Chapter 4
Stefan's hair was a mess, his shirt all wrinkled, and his eyes were bloodshot. He was gripping a medical file so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
"Nancy," he looked up, his voice rough and hoarse. "Please."
I didn't open the door, just watched him through the narrow gap.
"What are you begging me for?" I said.
"Rachel's son has been diagnosed with leukemia," he said, pushing the medical file through the gap. "He needs cord blood from a sibling. But Rachel can't have another baby."
I stared at the diagnosis report.
Acute lymphoblastic leukemia. High-risk.
"So what?" I asked.
Stefan swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Please, have a child and help save him."
I laughed so hard I doubled over, tears rolling down my cheeks.
"Stefan." I wiped the tears from my eyes. "Are you out of your mind, or do you think I am?"
"It's a life!" he yelled, banging on the door. "Nancy, he's just a five-year-old kid. He hasn't done anything wrong."
"And what about me?" I stopped smiling. "When I gave up my kidney, did anyone care if it hurt? When my mom died, did anyone bother to ask if I was okay?
"Now you want me to have another child, just to save the son of the woman who stole my husband away from me?"
I pulled out my phone and hit play on a recording.
His voice came out of the speaker, icy and detached, like he was chatting about the weather.
He said, "Nancy? She's nothing but a well-behaved wife. Once Rachel has the baby, we'll toss her aside. Can't leave the Mrs. Clifford spot vacant, can we?"
The recording stopped.
Stefan's face went white at once.
"When did you record that?" he asked.
"Does it matter?" I turned off my phone. "Mr. Clifford, you once said I was a well-behaved wife."
I pulled the door open and stared right into his eyes. "Want to see what it's like to deal with a rebellious wife?"
*****
That night, the internet blew up.
The trending hashtag was simple: [Clifford Group's CEO Forces Ex-Wife To Be Surrogate For Love Child].
The post had a leaked photo of Stefan standing outside my door, plus the text version of that recording.
The whole internet went crazy.
Comments poured in like a flood.
[This is disgusting. What kind of trash is Stefan Clifford?]
[What did the ex-wife ever do to deserve being leeched off like this?]
[Isn't Rachel Lovett the homewrecker? The wife gave up a kidney, and Rachel still has the guts to brag about her pregnancy online?]
[Clifford Group's stock totally crashed today. Couldn't have happened to a better company.]
I closed out of X and turned on the TV.
The finance channel was broadcasting Clifford Group's emergency press conference live. Stefan was up on stage, his face stormy as he fielded questions from reporters.
"Mr. Clifford, is the recording real?"
"Did you really ask your ex-wife to be a surrogate for her love rival?"
"Clifford Group's stock has crashed. Is there anything you want to say to your shareholders?"
Flashbulbs went off, like lightning in a thunderstorm.
Stefan tried to speak, but no words came out.
His assistant rushed up on stage and quickly got him out of there. Everything turned chaotic. Some people tripped. There was a scream.
I switched the channel.
On a variety show, the guests were playing games and cracking up.
I couldn't help but laugh too.
As I laughed, I unconsciously ran my fingers over the scar on my left side.
So this was what revenge tasted like.
A little bitter, a little bittersweet, but the aftertaste was pure sweetness.
*****
The invitation to the charity gala was gold-embossed.
I wasn't planning to go, but the organizers called and gently said, "Mr. Clifford will be attending as well. If it's awkward for you, Ms. Landers..."
"I'll go," I replied.
Why not?
I wanted to see with my own eyes what he looked like after his fall from grace.
The venue sparkled with blinding crystal chandeliers. The socialites clustered in groups, champagne in hand, whispering quietly. The air was heavy with perfume, wine, and phony small talk.
I walked in wearing a black backless gown.
In an instant, every eye in the room locked onto me.
There was surprise, curiosity, even pity. And of course, some people were clearly enjoying the drama.
I smiled, meeting every gaze.
"Nancy." Someone called out to me from behind.
It was Stefan.
He looked even more haggard than he did on TV, with dark circles under his eyes. His suit was still expensive and perfectly tailored, but he didn't have that commanding presence anymore.
"Can we talk?" he said softly.
"What do you want to talk about?" I turned around. "How much you want to pay for surrogacy? Or maybe the last payment for my kidney donation?"
His face went even paler.
"I know I messed up," he rasped. "Nancy, I've been regretting it every day for the past five years—"
"Regret?" I cut him off. "No, Stefan, that's not what this is."