Our wedding night was supposed to be perfect — a celebration of love and fresh beginnings. When Scott asked to be intimate, I gently declined, saying I was exhausted. Though disappointed, he kissed me goodnight and we went to sleep in our lavender-scented suite.
But at midnight I woke to the bed shaking. Rubbing my eyes, I became horrified to see Scott kneeling beside the bed — not with me, but holding a baby.
“Scott?” I stammered, confused and frightened. His gaze flickered, avoiding eye contact as he whispered, “Everly, this is Ella.”
He claimed she was his orphaned niece, left with him after his stepsister Maya died weeks earlier — news he said he kept hidden because he was afraid I’d leave him. Shocked and unsure what to believe, I agreed to sleep on it, though something in his story didn’t sit right.
The next day back at his grand estate, the confusion only deepened. When I asked about Ella’s mother, Scott dodged — and his hesitation made my anger rise. A few weeks later, while he was out, I found a photo in his study: him smiling with a visibly pregnant woman he insisted he had cut ties with.
That night, I confronted him. He admitted the truth: Ella wasn’t his niece — she was his daughter, and he hid it out of fear I’d react poorly.
“How can you build a marriage on lies?” I demanded. His vague apologies weren’t enough. The foundation of trust was gone. I left the mansion with Ella, trying to think clearly by the ocean.
At the beach, a mysterious woman approached — calling me “Scott’s daughter’s mother” and warning, “Run for your life.” Her eerie certainty made my heart pound. After she vanished, uncertainty hung in the salty breeze.
Back home, I challenged Scott again — and this time he admitted the painful truth: Ella was his child. The betrayal cut deep. I left him, telling him I couldn’t stay.
In my downtown apartment, I threw myself into fashion design to fill the void left by heartbreak… but I still missed little Ella. Then one morning, Scott and Ella appeared at my door, laughter echoing behind them. He begged for another chance and promised a future built on truth, not deception.
My heart wavered. Could I forgive a marriage born from lies? Could we become a family grounded in honesty? I held Ella close and nodded.
For months, we tried to make it work — until a strange overnight envelope changed everything. It contained a photo of the beach woman holding another child and a chilling message:
“Maya’s not the only secret Scott buried.”
That terrified me. When I called the number on the note, the woman introduced herself as Amanda — Scott’s ex-wife — and revealed that Scott had a second child, and may be tied to something sinister beyond deception.
By the time I reached the hospital after fainting, the doctor dropped another bombshell — I was pregnant. Amanda’s warning echoed in my head.
Tense and afraid, I decided it was time to confront Scott. I told him about the pregnancy — and lied that I’d chosen to end it. His reaction was immediate rage, and then violence. But before he could hurt me, police stormed in, arresting him not only for assault but also for the murder of his ex-partner.
As Scott was taken away in handcuffs, Amanda stayed behind, comforting me and holding baby Ella. She looked at me gently and said,
“You’ll make a wonderful mother.”
I smiled, gazing beyond our home — a mother again, stronger and more determined than ever.
