He Gave Our Baby To His Mistress Then I Was Reborn Chapter 02
One month later. The Whitmore family estate. Full christening party.
Preston walks through the crowd holding Lucky carefully, terrified anyone might touch him. My in-laws, Richard and Margaret, are beaming so hard their faces might crack. Everyone toasts. Twins! A boy and a girl! What a blessing! The Whitmores are unstoppable now!
Then Sierra glides in.
She stares at the baby, so moved that tears well up in her eyes.
“Mr. Whitmore, can I hold him? Just for a minute?”
“Of course, Sierra.”
Right. Sierra is Preston’s executive assistant. And to keep her openly by his side, he even forged papers making her a distant cousin from Margaret’s side.
Preston and I are a dynasty match. He’s the only son of Boston’s wealthiest family. I’m the only Sinclair daughter, with two powerful brothers and a father who once pulled the Whitmores back from bankruptcy. Two families, tangled tight.
That’s why Preston had to marry me and give Sierra up.
But I never imagined he’d be so cruel he’d try to murder our own children for her.
I know now. The Whitmores are finished.
Preston places Lucky into her arms.
Sierra sniffles. “Thank you, Mr. Whitmore.”
“Silly. He’s your nephew. Family. No thanks needed.”
She laughs wetly, nuzzles her cheek against my baby’s face. So soft. So maternal.
I walk over, smiling my sweetest smile.
“Sierra, didn’t you just have a baby too? Where is he? Why didn’t you bring him to celebrate?”
Officially, Sierra is married. Her husband works classified jobs overseas and rarely comes home.
Her face falls into practiced grief.
“He’s been running a fever for days. It turned into pneumonia. The doctor gave him medicine. He’s asleep now.”
I gasp, wide-eyed. “Pneumonia? At one month? That’s life-threatening. Why isn’t he in the hospital?”
Her lashes flutter.
“I can’t afford it. His father is unreachable. I make ten thousand a month. It’s not enough.”
Then, in front of *everyone*, she throws herself into Preston’s chest.
“Preston, what do I do? I can’t do this alone.”
Preston’s face is cold. He says viciously,
“Poor kid. Bad luck, being born to the wrong family.”
He pats her back. “It’s okay. God will have mercy on him. Don’t hurt yourself over it.”
The room goes dead silent.
Richard’s face turns to stone.
“Enough. The child is sick and you left him at home? He’s a *baby*, Sierra. You had him. You take care of him.”
He signals the driver and the family pediatrician on staff, ordering them to go pick up the baby immediately.
Sierra straightens, reluctant. “Mr. Whitmore, sir, thank you, but babies get sick. It’ll pass. Today is Lucky’s celebration. I don’t want to bring the little bastard here and get him sick.”
Her eyes flick to me. Contemptuous. Amused.
The little bastard.
That’s what she named her own son.
I almost laugh out loud. Fitting. So fitting. A child born from two soulless snakes. What else would you call him?