Baking a Cake for His Mistress

The elevator plunged from the top floor—a violent, gut-wrenching drop that felt both endless and terrifyingly fast. The crash was deafening. Metal shrieked against metal, and the floor buckled beneath our feet.

A sharp, searing pain shot through me. Warm blood soaked through my clothes. My mind screamed, not just from the pain, but from the horrifying realization—the tiny life inside me was gone.

Paramedics arrived quickly, wrapping me in blood-streaked bandages before lifting my broken body onto a stretcher. That's when I saw him. Nicholas Richmond, my boyfriend, had just returned from a meeting with his secretary, Courtney Miller.

His arm was wrapped protectively around her. He gently shielded her eyes and whispered, "Don't look. It's too awful." Without a second glance in my direction, they turned and walked into the building, leaving me behind.

The realization hit like a second fall. Five years together meant nothing. I was never that important to him. Not when Courtney's sweet smile occupied his every thought.

Right then, I made a decision I'd been putting off for weeks. I pulled out my phone and called the rival company that had been trying to recruit me. "I'm ready to accept your offer."

Two days later, I was discharged from the hospital. But there was no relief—only a hollow ache deeper than any physical wound.

I walked out alone. No longer carrying the life I'd only just discovered was growing inside me. That morning felt like a cruel dream: a positive test, a flutter of hope, then a nightmare—all before I could even process what was happening.

As I packed my few belongings, I whispered, "I don't even know how far along I was." The thought cut deeper than any knife. My baby was too small, too fragile to survive.

Just then, the door creaked open. For one foolish second, I hoped it was Nicholas.

It wasn't.

A driver stood in the doorway. "Miss McLain, Mr. Richmond had a sudden meeting. He sent me to pick you up." His voice was polite but detached. "Let me help with your things."

I exhaled slowly. Of course. Nicholas always had an excuse—something more important. But for Courtney? He was never too busy.

Two days in the hospital, and he never showed. No call. No visit. Nothing.

"No need. I've got it," I said, forcing a smile as I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked out.

The car ride was quiet. City lights blurred past the window, but I couldn't focus. Inside, I felt darker than the night itself. By the time we pulled up to the house, I was completely numb.

"We're here, Miss," the driver said softly.

I reached for my handbag, ready to get out, when something caught my eye—a delicate black lace bra tucked between the seats. It wasn't mine.