Chapter 2

The rest of that day passed in a blur of numbness. I moved through the mansion like a ghost, going through the motions of being the perfect Mitchell wife while my world crumbled beneath my feet. I smiled at the housekeeper, thanked the cook for lunch I couldn't taste, and even managed to have a pleasant phone conversation with my mother about some charity event.

All while Ethan's words echoed in my head like a death knell: "Olivia is pregnant. We're going to be together."

By evening, the shock had worn off, replaced by something darker. I sat in the formal living room, staring at the Monet on the wall—a painting I'd always loved but never really owned. Nothing in this house was mine. Not the art, not the furniture, not even my husband.

Especially not my husband.

The sound of Ethan's voice drifted from his study, muffled but distinct. He was on the phone again, probably with his father. They'd been talking all afternoon, no doubt strategizing how to handle the "Jessica situation" with minimal damage to their precious empire.

I should have gone upstairs. Should have retreated to my bedroom and tried to process everything that had happened. Instead, I found myself drawn to that voice, like a moth to flame. I needed to hear what they really thought of me, now that the masks were off.

The study door was slightly ajar, just as it had been this morning when my world imploded. I pressed myself against the wall beside it, my heart hammering as I strained to listen.

"—can't just throw her out, Dad. The Johnsons won't stand for it." Ethan's voice was frustrated, edged with the kind of irritation he usually reserved for business setbacks.

"I'm not suggesting we throw her out." Richard Mitchell's voice was cold, calculating. Even through the phone, his authority was unmistakable. "We keep her. Publicly, nothing changes. She remains your wife, maintains her position, hosts your dinner parties."

"And privately?"

"Privately, you live your life. Olivia moves into the penthouse downtown. You divide your time. Jessica produces heirs when necessary, and everyone gets what they need."

My blood turned to ice. Heirs when necessary. Like I was livestock.

"She won't agree to that," Ethan said, though he didn't sound particularly concerned about my feelings on the matter.

"She will if the alternative is losing everything. Her family's alliance with us, her social position, her security. Jessica isn't stupid, son. She'll see reason."

"And if she doesn't?"

A pause. Then Richard's voice, colder than winter: "Then we remind her what happens to people who threaten this family's interests. The Johnsons need us more than we need them, but they don't know that yet. If Jessica becomes a problem, we make her father understand the consequences of raising a disobedient daughter."

The words hit me like physical blows. They weren't just planning to humiliate me—they were planning to use me as a breeding mare while Ethan lived openly with his mistress. And if I objected, they'd destroy my family.

"Olivia's pregnancy changes the timeline," Ethan was saying. "She's already showing. People will start talking."

"Let them talk. A man having a mistress isn't scandalous in our world—it's expected. What matters is that you handle this correctly. Olivia gets what she wants, you get what you want, and Jessica learns her place."

"She seemed... different today. When I told her about Olivia. Not as broken as I expected."

Richard's laugh was sharp, dismissive. "She's a Johnson. They're all dramatic. Give her a few days to cry it out, then present her with the new arrangement. Frame it as a generous compromise. She keeps her title, her lifestyle, her dignity. All she has to give up is the fantasy that you ever loved her."

The pregnancy test in my robe pocket felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. They had no idea. No idea that their "breeding mare" was already carrying their precious heir. No idea that I'd discovered their plan before they could spring their trap.

No idea that I was finally, truly seeing them for what they were.

I backed away from the door on silent feet, my mind racing. Every conversation from the past few months suddenly made sense. Ethan's increasing coldness, his father's calculating looks at family dinners, even my own father's recent comments about "adapting to changing circumstances."

They'd all known. They'd all been planning this.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed midnight as I climbed the stairs to my bedroom. Ethan was still on the phone with his father, probably working out more details of my humiliation. I wondered if they'd discussed how many children they expected me to produce, or whether they'd allow me to raise them myself.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my reflection in the vanity mirror across the room. The woman looking back at me was pale, hollow-eyed, but there was something new in her expression. Something that hadn't been there this morning.

Cold fury.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found the number I needed. Isabella Rossi. My childhood nanny, the woman who'd raised me when my parents were too busy building their empire. She lived in Italy now, in a small villa outside Florence that my grandfather had left her.

The phone rang three times before her familiar voice answered, warm despite the late hour.

"Jessica? Bambina, what's wrong?"

Even across an ocean, she could hear the pain in my voice. Isabella had always been able to read me better than my own parents.

"Isabella," I whispered, afraid Ethan might hear me from downstairs. "I need help. I need to disappear."

Silence. Then: "Tell me everything."

So I did. I told her about Ethan's betrayal, about Olivia's pregnancy, about the conversation I'd just overheard. About the baby growing inside me that no one else knew about yet. By the time I finished, tears were streaming down my face, but my voice was steady.

"Those bastards," Isabella said, her Italian accent thickening with rage. "Your grandfather would have killed them all."

"Can you help me?"

"Of course, bambina. But are you sure? Once you leave, there's no going back. They'll come after you."

I thought about Richard's cold voice, about being reduced to a breeding mare, about raising my child in this house of lies and manipulation.

"I'm sure."

"Then we plan. Carefully. You'll need money, documents, a way to disappear completely. How much time do we have?"

I glanced toward the door, listening for Ethan's footsteps. "Not long. They're planning some kind of family dinner to announce their 'new arrangement.' I think they want to humiliate me publicly, force me to accept their terms in front of both families."

"Then we move fast. Tomorrow, start liquidating everything you can without raising suspicion. Jewelry, art, anything valuable that's truly yours. I'll handle the documents and travel arrangements from this end."

For the first time all day, I felt something like hope stirring in my chest.

"Isabella?"

"Yes, bambina?"

"Thank you."

"You're my daughter in every way that matters. I won't let them destroy you."

After I hung up, I sat in the darkness of my bedroom, listening to Ethan's voice still drifting up from his study. He was probably still discussing the best way to break me, to force me into compliance.

He had no idea that I was already gone.