Chapter Five
“Wow,” Brad breathes the second I step out of the closet.
I smooth my hands over the fabric of my dress automatically, pretending not to notice the way he’s staring.
If this were a fairy tale, I’d walk downstairs and he’d be standing there looking at me like I was the love of his life.
Then again, in fairy tales husbands usually aren’t secretly screwing the surrogate.
“I look okay?” I ask when he keeps staring.
“Yes. Of course, you look okay.” He lets out a low laugh before crossing the room toward me. “Jesus, Wyn.”
He pulls me against him instinctively and leans down to kiss me.
I lean back just enough to avoid it before slipping smoothly from his arms.
“Lipstick,” I point at with a smile.
Something flickers across his face.
“Is everything okay?” he asks carefully.
I force myself to look confused.
“Yeah. Of course.” I grab my clutch from the dresser. “Why?”
“You just seem…” He trails off.
“We’re going to be late,” I interrupt lightly, already walking toward the bedroom door.
Brad follows quietly after that.
He opens the car door for me outside before climbing in beside me, and I study the back of the hired driver’s head while trying not to laugh at how ridiculously pretentious our lives have become.
I’d like to say the cost of tonight’s charity gala is more than they’ll be able to raise, but honestly? That’s probably not true.
The people attending this event are the kind who treat donating money like a competitive sport. Surgeons. Investors. Actors pretending not to be actors. Women with impossibly smooth skin and men with watches worth more than houses.
Everyone trying to outdo each other while pretending they’re there for the hospital.
Shaking the thought away, I stare out the tinted window.
“Hey.”
Brad’s hand lands warmly on my thigh.
Even through the fabric of my dress, disgust curls low in my stomach.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to hurt rather than push him away.
“Hey,” he repeats softly. “What’s going on with you tonight? When you said you’d come, I thought you’d actually be here. Not somewhere inside your own head.”
I force myself to smile. “I’m just thinking about the baby.”
I study his expression carefully. It doesn’t flicker. If anything, it softens.
“I bought Laila a dress,” I continue casually. “Actually two.” I laugh lightly. “But I realized I don’t even know her address.”
“Oh.”
There.
A crack.
Tiny, but definitely there.
“I can drop them off on my way to work tomorrow,” he says quickly.
I tilt my head slightly. “So you go to her apartment often?”
Brad studies me now instead of answering immediately. “Where’s this coming from?”
“Nowhere.” I shrug lightly. “It’s just… according to the contract, she’s supposed to update us weekly at this point, and she definitely hasn’t been updating me.”
I pause deliberately.
“What about you?”
A bead of sweat appears near Brad’s temple.
“She may have texted me a few times,” he says carefully.
“Oh?” I ask, acting surprised. “What’d she say?”
“Just…” He clears his throat. “She’s been having heartburn. Asking what foods are safe to eat. You know. Pregnancy stuff.”
“Oh.” I nod slowly before adding casually, “Did you know people think heartburn means the baby will have a full head of hair?”
Brad’s head snaps toward me so fast it’s almost comical.
His mouth opens.
Then closes.
For a second he genuinely looks like a fish struggling for oxygen.
“Is it true?” I ask innocently, tilting my head.
“No,” he answers quickly, shaking his head. “It’s just a myth.”
“Hm.”
I turn back toward the window.
Brad stays unusually quiet after that.
Even his hand leaves my thigh, retreating to rest on his own leg instead. His knee starts bouncing faintly against the floor of the car.
Interesting.
“We’re here,” I chirp brightly when he completely fails to notice the car slowing as it joins the line of vehicles outside the venue.
“Oh.” He blinks before hurriedly reaching for the door handle.
I stop him with a light touch to his wrist.
“Babe,” I say softly, “what’s gotten into you tonight?”
“Oh, nothing.” He straightens his collar automatically. “Long day.”
He’s wearing a dark navy suit tonight with a crisp white shirt underneath.
Meanwhile I’m wearing a floor-length black dress that hugs every curve I have, complete with a slit up the thigh and a neckline dramatic enough to make elderly women clutch pearls.
Sue me.
Even with a potentially collapsing marriage, I still want to look fantastic.
Especially since most of my former friend group is going to be here tonight.
When the car finally stops, an usher opens our doors and Brad steps out before turning to help me.
There are no flashing cameras waiting outside, but somehow the atmosphere still feels just as performative as any Hollywood premiere.
Women dripping in diamonds.
Men pretending they’re not wearing makeup.
Everyone smiling too widely.
The staircase leading into the ballroom is covered in cream-colored carpet despite the obvious tripping hazard.
Is putting carpet on stairs objectively stupid?
Yes.
Do they keep doing it anyway because it looks elegant?
Every single time.
Brad and I enter the ballroom just as the director of the hospital spots us.
“Dr. and Mrs. Robinson.” He smiles broadly before his eyes land on me. “Oh, Bronwyn, you look as radiant as ever.”
He leans in to kiss my cheek.
I smile politely, murmuring a greeting before Brad immediately guides me farther into the room with a hand at my lower back.
“What’s up with him?” I whisper once we’re out of earshot.
“He might be getting fired,” Brad replies casually, not even bothering to lower his voice.
“Why?”
“He was taking bribes.”
“Oh.”
That explains the confidence.
Brad lost a surgical internship in med school to the son of some famous actor after the family “donated” a ridiculous amount of money to the university. To this day, he hates anything remotely connected to bribery or nepotism.
“Wyn?” My stomach tightens at Brad’s tone.
“Melissa?” I whisper under my breath, not turning around to see which backstabber is approaching us right now.
“Jenny,” Brad says loudly with a smile instead, extending his hand toward her husband.
Of course.
“Hello,” I say tightly, doing the obligatory cheek kiss with my former best friend.
“You look beautiful,” her husband tells me warmly.
“Hey.” Brad nudges him lightly. “Look at your own wife.”
Everyone laughs softly except Jenny.
Then Brad’s arm slides around my waist possessively.
“Excuse us,” he says before steering me toward the dance floor.
The second we start swaying with the music, I lean closer.
“Thank you,” I murmur quietly.
“Don’t thank me,” he says easily. “She’s a bitch.”
A startled laugh escapes me despite everything.
“I’m serious,” he says, looking down at me. “Only an idiot would let you go.”
The words hit so hard my chest physically hurts. Because for one weak, humiliating second, I want to believe him.
I want to forget the calls and the texts and the apartment and the way Laila wrote it feels like I have a part of you inside me.
I lower my head quickly.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper suddenly before stepping away.
“Wyn-”
But I’m already walking off the dance floor.
The music grows muffled behind me as I hurry toward the hallway bathrooms, blinking hard against the sudden burn in my eyes.
I barely make it around the corner before spotting Jenny standing nearby with her back turned toward me.
Panic flashes through me instantly.
The balcony doors beside her are slightly open. Without thinking, I slip outside before she notices me.
Cold night air rushes against my skin immediately.
I move deeper into the shadows beside one of the stone columns, clutching my tiny purse against my stomach while internally insulting myself.
What exactly is my plan here?
I’m still cursing my own stupidity for trapping myself out here when the balcony doors slide open again.
Jenny walks out first, Brad right behind her.
My stomach drops so violently it almost hurts.
“What the fuck,” I mouth silently from my hiding spot.
Jenny spins around immediately. “Hey, I thought I saw-”
“What the fuck is your problem?” Brad cuts her off sharply.
I freeze.
Jenny blinks, clearly stunned. “Excuse me?”
“I get that friendships end,” Brad snaps, “especially with women as catty as you apparently are, but enough is enough.”
My breath catches.
“She’s done nothing to you,” he continues angrily. “Bronwyn has been nothing but a good friend to all of you, and honestly? The way you’ve all been treating her lately is pathetic.”
Jenny’s expression hardens instantly.
“You have no idea what she did,” she says coldly.
Then she storms back inside in a huff, heels clicking violently against the tile.
I stare after her in shock.
Part of me immediately wants to step out and thank him. To let myself believe again for one tiny second that maybe I’ve gotten this whole thing wrong.
Maybe this can still be fixed.
I’m just about to leave my hiding spot when his phone rings.
Something deep in my body tells me not to move.
So I stay frozen in the shadows while Brad pulls out his phone with an irritated curse before answering the video call.
“Hey, baby,” Laila’s voice greets immediately.
The word baby slices straight through me.
I can’t fully see the screen from where I’m hidden, but judging by the way Brad immediately looks around and rubs his forehead, she’s definitely not wearing much.
“Fuck,” he mutters quietly. “You know she’s with me tonight. What if she’d seen?”
My heartbeat starts roaring in my ears.
“So let her,” Laila says lightly. “She’s gonna find out about us eventually anyway.”
For a second, I genuinely stop breathing.
Every paranoid thought I’ve had over the past few days suddenly twists into something real and ugly and undeniable.
“No, she’s not,” Brad snaps immediately. “I told you already, I’m not leaving her. She’s my wife.”
The relief that floods me lasts less than a second. Because I shouldn’t have to compete with her at all.
“She wasn’t your wife yesterday,” Laila reminds him sweetly. “Or the day before.”
My knees feel weak.
The image of him touching her flashes violently through my mind before I can stop it.
Her pregnant stomach.
His hands.
My baby.
I press myself harder against the wall like that might somehow stop the nausea clawing up my throat.
“That was a mistake,” Brad says tightly.
Laila laughs softly.
“Once is a mistake, baby. You and I both know we’re way past mistakes now.”
Something inside me cracks quietly.
Because until this exact moment, some pathetic part of me still believed there’d be an explanation.
“What do you want?” Brad asks, frustration bleeding into his voice.
“I’m horny,” Laila purrs. “Your baby’s making me needy.”
My stomach lurches so violently at that, that I have to slap a hand over my mouth to stop myself from gagging.
Brad sighs, cursing under his breath again. And I know that curse.
I know exactly what that strained sound means. I’ve heard it in our bedroom for years.
“I can’t,” he says roughly. “I’m here with Wyn.”
“Fine,” Laila sighs dramatically. “I guess I’ll just find someone else.”
“Don’t,” Brad snaps instantly.
The possessiveness in his response hurts more than anything else so far.
“I’ll…” Brad drags a hand through his hair. “I’ll figure something out.”
Like I’m an inconvenience.
Like lying to me is just another exhausting task he has to manage between surgeries and galas and fucking our surrogate.
“See you soon, baby,” Laila says sweetly before hanging up.
The balcony falls silent.
Brad stares at his dark phone screen for a second before shoving it back into his pocket.
Then he takes a long breath. Like he’s preparing himself.
My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear over it.
What does he think I’m doing right now?
Inside smiling at donors?
Having a panic attack in the bathroom?
Existing peacefully while he plans how to sneak away and fuck the woman carrying my child?
“What are you thinking?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Brad jerks violently toward the sound of my voice.
The second he sees me stepping from the shadows, all the color drains from his face.
A pained expression crashes over him instantly.
“Wyn-”
“Are you trying to figure out what to tell me?” I ask quietly.
My voice sounds strangely calm. Like I’m listening to someone else speak.
“What’s the excuse this time?” I continue, taking another slow step toward him. “Tell me, baby.”
His flinch at the nickname almost makes me laugh.
“What explanation were you planning to come up with for screwing our surrogate tonight?”