At Eight Months Pregnant, I Chose To Raise My Baby Without Her Vampire Father

When I was eight months pregnant, I received an anonymous email. The attachment was a security camera recording. In a dimly lit VIP booth at a bar, my husband — a vampire who had lived for three hundred years — was holding a human woman in his arms, kissing her. At the end of the video, the woman smiled and asked him, "Adrian, do you really love me?" Adrian's voice was low. "Of course." "Even though you're human, I'll make you the happiest vampire bride in the world." He had said those exact words to me ten years ago. In that moment, my hand rested on my belly. The baby kicked once. As if reminding me. It was time to wake up. Chapter 1 A dull ache spread across my lower abdomen, but before I could recover, more anonymous emails flooded in. Every subject line was the same: Greetings from Adrian Blackwood's one true love. The photos and videos were crystal clear — some secretly taken, others filmed by my husband himself. In the darkness outside a hotel, the man stood at the entrance, his black coat hanging open, his profile sharp and striking, yet his hands gently adjusting the scarf around the woman in his arms. She rose on her toes and pressed a tender kiss to his jaw, her eyes crinkling with laughter. They flaunted their intimacy without a shred of shame, as if they were the devoted couple — with no awareness whatsoever that what they were doing was an affair. A chill crept through me, slow and heavy. The diamond on my ring finger caught the light, its brilliance stinging my eyes. But what hurt the most wasn't the photos or the videos. It was the cold, clinical timestamps embedded in each email. The earliest security footage was from two years ago. While my husband was making out with another woman at a bar, I was at home, unconscious from blood loss after a miscarriage. I had called him six times that day. He didn't pick up once. He only rushed to the hospital after a neighbor found me and called an ambulance. He told me he'd been in an important meeting with foreign clients and had his phone turned off. Getting pregnant had taken everything out of me. It was already incredibly difficult for a human to conceive a vampire's child, and the miscarriage had devastated my body. We'd had a massive fight two years ago, and it was Adrian who stayed by my side, apologizing over and over, swearing I was the only one he loved, until I finally forgave him. But the photos and videos in those emails proved that during that same period, he'd been whispering sweet nothings to another woman. Only now did I understand — all those late-night outings weren't because of overtime. There was also a transaction history in the emails. I opened it, and the endless rows of numbers on the screen made my eyes burn. Two hundred thousand dollars a month, wired to Clara like clockwork, without a single break. The very first transfer had started exactly two years ago. The day I lost our baby to a miscarriage, he was busy wiring money to another woman. My husband of ten years, the man I'd loved for twelve, the father of the half-vampire child in my belly — had been lying to me all this time. The vampire who had promised me forever, who swore I was his only one, had been playing devoted lover to someone else. Looking back, I'd been too trusting. Too foolish. I had been married to him for ten years. I'd seen his gentlest side. And it was precisely because I'd seen it that I understood how sickening this betrayal truly was. Just then, my phone buzzed again. Not an email notification — a new friend request. The message attached was a single line: "Did you get those photos, Mrs. Blackwood?" I stared at it, and then, unexpectedly, I laughed. My finger came down. I accepted the request. The response came almost instantly: "Haven't you figured it out yet? He loves me. You're the other woman." I didn't reply. Instead, I tapped her profile picture and scrolled through her feed. At the top was a selfie. Young, pretty — chestnut curls, red lips curved upward, eyes brimming with undisguised smugness. She wore a silk gown, clutching an enormous bouquet of roses, one hand resting lightly on her slightly rounded stomach. The caption read: Some people are meant to exit the stage. In the background of the photo, a man's hand rested on her shoulder. Long, pale, with prominent knuckles. I knew that hand. It had wiped my tears in the dead of night. It had patted my back again and again during my worst bouts of morning sickness. It had held me through the night after I lost my first child. Now it rested on another woman. I scrolled further, finally landing on a photo from six months ago. She was leaning into a man's chest, only a sliver of his shirt collar visible. Anyone else might not have recognized it, but I knew instantly — that was the shirt I'd had custom-made for Adrian. His initials were still embroidered on the cuff. I turned off my phone and gently touched my belly. The baby seemed to sense my emotions, suddenly delivering a fierce kick. I looked down, my voice barely a whisper. "Don't be scared." "Mommy won't let you lose." Tears fell, one by one, onto my lap. Chapter 2 Adrian came home past nine that evening. The sound of the front door echoed from the foyer. I sat on the living room couch, lights off, not moving. He paused visibly when he walked in, then quickly softened his voice, calling out to me with his usual warmth: "Emily, why are you sitting in the dark?" A second later, the lights blazed on. I squinted against the sudden brightness and saw Adrian standing in the doorway — suit jacket draped over his arm, shirt collar loosened, still looking every bit the picture of effortless elegance. It was that face that had made me lose my composure at an auction gala all those years ago. That face that made me marry him even after I knew he wasn't human. But now, all I felt was disgust. Because when he moved closer, beneath his usual scent of cold cedar, there was a faint trace of rose. I never went near fresh flowers because of my allergies. He seemed completely oblivious. He walked over, crouched in front of me, and placed his palm naturally on my belly, a warmth flickering in his eyes. "How's the baby doing today? You look awful — have you been skipping meals again?" It hit me then: Adrian had always been like this. Sweet words, caring gestures — but he had never truly paid attention. Even now, knowing full well about my allergies, he hadn't bothered to wash the pollen off himself. Eight months into my pregnancy, and every dinner in this house was still prepared to his taste — cold, rare steak, every single night. Food I couldn't stand. Before, I would have wrapped my arms around him and told him the baby had been kicking hard, that my back ached so badly I couldn't sit, that I had no appetite. But now, the performance made me sick. I looked at him steadily. "Where were you today?" Not a flicker crossed Adrian's face. His answer came without hesitation: "At the office. Meetings all afternoon, then dinner with the board. What's wrong?" A lie. He'd been with Clara. Maybe he'd held her, kissed her — right before coming home to me. My heart was numb with cold, but I let a slow smile form on my face. "Nothing. I just suddenly felt like having pizza from that place on the west side. You said once that if I ever wanted something, you'd go get it for me even in the middle of the night." He had said that. But I'd never actually been selfish enough to make him go. A flash of irritation crossed his eyes — so quick it could have been my imagination. But I caught it. The next second, Adrian took my hand, his voice still soft: "It's too late now. That place always has a crazy line. I'll get it for you tomorrow, okay?" No, it wasn't okay. Ten minutes ago, Clara had posted a video of Adrian personally waiting in line to buy her pizza from that exact shop. In the video, she was nestled in his arms, nuzzling against him. That restaurant was far from Blackwood Corp headquarters, yet he'd gone without complaint. When it came to me, Adrian couldn't be bothered. I gently pulled my hand away and lowered my eyes, pretending not to notice his dismissiveness. "Forget it. It's not like I have to have it." And you're not someone I have to love, either. Adrian probably assumed it was just pregnancy mood swings. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "Be good. I'm going to shower. I'll come keep you company after." He stood and headed upstairs, but his phone screen lit up just then. Face up, right on the edge of the coffee table. One glance was all it took. Clara. The message was a single line: "My stomach's bothering me. The baby keeps kicking." My nails dug hard into my palms to keep from laughing out loud. So she'd planned the pregnancy, too. No wonder she'd been brazen enough to send me those photos and videos. This wasn't provocation — it was a power play. She probably figured that once she was carrying Adrian's child, his blind devotion would guarantee her the title of Mrs. Blackwood. Too bad she'd miscalculated one thing. I wasn't the kind of woman who'd cry and beg her husband to come back. And I sure as hell wasn't about to hand over the Blackwood fortune to a mistress. Chapter 3 The shower started running upstairs. I slowly pushed myself up from the couch, steadying my heavy body against the armrest, then walked over and picked up Adrian's phone. I opened his messaging app and found Clara's chat at the top. Her profile picture was that smug selfie. Adrian's nickname for her was a single word: "Mine." I stood there, bile rising in my throat. The chat history was worse than I'd imagined. "Miss you." "Be good. I can't come today — she's home." "Don't worry. I'm here. Even if you're really pregnant with my child, I'll handle everything. Emily's not going to try anything." Every message was a blade, carving open the happiness I'd foolishly believed was real. I took a deep breath, turned on screen recording, and scrolled through page after page. Bank transfers, hotel reservations, property transfers — I saved everything. Then I opened his email and shopping apps, screenshotting every receipt connected to Clara and forwarding it all to my own phone. By the time I finished, cold sweat had soaked through my back. The baby kicked again — hard — as if sensing something was wrong. My heart seized. I gripped the edge of the table and carefully lowered myself back down, one hand gently soothing my belly. "It's okay, baby." "Just a little longer." "Mommy's going to get us out of here soon." The water upstairs stopped. I quickly erased every trace, put the phone back exactly where it had been, and used the armrest to pull myself up and return to the couch. A few minutes later, Adrian came downstairs in loungewear, hair still damp, looking cool and gentle. He sat beside me and casually pulled me into his arms. "Why aren't you in bed yet?" I leaned against his chest, listening to the steady heartbeat his body willed into being — a body that should have had no warmth at all — and suddenly remembered a night many years ago, when he first told me what he was. We'd just started dating. He stood in the moonlight, his face so pale it was almost translucent, and quietly admitted he wasn't human. Adrian said that because of me, for the first time, he'd considered giving up eternity. I hadn't run. I'd held him. I said, "Adrian, it's not the vampire part that scares me. It's losing you." Looking back now, the truly terrifying thing was never what he was. It was that his love could change in a heartbeat. I closed my eyes slowly, forcing every emotion down, my voice so docile it surprised even me. "Adrian." "Hmm?" "After the baby's born, will things always be like this?" He looked down at me, his dark eyes holding mine, his voice warm and certain: "Of course." "Emily, I'll be with you and the baby forever." Forever. What a beautiful word. Too bad I didn't believe a single syllable of it anymore. Chapter 4 Sitting across from my lawyer the next morning, I thought I wasn't ready for this. Twelve years of love wasn't something you let go of easily, and I was about to rip open the wound all over again just to organize the evidence and discuss divorce terms. But I turned out to be colder than I'd expected. Looking at the photos of Adrian with that woman, listening to their sickening sweetness on camera, I felt nothing. It seemed I'd already used up every last tear the night before. Adrian's affair with Clara had started two years ago — maybe longer. Back then, I'd been so wrecked by morning sickness and physical exhaustion that I was practically skeletal, with no energy left to be close to Adrian. But I'd stopped agonizing over why he'd cheated, or why he'd chosen to betray me at my most vulnerable and lie about it for so long. Now, the only thing I cared about was whether he'd been draining our joint assets behind my back. And whether he'd already been planning to divorce me. I sat with my lawyer going through the emails on my laptop, and felt an oddly ill-timed sense of gratitude. If Clara hadn't jumped the gun with her power play, I might still have been in the dark — blindsided and discarded like trash without any warning. But now, with the evidence in my hands, I wasn't about to waste this God-given opportunity. I would not be soft. I would take him for everything he had. Chapter 5 When I got home, I didn't expect Adrian to be there at this hour. He'd always used overtime as an excuse to come home late. I'd just come from the lawyer's office, and I hadn't had time to compose myself before I saw him coming down the stairs, looking visibly flustered. Something shifted in his eyes when he saw my face. "Emily? You're back early. Why didn't you stay out and do some shopping?" I shook my head, set my things down with forced composure, and studied him from the corner of my eye. "I got a little tired so I came back early. I bought you a tie — see if you like it." I held up the tie I'd grabbed at a shop as cover and stepped forward, holding it against his collar. Adrian still reeked of floral perfume, his gaze evasive. "Oh? What's the occasion?" "I just felt like it," I said, one hand on my belly, my voice light. "We're husband and wife, aren't we?" Husband and wife. The moment those words left my mouth, I saw the guilt in his eyes deepen. The irony — that even now, he still had the capacity for guilt. I pretended not to notice and just stared at his wrinkled tie, a cold satisfaction settling inside me. Clara was in the house right now. A crash came from upstairs. I moved past him toward the staircase, but he caught me in his arms. "Probably just a cup that fell. Don't worry about it." His arm blocked my path — the gesture looked tender, but there was no give in it. That was Adrian. Even when he was keeping you out, he made it look like concern, as though he wasn't guarding against me but worrying I might step on broken glass. "I'll take care of it," he said, looking down at me, his voice deliberately gentle. "You're too far along. Leave it to me." I looked up at him. After a moment, I smiled. "Okay." He clearly hadn't expected me to agree so easily. A flash of surprise crossed his eyes. But I acted as if I'd noticed nothing, reaching up to straighten his crooked tie, my fingertip brushing — just barely — across a faint red mark near his collarbone. The kind left by a woman's nails. I stood there, looking past his shoulder toward the far end of the second-floor hallway. Then I pulled my gaze back, as though I'd seen nothing at all, and rubbed my temple. "I'm a little tired. I'm going to take a bath." Adrian seemed to exhale with relief. Even his voice softened. "Okay. I'll have someone get towels and warm milk ready for you." Chapter 6 Under the hot water, standing beneath the shower, a chill crept down my spine. I'd expected to break down. To charge upstairs the moment I realized Clara was hiding in my house, drag her out, slap her across the face, and demand to know what the hell Adrian thought I was. But when the moment came, I was more composed than I'd imagined. Maybe it wasn't that I'd gotten calmer. Maybe it was because my heart had already died once. I took a really long shower, letting the sound of the water muffle the nausea and rage churning in my chest. When I finally turned off the shower and stepped out in my robe, the hallway was silent again, as if nothing had happened. But the moment I walked into the master bedroom, my feet stopped. The sheets were new. But no fresh sheets could mask the scent of what had happened in the air. The cashmere throw at the foot of the bed was half on the floor. A pillow had clearly been moved. Even the scented candle I'd left on the nightstand that morning had been shifted to the other side. I stood in the doorway, fingers slowly tightening on the sash of my robe. Clara hadn't just been in this house. She'd been in my bedroom. Maybe while I was out meeting with my lawyer, she and Adrian had been in this bed. My stomach lurched violently. I grabbed the doorframe to keep from throwing up right there. Instinctively, I pressed my hand to my belly and waited several long seconds before the wave of nausea passed. I looked down at my swollen stomach and remembered what the doctor had said. Carrying a vampire's half-blood child was already dangerous for a human, especially in the third trimester. Too much emotional distress or physical shock could trigger serious complications. And a half-blood's vitality far exceeded that of a normal fetus — if the baby became agitated inside the womb, the strain on the mother would be even worse. But didn't Clara claim she was pregnant too? If she were really carrying Adrian's child, how could she be reckless enough to be doing all this? Doubt flickered through my mind, but I didn't have time to think it through. The bedroom door opened softly, and Adrian walked in. He'd changed into loungewear and was carrying a cup of warm milk, his expression as gentle and attentive as ever — as if everything today had been nothing more than my imagination. "You haven't dried your hair yet?" He set the milk on the table and reached for my towel. "You'll catch cold." I didn't move. I let him stand behind me and towel my hair dry. In the mirror, we looked like any ordinary, loving couple. An attentive husband, a quiet wife. Warm light, a steaming cup of milk on the table. Only I knew that beneath this layer of tenderness, everything had already rotted through. I spoke softly. "Did you take care of things upstairs?" Adrian's hands paused for a fraction of a second, then resumed as though nothing had happened. "Yeah, one of the servants knocked over a vase. I had them clean it up." Another lie. I watched him in the mirror, then asked, "Are you feeling okay? You seem restless today." "I'm fine." He looked down at me, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. "Why do you ask?" "You just seem distracted." I lowered my eyes, fingers tracing the rim of the cup. "Is something going on at the company?" Adrian was quiet for a few seconds, then set the towel down and wrapped his arms around me from behind. His embrace was still familiar — that faintly cool temperature, his body enveloping mine completely. Once, that would have been enough to break my resolve. Now, all I felt was a chill crawling up my spine, goosebumps prickling my skin. "Emily." He rested his chin on my shoulder, his voice low, as if holding something back. "I'm sorry." I looked at him in the mirror and said nothing. He held me tighter, as though something had finally cracked — a sudden wave of guilt hitting him all at once, his breath unsteady. "I've been so busy lately. I've been neglecting you, and the baby. I know you haven't been happy. That's on me." I almost laughed. So he did know he'd been neglecting me. It was just that this little moment of self-awareness came far too cheap. I didn't pull away. I simply asked, "What's really going on with you today?" He was silent a moment, then let go of me and turned to the leather wallet on the nightstand. He pulled out a black bank card and pressed it into my hand. "Keep this." His voice was low and warm, coaxing. "The PIN is your birthday. Buy whatever you want from now on — don't worry about saving. Didn't you mention a jewelry set you liked? And the nursery — redecorate it however you want." I looked down at the card in my palm, and something in my chest dropped. This wasn't the supplementary card linked to our joint account. This was a card I'd never seen before. I looked up, deliberately hesitant. "Why are you suddenly giving me this?" Adrian reached out and touched my face. And there it was — genuine guilt, faint but unmistakable, in his eyes. "Call it making up for things." "Emily, you've been with me all these years. I shouldn't have let you suffer." The irony was almost too much. He was keeping a mistress. Hiding assets. And now trying to compensate me with a card, as if that would ease his conscience. I slipped the card into the drawer and gave a small smile. "Alright then. I won't hold back." Seeing me accept it, Adrian visibly relaxed. He leaned down, kissed my forehead, then bent to touch my belly and murmured something about getting some rest before heading to his study. The moment the door clicked shut, the room went perfectly quiet. And the smile on my face faded away, bit by bit. Chapter 7 First thing the next morning, I took that card to the law office. Morgan — my lawyer, referred by a college friend — was sharp-tongued and sharper still with paperwork. She took one look at the card and frowned. "This isn't a supplementary card from your joint account, is it?" "No." My voice was flat. "He gave it to me last night." Morgan looked up at me, her expression serious and focused. "If he can pull out a card linked to an account you've never seen just to pacify you, that means the assets he's hiding — whether under his name or through shell companies and trusts — are far from small. If we follow the trail from this card, there's a good chance we'll uncover much more." I looked down at the black card, suddenly remembering the way Adrian had held me last night — that belated flicker of guilt — and his soft voice saying, "You've been with me all these years. I shouldn't have let you suffer." The irony couldn't have been sharper. I tucked the card away, looked up at Morgan, and was surprised by how calm I sounded. "Then dig." "He cares so much about the Blackwood fortune and reputation? Fine. I'll unearth every single thing he's buried." I still remembered what he'd told me when we were dating — that he'd give me everything, every penny, and make me the happiest woman in the world. Well, since he'd made the promise, I'd give him the chance to keep it. Sunlight poured through the window, bright and sharp against the desk. This was the sun-drenched world that vampire could never withstand. I rested a hand on my belly and felt the baby stir — quiet, but strong. In that moment, everything became perfectly clear. Adrian thought handing me a card was charity. Appeasement. Compensation. But what he'd placed in my hand was the very blade that would end him.