The Substitute Wife's Ruthless Comeback

Two bright red lines burned into the plastic strip.

Clara Foster stared at the pregnancy test in the cold glow of the third-floor guest bathroom, her fingers shaking so hard she nearly dropped it against the marble basin. Her chest tightened until she could barely drag air into her lungs.

Heavy, measured footsteps echoed down the hardwood corridor outside.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. She grabbed a fistful of discarded tissues, wrapped the plastic stick tightly, and buried it at the very bottom of the wicker trash bin beneath layers of waste.

A sharp knock rattled the door frame.

"Mrs. Montgomery, Mr. Montgomery wants you in the study. Immediately."

The house manager's voice carried no warmth, only the flat authority of someone addressing a paid servant.

Clara pressed her palm flat against her lower stomach. The cold water she splashed over her cheeks did nothing to hide the deathly pale shade of her skin. For three long years inside husband Dominic Montgomery's sprawling estate, she had existed only as his quiet, compliant shadow: a street‑picked placeholder, kept solely because her bone structure perfectly resembled Vivian Bloom, the woman he was obsessed with.

She unlocked the heavy wooden door.

The hallway was dimly lit. The house manager stood with his hands folded, his silhouette stretched long over the runner rug. He did not look at her face as he turned and led the way toward the grand staircase.

Clara followed him barefoot across the Persian rugs, the chill of the floorboards seeping straight through the wool into her bones. With every step toward the second-floor study, a sharp knot in her stomach twisted tighter.

The double doors of the study stood slightly ajar.

A thick scent of Cuban cigar smoke and arctic pine cologne rolled out, catching in Clara's throat the moment she stepped over the threshold.

Dominic stood with his back to her in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The dark skyline of New York stretched behind his tall, broad frame. His right thumb methodically turned the heavy platinum signet ring on his index finger.

He did not turn around.

"Close the door."

His voice fell like crushed ice across the silence.

Clara reached behind her and pulled the brass handle until the latch clicked shut. The sound felt like the fall of a guillotine blade.

Dominic turned.

His gray-blue eyes locked onto her with zero warmth, regarding her the way a collector might inspect a defective piece of cheap porcelain. He took two long strides forward, his tailored charcoal suit emphasizing the sheer physical dominance he held over the room.

He picked up a medical document from the mahogany desk and tossed it across the polished surface. The paper slid to the edge, stopping inches from her chest.

"Care to explain why my medical team found manipulated blood samples in your monthly check-up?"

Clara looked down. The bold letters of a private clinic's HCG lab report stared back at her. Her blood ran completely cold. She bit down on her inner lip until she tasted the sharp tang of copper.

He rested one large hand on the edge of the desk, leaning down to trap her in his shadow.

"A five-week pregnancy. You managed to bribe the lab technician to alter the preliminary charts."

"Dominic... it was a mistake. I didn't bribe anyone-"

"A mistake?"

Dominic let out a dry, venomous chuckle. His fingers clamped around her narrow jaw, forcing her chin upward until her neck strained. The raw fury in his eyes made her breath catch.

"You think you can use a bastard to secure a piece of the Montgomery trust fund?"

Pain flared through her jawbone. Tears pricked Clara's eyes, but she forced herself not to blink, her hands coming up instinctively to shield her stomach.

"No! I don't want your money! I just want to keep the baby. I'll leave! You'll never have to see either of us again!"

Dominic's eyes dropped to the way she shielded her abdomen. His expression darkened with pure disgust. He released her jaw with a violent shove and pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket, wiping each of his fingers as if she had contaminated him.

Clara lost her balance, stumbling backward until her shoulder slammed against the heavy edge of the bookcase.

"You are nothing but a temporary stand-in for Vivian," Dominic said, tossing the soiled handkerchief into the trash. "You were picked up to fill an empty chair while she was in a coma. You do not have the right to breed my heir."

Every word hit like a physical blow, knocking the breath straight out of her lungs.

The side door of the study swung open.

Derek Reynolds, Dominic's chief executive assistant, stepped into the room holding a black leather tablet. His gold-rimmed glasses reflected the harsh desk lamp.

"Mr. Montgomery, the VIP surgical suite at Dr. Sterling's clinic is prepped. The medical transport is waiting in the private courtyard."

Clara's vision blurred. Terror surged through her veins, overpowering all sense of pride. She dropped to the floor, scrambling forward to grab the sharp crease of Dominic's trousers.

"Please, Dominic! Don't do this! I am begging you! Take everything back, take the allowance, take my name off the registry, just let me have my child!"

Dominic looked down at her clinging hands. His face remained carved from solid granite. He pulled his leg back, shaking her off with a hard, dismissive jerk that scraped his dress shoe across her knuckles.

"Get her up," Dominic said, adjusting his silk tie without looking at her again. "If she struggles, tie her down."

"Understood, sir."

Derek stepped forward, his heavy hands clamping around Clara's wrists like iron cuffs. He hauled her off the carpet in one fluid, mechanical pull.

Clara thrashed violently, her bare heels kicking against the hardwood, her fingernails tearing deep red marks into Derek's forearms.

Dominic walked over to the crystal decanter on the sideboard, pouring himself two fingers of scotch. He raised the glass to his lips, turning his back on the struggle.

"Make sure it's clean," Dominic commanded quietly into the glass. "I don't want any complications when Vivian returns."

"Let me go! Dominic! Please!"

Clara's screams tore through the second-floor corridor as Derek dragged her backward toward the service exit, where two private security guards were already waiting to seal the doors.