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"Positive."

The word on the report blurred through the tears welling in Chloe's eyes. Her fingers, trembling and cold, traced the clinical black letters. She pressed the thin paper against her stomach, a fragile shield against the emptiness that had hollowed out her life for the past three years. This was it. The one thing that could fix the gaping wound between her and Alistair. A child. A new beginning.

She took a breath that felt like swallowing broken glass, the air in the leather-scented Bentley suddenly too thin. Rehearsing the words in her head, she pictured his face. The cold mask he wore might finally crack. He had to care. He had to.

Her hand reached for the door handle, the heavy metal cool against her skin. But as the door swung open, a figure blocked the path to the grand entrance of the Carlisle estate.

Elara Vance, her best friend, stood there, a picture of effortless elegance in a cream-colored dress. Her smile was as bright and as fake as the diamonds on her wrist.

"Chloe," she said, her voice a sweet, cloying melody. "You look pale. Are you feeling alright?"

Elara's eyes, sharp and calculating, darted down to the manila envelope in Chloe's hand. Instinctively, Chloe jerked it behind her back, her heart starting to hammer against her ribs with a sick, familiar rhythm.

"I'm fine," Chloe managed, her voice tight. "Just tired."

A small, knowing laugh escaped Elara's perfectly painted lips. "What a coincidence." She reached into her own Hermès bag and pulled out an identical manila envelope, dangling it from two fingers like a prize. "I just came from the doctor's myself."

The smile on Elara's face twisted, the sweetness curdling into something cruel. "And I'm pregnant, too. With Alistair's child."

The world didn't just tilt. It shattered. Chloe felt the report slip in her grip, her fingers suddenly nerveless. "You're lying," she breathed, but the words came out hollow, because she saw the truth in Elara's eyes—the triumph, the years of hidden malice finally unleashed.

"Am I?" Elara stepped closer, close enough that her perfume—the same brand Chloe used—filled the air. A deliberate mockery. "You really thought he stayed married to you out of love? Poor, stupid Chloe. You were always just a placeholder."

Elara savored the moment, her eyes gleaming with triumph. She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was louder than a shout. "Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you. Those pictures from the hotel three years ago? The ones of you 'drunk' with that man?" She paused, letting the poison sink in. "I arranged it all."

Chloe's vision went red. Not tears—rage. Pure, scalding rage that burned away the shock. "You destroyed my marriage," she said, her voice low and trembling with fury. "You made him hate me. Three years. Three years of loneliness, of begging for scraps of his affection, while you stood beside him and smiled."

"And now I'm standing in it," Elara said sweetly. "The life you wanted. The child you'll never give him."

That single confession, a truth she had desperately denied for three years, shattered the last of Chloe's defenses. A raw, primal rage erupted from the pit of her stomach. The carefully constructed composure she had maintained for years crumbled into dust.

"You're lying," Chloe choked out, lunging forward, her hands reaching for the report in Elara's hand. "You're a liar!"

Elara sidestepped her easily, her expression shifting instantly from venomous to terrified. She let out a high-pitched shriek, a sound designed to carry. "Chloe, what are you doing? You're insane! Get away from me!"