far. If he broke something, I shouldn’t have upset him. If he spent nights away from home, it was because I had become “emotionally unavailable.” Little by little, those arguments reshaped my understanding of reality until I questioned my own instincts more than I questioned his behavior.

Sabrina wandered casually toward the windows, looking out over the illuminated gardens where guests mingled beneath strings of white lights. She smiled as though she already belonged in every corner of the house.

“I have to admit,” she said without turning around, “this room has a gorgeous view. I’d probably replace the curtains, though.”

Logan chuckled.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

The words landed harder than either of them realized.

Not because of the curtains.

Because they spoke as though my bedroom had already become theirs.

I looked from one of them to the other and suddenly saw something I had spent months refusing to acknowledge. They weren’t hiding anymore. They didn’t care whether I understood what was happening. In their minds, I had already become irrelevant.

My hand instinctively rested over my stomach again.

One of the twins kicked gently beneath my ribs.

I closed my eyes for a second.

Stay calm.

Stress isn’t good for them.

Breathe.

Slowly.

Evenly.

When I opened my eyes again, Logan had moved closer.

“Enough,” he said. “You’re coming downstairs.”

“I’m not.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I do.”

“No.”

His voice became dangerously quiet.

“You don’t.”

Without warning, he reached down and pulled the blanket away from my body, tossing it carelessly across the room. The cool air immediately sent a chill across my skin.

“Logan.”

“Stand up.”

“No.”

“I said stand up.”

“I physically can’t.”

“You won’t.”

He reached toward me again.

This time he grabbed my wrist.

Hard.

Pain shot through my arm.

“You’re hurting me.”

“No,” he replied coldly. “I’m motivating you.”

Sabrina laughed behind him.

“I told you she was dramatic.”

Logan tightened his grip.

“I’ve spent years building this company.”

“So have I.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Both of them froze.

Logan slowly released my wrist and looked at me as though I had just spoken another language.

“What did you say?”

“I said I helped build your company.”

His expression darkened immediately.

“You were my wife.”

“I was your partner.”

“You hosted dinners.”

“I negotiated introductions.”

“You smiled for photographs.”

“I convinced three of your earliest investors to trust you when nobody else would.”

His face remained perfectly still.

That worried me more than shouting would have.

Because the truth had reached him.

Years earlier, before Prescott Horizon Ventures became one of the country’s fastest-growing investment firms, I had been the corporate attorney reviewing every contract that crossed Logan’s desk. While everyone praised his vision, I quietly built the legal framework protecting his investments. I negotiated acquisitions. Structured partnerships. Identified hidden liabilities before they destroyed promising deals. Whenever Logan celebrated another successful investment, reporters described him as a financial genius.

Almost nobody knew that every major contract passed across my desk first.

Eventually I stepped away from practicing law when we decided to start a family.

Logan loved telling people I wanted a quieter life.

The truth was simpler.

He preferred audiences believing every success belonged exclusively to him.

Sabrina folded her arms.

“Oh please.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically.

“If you were really that important, your name would’ve been on the company.”

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