The Richest Husband in New York Was Drugged

1
My husband, Damien Hawthorne, the wealthiest man in New York, was drugged. He slept with a college student.
The moment he came to his senses, he called me. His voice was a raw, panicked rasp.
Elara, I was drugged. I made a mistake. But I paid her off. She won't be a problem.
After eight years of a storybook marriage, I chose to believe it was just a terrible accident.
Six months later, Damien was on a business trip to the southern coast when a massive earthquake hit. The news was everywhere.
By the time I reached the hospital, Damien was standing outside a private room, his face a mask of conflict.
The doctor explained that the young woman, Chloe, was three months pregnant. She had dug him out of the rubble with her bare hands, her fingers torn to bloody ribbons.
Damien gripped my hand, his voice a low, pleading whisper. "Three months ago... her family died, and she came to me for help. I'd been drinking... I never thought it would just... happen."
He squeezed my hand tighter. "Don't worry, she'll never set foot in our home. She'll never, ever threaten your place as my wife."
Just then, Chloe burst out of the room and collapsed to her knees before me, sobbing. "Mrs. Hawthorne, please, I'm begging you, let my baby live!"
Damien looked at me, his eyes pleading. "Elara, you've always been the reasonable one. The baby is innocent..."
I stared at him, and a slow, cold smile spread across my face.
"Damien, you have two choices."
"Either we divorce."
"Or you make her disappear."
"I won't divorce you!" he cried, his eyes turning red as he grabbed my arms. "But I have to take responsibility for her!"
In the end, Chloe gave birth to twins. The Hawthorne estate was drowned in celebration.
I twisted the wedding band from my ring finger and dialed a number Id hoped never to use. "That offer you made," I said. "I accept."
A low chuckle answered from the other end of the line.
"Mrs. Hawthorne. A pleasure doing business with you."
I stood at the door to the hospital room, my fingers clenched into a fist.
Through the crack in the door, I could see Damien's parents, each cradling an infant, their faces glowing with joy.
Even Damien, a man who wore a mask of cool composure in public, was gazing down at the baby in his arms with a tenderness I had never seen before, a gentle, doting smile playing on his lips.
How ironic. They looked like a perfect, happy family. And I was the intruder.
Damien looked up and saw me. His smile froze. "Elara, you're back..."
I said nothing.
His mother shot me a sideways glance, her voice as sharp and cold as ice. "So, you finally decided to come back? Had enough of your little soul-searching retreat in the mountains?"
"It's good that you're back," his father said, playing peacemaker, though his eyes never left the grandchild in his arms. "Just in time for the one-month celebration. As Mrs. Hawthorne, you should at least make an appearance."
His mother's expression softened slightly. "The children still need proper names. You and Damien should think of some. And don't you worry, as long as you play your part, your position as the lady of the Hawthorne family is secure."
I looked at them, my face a numb mask, and nodded. "Fine."
Once his parents had left, Damiens phone rang. He glanced at me, then stepped into the hallway to take the call.
Now, it was just me and Chloe.
Her cheeks were flushed with a healthy glow, her hair shining with a luster that spoke of expensive care. The Hawthornes had clearly spared no expense on her these past months.
"Elara," she began, her voice a timid whisper. "If I've done anything wrong, you can hit me, you can scream at me... just please, don't fight with Damien anymore. You know you're the only one he loves. He had your rooms cleaned every single day you were gone."
"Chloe," I said, my gaze cutting through her charade. "You can drop the act. The money he gave you the first time was enough to set you up for life. You could have taken it and disappeared. But you came back, didn't you? You sought him out. And now you have these children."
"I know exactly what you're playing at," I finished.
Her face flushed, then paled.
Suddenly, she snatched one of the infants from the bassinet and thrust the baby into my arms.
The warm, milky scent of the tiny bundle made me freeze.
But in the next heartbeat, the baby slipped from my grasp. A sickening thud echoed through the room, followed by a piercing, heartbreaking wail.
The sound shattered the quiet. Damien burst back into the room and shoved me aside.
I stumbled back, watching as he scooped up the crying infant, his face etched with pain and terror.
He looked at me, his eyes a swirling vortex of emotions. He didn't say a word, but his silence screamed his condemnation.
Chloe was already sobbing beside him. "Damien, I just wanted her to hold the baby... I don't know how she could..."

2
Damien's voice was frigid. "Elara, Chloe is being discharged tomorrow. Since you clearly can't be around the children, I think it's best if you move to Blackwood Manor for a while."
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. I'd left for the mountain sanctuary with almost nothing, and I was returning with even less. One suitcase held everything I owned.
I sat in the vast, empty manor, watching the sky bleed from dusk to dawn.
It was better this way, I told myself. At least I wouldn't have to watch their perfect little family of four.
Memories flooded back, a relentless tide.
Damien and I were childhood sweethearts. Eight years of marriage, the golden couple everyone in our circle envied.
Then he was drugged by a business rival and ended up with a college student. The first thing he did when he was sober was call me, his voice trembling. "Elara, I was set up! I paid her hush money. You'll never see her again!"
And I believed him.
But it wasn't long before this woman, Chloe, reappeared. Her parents had died in a sudden accident, and she'd found Damiendrunk at a business dinner. A second time. The first time was an accident. What was the second?
Then came the earthquake during his trip to the southern coast. It was a pregnant Chloe who had clawed him out of the wreckage with her bare hands.
With the weight of a life debt and the child in her belly, Damien was trapped.
He had knelt before me, tears streaming down his face, and I had given him my terms.
"Either we divorce."
"Or you make her disappear."
"I won't divorce you!" he'd cried, his eyes bloodshot. "But I have to take responsibility for her..."
He wouldn't let me go, but he wouldn't let her go either.
So I left. I went to a sanctuary in the mountains to find peace, until Damien's parents demanded I return for the birth of the children.
I pulled out my phone, the screen a stark white light in the darkness, and typed the message I should have sent months ago.
"Let's get a divorce."
Less than ten minutes later, the front door crashed open.
Damien burst in, his forehead beaded with sweat. "Elara! I don't agree to a divorce!"
I sat there on the sofa, a silent shadow in the cavernous room, and sighed. "It's over, Damien. I'm tired."
"I told you she would never affect us!" he pleaded, his voice shaking with desperation.
Just then, his phone shrieked.
Chloe's tear-choked voice came through the speaker. "Damien! The baby... from the fall... she has a fever! The doctor says she might need to go to the ICU!"
The color drained from Damien's face.
He looked from me to the phone, his expression torn. Finally, he spoke, the words tasting like ash.
"Elara, I... I have to go check on them..."
I watched his frantic retreat, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips.
So this was my marriage. Even our divorce had to wait in line behind another woman and her children.

3
A wry smile twisted my lips. "Go on, then. Your child needs you."
He was gone in a rush, the wind from his hurried exit caressing my cheek as if he'd never been there at all.
I sat alone in the darkness, silent tears tracing cold paths down my face.
I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that he might never marry Chloe, but he would always be at her beck and call.
How long could I endure this, if I didn't leave? A lifetime?
A familiar, sharp pain twisted in my stomach.
I opened my phone. On Chloe's social media, a new post showed Damien, haggard and unshaven, keeping a sleepless vigil by an incubator. I had never seen that look of raw terror on his face before.
I had my lawyer draw up the divorce papers and went to the office to tender my resignation.
The HR manager looked shocked. "Mrs. Hawthorne, does Mr. Hawthorne know you're leaving?"
I offered a faint smile. "He's a little preoccupied right now." I saw the pity flicker in her eyes. I knew what she was thinking.
I returned to Blackwood Manor, the sprawling estate we had used as a getaway a few times after we were married.
While packing, my fingers brushed against a yellowed piece of notepaper tucked away in a drawer. "My dearest Elara," it read in his familiar script. "I wonder when you'll find this. By then, we'll probably have a few kids running around. I love you so much. No matter what happens, promise you'll never leave me."
A tear splattered onto the ink. A violent cramp seized my stomach, and the world went black as I crumpled to the floor.
I woke to the shrill ringing of my phone.
"Elara Vance! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Damien's roar blasted through the speaker. He rarely used my full name.
"Chloe is already treading on eggshells around you! How many times do I have to tell you she's not a threat to your position? Why would you send those vicious text messages? Why would you curse my children?!"
I laughed, a dry, humorless sound.
He didn't even bother to ask if I'd done it. He had already passed judgment.
"Are you finished?" I asked, my voice eerily calm.
He paused, thrown off. "The celebration for the babies is next Sunday. You have to be there. Please, just stop with the tantrums, okay?"
"Fine."
I hung up and stared out at the encroaching night.
On the day of the party, I arrived without a trace of makeup.
Sympathetic glances followed me through the room. At the center of it all stood Chloe, draped in a stunning red dress, clinging to Damien's arm like she was the true lady of the house.
His mother gestured impatiently. "Go on, hold one of the babies."
Damien placed one of the infants in my arms, his voice a low murmur meant only for me. "Elara, I'll overlook the text messages. After today, I'll send Chloe abroad. The children will be registered under your name. Since you can't have children... isn't this the perfect solution for everyone?"
His words were a physical blow. The avalanche... years ago, I'd shielded him with my body, the impact damaging my uterus beyond repair. He had fought with his parents for me then, swearing he'd be happy with just me, childless or not.
Now, everything had changed.
Suddenly, the baby in my arms gave a violent cough, a white foam bubbling at its lips.
"What's wrong with the baby?!" someone screamed.

4
Chloe lunged at me, her voice a piercing shriek. "Mrs. Hawthorne! If you want to kill someone, kill me! Don't hurt the baby!"
CRACK!
The force of his father's slap sent me reeling. My head snapped back, and I stumbled to the ground, a fiery sting spreading across my cheek, the coppery taste of blood flooding my mouth.
Damien instinctively reached out to steady me.
At that moment, the baby in his other arm let out a choked cry and vomited a mouthful of blood. The room erupted into chaos.
"Damien!" Chloe's hysterical scream sliced through the pandemonium as she threw herself between us. "The baby's dying! Please, save our child!"
Damien's hand, the one reaching for me, trembled in mid-air.
I watched the concern in his eyes for me fade, replaced by sheer terror for his child. He slowly retracted his hand and turned his full attention to the sputtering infant.
The hospital corridor was cold enough to seep into my bones. I stood there like a ghost, the divorce papers Id brought slipping from my pocket and fluttering to the polished floor.
His mother's sharp eyes caught the movement. She snatched the papers and threw them back at me with disgust.
Her perfectly manicured face was twisted with contempt. "Have we ever mistreated you? Huh? Damien defied us for you, and we tolerated it! And now you try to harm a child?"
"Since you're so desperate for a divorce, then get it over with! Stop clinging to this family!"
I silently bent down and picked up the scattered pages.
Damien emerged from the ICU, his eyes red-rimmed. "The baby's stable."
He looked at me then, and his gaze was that of a complete stranger. "Elara, this time, you've gone too far."
My hand trembled as I held out the divorce papers. "Let's... end this."
His pupils contracted. "Are you sure?"
"I'm tired," I whispered, fighting back the tears. "I don't know what else I might do..."
"Fine! Just fine!" He snatched the papers, scrawled his name across the signature line with vicious force, and threw the pen to the floor. "As you wish!"
Returning to what was once our home, our housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, rushed to greet me. "Ma'am! What happened..." She trailed off, her eyes fixed on my swollen face and rain-soaked clothes.
I scanned the room. My grand piano was gone. Our wedding portrait was missing from the wall. Even the cherished trinkets I'd collected over the years had vanished.
Mrs. Gable wrung her hands, stammering, "Miss Chloe... she kept bumping into things during her pregnancy, so Mr. Hawthorne had them..."
The door opened.
Damien walked in, with Chloe on his arm.
Chloe feigned surprise. "Ma'am, what are you doing here?" She said it as if she were the mistress of the house.
"Where are my things?" My voice shook as I looked at Damien.
He let out a cold laugh, pulling Chloe closer. "You're the one who wanted a divorce. Why do you care?"
Chloe reached for my hand with a sickeningly sweet smile. "Ma'am, it was Damien. He was just worried I might hurt myself while I was pregnant..."
"Don't touch me!" I snarled, flinging her hand away.
She let out a little cry and stumbled backward.
Damien caught her instantly, his voice laced with concern. "Are you okay?"
I stared at the two of them, a perfect picture of intimacy, and turned on my heel.
I heard him call my name, but I didn't look back.
I couldn't let them see the tears streaming down my face.
Outside, the heavens had opened up, a torrential downpour soaking me to the skin.
I don't know how long I walked before a group of thugs cornered me in a dark, grimy alley.
"Well, well, if it isn't Mrs. Hawthorne," one of them, a man with a jagged scar across his face, sneered as he advanced. "Someone paid us good money to teach you a lesson. The tycoon's wife... sure is a looker. A little flat, maybe, but that face is porcelain."
My fingers fumbled for my phone. I dialed Damien's number. His voice came through, soft and soothing, not for me. "Chloe, your head hurts? Just try to sleep, darling."
"Damien! Help..."
"I don't want to talk to you right now." The line went dead. I tried again. His phone was off.
Icy rain mingled with the hot tears on my cheeks, the taste a bitter salt.
"No one's coming to save you here, sweetheart. Why don't you relax and have some fun with us?"
Their grimy hands reached for my collar, rough fingers scraping against my skin.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my nails digging into my palms.

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