On our wedding night, I was beyond tired. The day had been a blur of excitement, emotions, and busy preparations. As Scott leaned in for a kiss, I gently turned away, wanting nothing more than to rest. He smiled, understanding, and wrapped his arm around me. I closed my eyes, but the comfort didn’t last long.
In the middle of the night, I woke up to an unusual sensation. The bed was shaking. Groggy and confused, I turned over, and that’s when my heart stopped. Scott was kneeling beside the bed, holding a baby in his arms. I blinked, unsure if I was still dreaming. My heart began to race.
“Scott,” I whispered, my voice tight with confusion. “Who is this?”
He looked away, struggling to find the words. “This is Ella,” he said softly. “She’s my niece. My stepsister, Maya… she passed away a few weeks ago.” His voice trembled, and the words felt distant, like they were coming from a place I didn’t fully understand.
The shock hit me hard. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” I managed, trying to make sense of the situation. My mind was spinning. I had just married Scott, and now there was a baby in our bed in the middle of the night, and all I could do was stare, unsure of what was happening.
Scott lowered his head, his face clouded with guilt. “I was scared, Everly,” he admitted. “I was scared you’d walk away if you knew the truth.”
The words felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on my chest. We spent the rest of the night in silence, both of us lying awake in the dark, trying to make sense of everything that had just been revealed. The next morning, we returned to Scott’s estate, Ella in tow. It felt like an unspoken decision had been made.
I didn’t have a say. I was just swept up in Scott’s choices, feeling helpless, unsure of how to voice my concerns.
Days passed, and I found myself torn between my love for Scott and the overwhelming feeling that there was so much he wasn’t telling me. One evening, as I cradled Ella in my arms, I decided to ask Scott more about Maya and why he felt compelled to raise her child. He was vague in his response, dodging the subject of Ella’s father entirely.
I could feel the tension building inside me, my frustration growing. I needed answers.
When Scott left for work the next day, I couldn’t help myself—I searched his study, hoping to find something, anything, that would give me a clearer picture of what was going on. And there it was. On his desk, I found a photo of Scott standing beside a woman, her belly swollen with pregnancy. They were both smiling proudly. My stomach dropped, and everything I thought I knew shattered.
When Scott returned home, I didn’t wait. I confronted him, holding the photo up in front of him, my voice shaking with anger and hurt. “She’s not your niece, is she?” I asked, my voice trembling. “She’s your daughter.”
Scott’s face turned pale. His expression crumpled, and he looked at the ground, defeated. Slowly, he admitted the truth. “Ella is my daughter,” he confessed. “I didn’t tell you because I was trying to protect our marriage. I didn’t want you to leave me.”
The truth hit me like a freight train. I felt betrayed, and yet, in my arms, I held Ella—a child I had grown to care for in such a short time. My attachment to her was undeniable, but my trust in Scott was shattered.
Torn, I suggested that maybe Ella should be placed with a foster family, where she could have a fresh start, free from the lies and secrets surrounding her. Scott’s reaction was instant. His face twisted with horror, and an argument erupted. But I stood firm, unwilling to back down.
That night, I left the estate. I needed space, clarity, and freedom from the chaos that was now my life. I walked along the beach, hoping the sound of the waves would calm my thoughts. But just as I thought I was alone in my confusion, a woman approached me. She looked at Ella, then back at me, her eyes sharp and knowing.
“Is that Scott’s daughter?” she asked, her voice carrying an unsettling smile.
I nodded, taken aback by her sudden appearance. “How do you know Scott?” I asked, feeling a chill run down my spine.
Her smile faded, and her tone turned cold. “Be careful,” she warned. “Scott’s not the man you think he is. There are secrets you don’t know.” With that, she turned away, leaving me standing there, shaken and more confused than ever.
When I brought this up to Scott, he brushed it off, insisting that there were no more secrets between us. “Don’t listen to her, Everly,” he said. “There’s nothing more to know.”
But doubt gnawed at me, refusing to let me go. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Days later, I ran into the woman again, this time at a café. She didn’t hesitate to tell me more. “I’m Scott’s ex-wife,” she revealed, her voice urgent. “Ella is our child, born after he left me. He’s been hiding the truth from you.”
The shock of it hit me hard, and my world seemed to spin. “You need to leave, Everly,” she urged, her eyes wide with fear. “Scott’s past is darker than you realize. He’s tied to people who could ruin your life.”
Stunned and terrified, I stumbled home, my heart racing with the weight of her words. But as I entered the silent house, a new truth hit me with the force of a punch. I was pregnant.
The realization was a shock. As I walked through the quiet halls of our home, Amanda’s warning echoed in my mind. Could I truly trust the man I had married? Or had I walked into a life built on not just secrets, but something far more dangerous? The weight of uncertainty pressed down on me. The life I thought I had known was slipping away, and I had no idea what would come next.
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