Too Late, Mr. Sterling—I’m Marrying Your Rival Chapter 01

The day I lost our baby, my husband was carrying another woman into the ER.

He didn’t see my tears.

He saw my hospital bracelet and asked if I’d followed him again.

Tomorrow, I’d have surgery alone.

And then I’d vanish from his life forever.

“Mrs. Sterling, are you sure about tomorrow?” Dr. Patel had asked me ten minutes earlier, the discharge papers trembling slightly in her hand. “You shouldn’t go through this alone. Your husband should be here.”

“I can handle it myself.”

She blinked. Everyone at Mercy General knew me. I used to call Damien over a paper cut. I used to cry if he was late for dinner.

Not anymore.

I stepped into the hallway, and the automatic doors burst open.

Damien Sterling. CEO of Sterling Global. My husband of three years.

He was striding in with a woman in his arms, her blond hair matted with blood.

Sienna Cross. His COO. His right hand. The woman he’d told me, a hundred times, to be more like.

Then I saw it.

The silver St. Christopher medal resting against her throat.

My medal. The one I’d bought by selling my dead mother’s ring, because Damien traveled so much and I was so scared he’d get hurt. I’d fastened it around his neck myself and whispered, Come home safe.

And he’d given it to her.

Damien spotted me. His jaw tightened.

“Ava. What are you doing here?” His voice was low, irritated. “Did you track my phone again? I told you—you need your own life.”

The words landed like a slap. He thought this was the old me. Some stomachache, some excuse to be near him.

I didn’t explain. I crumpled the surgical consent form in my fist and tore it to pieces.

“Nothing. It’s minor.”

A scrap fluttered to his shoe. He bent and picked it up.

Procedure scheduled: 7:00 a.m. tomorrow.

He frowned. “What procedure?”

“Something small.” I shrugged.

“I have the Tokyo call tomorrow.” He checked his watch. “Push it a day. I’ll come with you.”

“Don’t bother.” It came out before I could stop it. “I’ll handle it. Thanks.”

Thanks. Like he was a stranger holding a door.

He stared at me like he didn’t recognize my voice.

The old me would have thrown herself into his arms and sobbed out everything. That I’d been pregnant. That I hadn’t known. That the baby I would have died for was already gone.

But I said nothing. Some losses are too big to hand to someone who won’t hold them.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Damien said, shifting Sienna in his arms. “Sienna got hurt protecting me. A drunk driver jumped the curb outside the office. She shoved me out of the way.”

Sienna lifted her head, brave and pale. “I’m fine, Damien. Take care of your wife. I can walk.”

She swayed. He caught her instantly, his face full of a tenderness I hadn’t seen in a year.

“Her thing can wait,” he said. “You’re bleeding.”

Her thing.

Then he turned to me with that tired, disappointed look I knew by heart.

“Sienna handled the Hartley negotiation, the press, and now this. That’s what a partner looks like, Ava.” He exhaled. “Go home. Make that bone broth you’re always making. Bring it to her room tonight. Can you manage that?”

He walked away with her before I could answer.

My eyes burned. I smiled anyway, because nurses were watching.

He’d never thought I was enough. Not sharp enough for the boardroom. Not cold enough for the press. Not tough like Sienna.

He forgot I was a trauma surgeon before I married him.

He forgot I gave it up because he asked me to.

I pressed my palm to my stomach, to the emptiness no one could see.

Tomorrow, I’d bury our baby alone.

And then I’d bury our marriage.

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