C3: Bia is not my mistress

Phoebe charged through the hospital corridors like a wounded rhinoceros. Her raging aura made everyone scamper out of her way.

She jabbed the elevator button repeatedly, her impatience painfully obvious.

Soon, she stood at the entrance to the operating theatre on the second floor, watching as her husband anxiously paced back and forth, eyes glued to the tightly shut theatre doors.

The sight pierced her heart—it was unbearable. She walked toward him just as a tall, middle-aged African nurse with locs tied in a bun emerged from the theatre, a clipboard in her hand.

“Bianca Jones’ family?” the nurse asked.

Gael rushed over, gripping her hands tightly. “How is she? How’s the baby? Are they okay?”

“Are you her husband?” the nurse asked, then continued without waiting for an answer. “The doctor issued a critical warning. Your wife has lost a lot of blood and needs a transfusion. Unfortunately, we’ve run out of A-positive blood…”

“Take mine,” Gael offered immediately. “I’m O-negative. That’s the universal donor, right?”

The nurse nodded and turned sharply. “Come with me.”

“Gael!” Phoebe shouted, rushing over.

Startled, he frowned. “What are you doing here? Didn’t I ask you to go home?”

“I need an explanation,” Phoebe cried, her voice on the edge of hysteria. “Who the hell is that b*tch? How long have you been cheating on me?”

Gael’s jaw clenched. “Don’t call her that.”

“You’re seriously defending your mistress right now?”

“Bia is not my mistress,” he bit out coldly.

Phoebe laughed bitterly. The intimate way he said “Bia” stabbed her in the heart.

“No? Then how the hell do you explain her being pregnant with your child?” she shouted.

The nurse, who had taken a few steps ahead, turned back with a disapproving frown. “Is there a problem?” she asked firmly.

“No,” Gael replied curtly.

The nurse gave Phoebe a look full of silent reprimand before nodding at Gael to follow.

Phoebe grabbed his sleeve, pleading, “Gael!”

He shook her hand off impatiently, causing her to stumble backward in her heels.

“Gael!” she cried, stomping her foot in frustration.

But he ignored her completely and followed the nurse down the corridor, his pace brisk and unyielding.

Phoebe’s heart twisted in pain. Rejected. Humiliated. She sank onto a bench, trembling.

Sometime later…

Gael exited the blood donation room, wincing as he pressed a cotton ball to the puncture in his arm. Worry lines etched his usually smooth brow.

The nurse, carrying two pints of blood, rushed past him. He stared at the operating room doors, his heart weighed down with helplessness.

A derisive scoff drew his attention.

Phoebe was still there, seated on the bench, her eyes burning with rage.

“Why are you still here?” he snapped.

“Where else should I be?” she retorted icily.

“You should leave.”

“Not until I get answers,” she said, rising to her feet.

“Phoebe,” he growled. “This isn’t the time or place for your tantrums.”

“Tantrums?” she barked out a laugh. “You knock up some floozy and I’m the one throwing tantrums? Are you hearing yourself?”

Gael sighed, visibly exhausted. “I’ve had a long day. Can we not do this now?”

“Answers, Gael!” Her voice cracked with emotion.

“Can you be a little reasonable?”

Phoebe let out a sharp scoff. Reasonable? Did he think she was made of stone?

“Reasonable? What do you take me for?”

“This is a hospital.”

“So what?” she snapped.

“You should leave. I can’t do this now.” He turned away, running a hand through his hair.

Phoebe closed her eyes, forcing deep breaths. The silence between them stretched out painfully. Two agonizing hours passed.

Finally, the theatre doors swung open.

Gael leapt to his feet, rushing to meet the doctor.

“Doc?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

The doctor removed his mask. “Congratulations. Your wife gave birth to a healthy baby boy.”

A trembling breath escaped Gael’s lips as relief washed over him. He clutched the doctor’s hand tightly, eyes misting with tears.

The doctor patted his hand solemnly. “Your son is stable… but your wife has slipped into a coma.”

Gael stumbled backward, his face pale.

“Doc…” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“We’ll do our best to ensure she pulls through,” the doctor said gently. “She’s been moved to the ICU. You can see her from there. As for your son, he’s in the nursery. Congratulations once again.”

Gael nodded numbly, his shoulders slumping as he sank onto the bench.

Tears streamed silently down his face.

Phoebe watched, her heart weighted with betrayal and sorrow.

She had loved him so fiercely. Supported him. Stood by him through thick and thin.

And yet, this—this—was how it all ended? A child with another woman

Her throat tightened. Even if she tried to deny it, the truth was undeniable:

She was no longer the only woman in his heart.

It was a bitter, bitter pill to swallow.

NURSERY…

The nurse gently guided Gael’s arms as he held the new-born, wrapped in soft blue.

“Hey, champ… my little heir,” he whispered to the delicate bundle in his arms, a tender smile on his lips. “I’m Gael. Your dad.”

He softly took the baby’s hand and kissed the back of it. The contrast between the child’s soft, tender skin and his own rough, calloused hands tugged at his soul.

“I promise to love and protect you and your mom forever. You won’t want for anything in this world,” he vowed.

The baby stirred, yawned, then settled again—as if in quiet approval.

Gael’s heart melted.

But just behind the glass wall, Phoebe stood watching.

Watching the man she once called hers cradle a new-born that wasn’t hers.

His tender expression pierced her to the core.

“Little heir,” she muttered bitterly, reading his lips. “What about our daughter?”

A painful memory flashed across her mind:

Five years ago, when Romazaria was born, she had been alone.

Gael had been closing a million-dollar deal across the Atlantic.

He didn’t show up until three days later. Even then, it was a brief visit—cut short by a crisis at one of their mining operations in Costa de Cuarzo.

He had always been there for Romazaria… eventually.

He provided, called often, made time when he could.

But this?

This was different.

The gentleness in his eyes. The way he smiled at her child.

It was devotion.

Phoebe felt like a stranger peeking into someone else’s fairy tale.

She had been his rock, his constant.

Now, she was an afterthought. A forgotten chapter.

Romazaria—their five-year-old daughter—had just become the other child.

And Phoebe? Just the first wife.

Her heart shattered into a thousand tiny shards.

Sometime later…

“When did it all start?” Phoebe asked quietly.

Gael looked up, startled to find her outside the nursery.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone cautious. He could feel the storm in her presence.

She scoffed, eyes never leaving the nursery.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

“That was quite the touching scene,” she said, voice thick with sarcasm. “You should get nominated for Father of the Year.”

She pushed herself off the wall and approached the glass wall.

“Let’s talk outside,” he muttered, reaching for her hand.

She sidestepped his touch.

“Despite both his parents’ filthy morals, he’s a cute baby,” she said, folding her arms. “Hopefully he won’t grow up to be as amoral as his father.”

Gael flinched.

“Phoebe, please… let’s not do this here.”

“I’m listening,” she said coldly.

“Not here.”

“Here is perfect,” she snapped. “Looking at the fruit of your betrayal fuels my rage.”

“Phoebe…”

“When did you stop loving me?” she demanded, voice trembling, eyes swimming with tears.

Gael let out a long breath, visibly exhausted. “I didn’t cheat on you,” he said.

“Oh?” she laughed bitterly. “Please enlighten me. Did you trip and your d*ck just happened to fall into her vagina?”

He winced. “Do you have to be so vulgar? That’s not you.”

She stared him down, her expression hard. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He dropped onto the bench, rubbing his face with both hands.

“I didn’t cheat, Phoebe…”

Her bitter laugh filled the corridor. “You didn’t cheat? Really?”

She blinked through tears, her heart breaking all over again.

Another woman. Another child.

A baby who wasn’t hers. A mother who wasn’t her.

He hadn’t just cheated.

He had built another life behind her back.

Phoebe remembered how easily he had brushed her aside earlier, embarrassed by her presence, shielding the other woman like she was the one who mattered.

He hadn’t even tried to explain-he had protected Bianca.

He expected Phoebe to endure all of this silently. Like a dutiful, obedient wife.

But she wasn’t a woman made of stone. She had bled too.

Her lips trembled as she whispered, “You broke me, Gael.”