The Night Before I Became His Wife, the Night He Became a Father Chapter 01

The Night Before I Became His Wife, the Night He Became a Father Chapter 01

My best friend had a child with her trust-fund boyfriend before they were married, and on the night before my wedding, she even sent their son to sleep in my wedding bed for good luck.

No one expected the little boy to suddenly pee all over the brand-new white comforter.

The wedding coordinator frowned. “That’s terrible luck. Whose child is this? Someone take him away.”

But Damian Davenport, who was standing beside me, answered, “Mine.”

I turned to him in shock.

He reached down, picked the boy up, and pressed his face affectionately against the child’s little cheek.

“So what if my own son peed in his dad’s bed?”

“This is the little miracle Nina and I spent all night making. I wouldn’t care if he wet the bed or tore the whole place apart.”

I froze where I stood, a chill sweeping through my entire body.

After a long moment, I finally forced out one hoarse question. “Why?”

He slowly turned to look at me.

“Because you passed the test, and I don’t want to keep lying to you anymore.”

“There’s another piece of good news. Your husband isn’t poor at all. My father is the richest man in New York City, and I’m his only son.”

“You’re about to become Mrs. Davenport, Ivy.”

He actually thought I would be happy.

Only when he took my ice-cold hand did he finally frown.

“…Nina is terrified of marriage, but she wanted a child. She saved my life back then, so I owed her this.”

***

The bridal suite reeked of urine. The people who had come to watch the commotion left awkwardly, and the way they looked at me made me feel like I had become the punch line of a joke.

Damian did not come back until he had sent the child away. I sat there, limp and hollow, with my wedding dress lying in a ruined heap on the floor.

I had worked late-night DoorDash shifts for three months to save up for that dress, then found it discounted on Facebook Marketplace.

Back then, I had believed love would be enough.

Now, it seemed ridiculous and pathetic.

Damian stood in the doorway and tapped casually on his phone a few times.

Then he walked over and pulled me into his arms. “It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t going to let you wear that trash tomorrow anyway. I just ordered you something more expensive.”

I shoved him away, no longer able to hold back my rage.

Like a woman possessed, I smashed our wedding photos, tore the “Just Married” sign off the wall, and shattered every keepsake from our relationship.

Through my tears, I screamed at him, “If none of it matters to you, then we don’t need any of it!”

Damian only frowned.

“Are you done?”

I went still.

Then he suddenly smiled and patted my head with helpless indulgence.

“That’s enough venting. I’ve told you everything I needed to say, so don’t go too far.”

“I’ve spoiled Nina too much over the years. She isn’t as strong as you are. I didn’t talk this through with her before telling you, so don’t say anything to her yet.”

“She’s too kind, and she sees you as her best friend. I’m afraid the guilt would break her.”

He kept giving instructions as if this had nothing to do with me, completely ignoring how pale my face had become.

Three years ago, Nina had blushed and told me she was in love with a man who was very generous with her.

So while I was on my knees scrubbing tile floors in someone else’s house, she was soaking in a rose-petal bath.

While I got up before dawn to pick through discarded produce behind the grocery store, she was having French dinners that cost hundreds of dollars per person.

While I had to beg people online for referral clicks just to knock a few dollars off a thrift-store dress, she had more custom designer clothes than she could ever wear.

So that was what he called being strong.

The word grated against my ears.

When I stayed silent, Damian’s expression slowly darkened.

He stood and said coldly, “Nina has been exhausted from taking care of the baby lately, and she looks a little run-down. She was worried she’d embarrass you as your bridesmaid tomorrow, so she asked me to make her some chicken noodle soup to help her feel better.”

He looked down at me and scoffed.

“She thinks about you in everything she does. And what about you?”

“Think about that.”

With that, he turned and went into the kitchen, where he skillfully began prepping the chicken, starting the broth, and getting the ingredients ready.

When we first got together, he told me his mother had died in a gas explosion, and that he had been afraid of stoves ever since he was a child.

I had felt so sorry for him that, all these years, I wouldn’t even let him microwave a cup of ramen.

But maybe that had only been another lie, another test of my sincerity.

Or maybe, for the woman he truly loved, he could overcome any fear.

A bitter smile pulled at my lips.

As I looked at the back of this stranger he had become, tears blurred my vision.

“Damian.”

My throat burned as if it had been scorched. “I’m not marrying you tomorrow.”