Chapter 2 - THE PREGNANCY THAT DID NOT BELONG TO HUNTER
The first crack in Isabelle’s story came from the prenatal appointment listed in her deleted calendar.
Rachel’s forensic team recovered a reminder from three weeks earlier.
FIRST ULTRASOUND — DR. LENA MORROW.
The physician practiced at a private reproductive-health clinic across town.
Hunter had never been listed as a patient or partner.
Another man had.
His name was Andrew Vale.
A forty-six-year-old venture capitalist and one of Apex Strategic Partners’ largest creditors.
Andrew had invested two million dollars in Hunter’s company eighteen months earlier.
The money disappeared within six months.
According to messages, Isabelle had been seeing Andrew before the affair with Hunter began.
“Is the baby Andrew’s?” I asked.
Rachel remained cautious.
“We do not know.”
But Hunter did not appear certain either.
One recovered exchange showed him pressing Isabelle for a paternity test.
She refused.
ISABELLE: The baby is yours because I say it is.
HUNTER: That is not how biology works.
ISABELLE: It is how timing works. You need me loyal until the Hamilton transfer clears.
Their relationship was not the romantic escape they had described over the forgotten phone call.
It was another negotiation.
Isabelle knew where Hunter hid Apex’s losses.
Hunter knew she had falsified client contracts.
Each believed affection would prevent betrayal.
They were both wrong.
Andrew Vale agreed to meet my father privately after Hamilton Global’s attorneys contacted him.
He arrived furious.
“I was told Apex had a guaranteed Hamilton investment,” he said.
“It does not,” my father replied.
Andrew’s face tightened.
Hunter had used my family name to secure bridge loans.
He claimed the ten million had already been approved.
He promised creditors repayment immediately after funding.
If the transfer failed, Apex would collapse within days.
Andrew then revealed Isabelle had approached him independently.
“She offered to sell me confidential Hamilton development plans.”
My father’s expression became still.
“What plans?”
“Properties your company intended to acquire in California and Nevada.”
I had seen those files at home.
My father occasionally sent me preliminary reports because I managed the family foundation’s redevelopment grants.
Hunter had access through our shared office.
Isabelle had been stealing data from my laptop.
The affair was not only personal.
They had used our marriage to conduct corporate espionage.
“Why did you refuse?” I asked Andrew.
“I didn’t.”
At least he was honest.
He paid Isabelle for two property lists.
But the information proved inaccurate.
My father had planted false addresses after suspecting a leak.
Andrew purchased options on useless parcels and lost nearly a million dollars.
He wanted revenge.
Rachel wanted cooperation.
The federal investigators wanted documented proof.
Andrew provided messages, payment records, and a recording of Isabelle offering another sale.
Before leaving, he looked at me.
“You should know she told me the pregnancy was mine.”
The words did not hurt the way he expected.
Nothing about Isabelle belonged to the friendship I had believed in anymore.
“What did she want from you?”
“Protection if Hunter’s company failed.”
Isabelle had planned two futures.
If Hunter received the Hamilton money, she would leave with him.
If Apex collapsed, she would claim Andrew fathered the baby and demand support.
The child had already become leverage before birth.
That made me angrier than the affair.
That afternoon, my father’s investigator delivered a copy of the life-insurance application.
Hunter had claimed I was healthy.
He also disclosed a “history of depressive episodes following pregnancy loss.”
The wording came from private conversations I had shared only with Isabelle.
She had helped build the narrative that my death might be self-inflicted.
“Was the policy active?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Rachel said. “It required one final medical verification.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
The day before the celebration dinner.
Hunter planned to secure ten million dollars, activate a five-million-dollar policy, then file for divorce.
The timing did not make sense unless he expected something to happen to me before the divorce.
A toxicology specialist reviewed my recent medical history.
My fertility clinic had prescribed standard injectable hormones.
The unused vial in our refrigerator contained something else.
A concentrated blood thinner.
Injected in the prescribed dose, it could cause internal bleeding.
I sat in silence.
Hunter had collected that vial two weeks earlier.
He reminded me twice to use it.
I had postponed the injection because of a migraine.
That small delay may have saved my life.
My father looked as though he wanted to leave immediately and drag Hunter from his office.
Rachel stopped him.
“We need to determine who altered the medication.”
The pharmacy’s security footage showed Isabelle collecting the package.
She signed my name.
Hunter texted her immediately afterward.
HUNTER: Is it done?
ISABELLE: She won’t make it to the next cycle.
The sentence could mean the pregnancy cycle.
Or something worse.
We gave everything to federal investigators.
They advised continuing with dinner while they completed warrants.
I returned home that evening.
Hunter was in the kitchen opening champagne.
“For tomorrow,” he said.
I looked at the bottle.
“Celebrating early?”
“Manifesting success.”
He kissed my forehead.
I did not move away.
He examined my face.
“You look tired.”
“Long day.”
“Did you take your injection?”
There it was.
The question asked too casually.
“I forgot.”
His expression changed.
Only for a second.
“You need to be more responsible, Kylie.”
“I’ll take it tonight.”
He relaxed.
“Good.”
I walked toward the refrigerator.
He watched me.
I removed the vial, placed it inside a small cooler, and said, “I’m going to do it upstairs.”
He smiled.
Instead, I locked it inside my father’s evidence case.
When Hunter came to bed, he touched my side gently.
“Soon, everything changes,” he whispered.
He believed I had injected the drug.
He believed my father’s money was coming.
He believed Isabelle carried his child.
May you like
Every certainty in his life had been manufactured.
Tomorrow night, we would begin removing them one by one.
