“Finally, an Heir.” My Mother-in-Law Cheered for My Husband’s Pregnant Mistress—Until Her Fake Baby Bump Dropped to the Floor

The final move arrived forty-eight hours later in the form of a woman wearing a bright red designer dress and a ridiculously round belly.

Her name was Selene Prado.

She walked into my living room as if she already owned the mortgage. She wore heavy makeup, ten-centimeter stilettos, and an overpowering floral perfume that instantly filled the room. One hand was draped dramatically over her abdomen, which sat high, unnaturally firm, and completely motionless under her tight outfit.

Adrian stood beside her, swelling his chest with the pathetic pride of a man presenting a prize he hadn't earned.

“Mara,” Adrian announced loudly, making sure his voice echoed through the house. “This is Selene. The woman I truly love. And she is carrying my child.”

Beatrice, who was sitting near the window, gasped aloud. She rushed forward so fast her slippers slapped loudly against the floorboards.

“A baby?” Beatrice cried out, her eyes gleaming with sudden ecstasy. “A grandson?”

Selene lowered her eyes with practiced modesty. “The doctor says the traits indicate a very strong likelihood of a boy, Mrs. Dela Cruz.”

“A boy! Finally! An heir to the family!” Beatrice wept, clasping her hands together before placing them gently over Selene’s belly. “A real woman has finally come to save this house!”

I sat quietly in my armchair near the balcony, a silk scarf wrapped around my head, watching the performance unfold.

The old Mara would have screamed, cried, or thrown the woman out onto the street. But the woman with the shaved head felt only a cold, fascinating amusement.

Adrian pulled a thick legal folder from his leather briefcase and slammed it onto the coffee table in front of me.

“I am filing for immediate divorce,” Adrian declared coldly. “You will sign these papers, vacate the premises, and hand over the keys. Selene and my son will be moving into the master suite.”

I looked at the documents, then up at Selene’s tall high heels.

“You want me to vacate my own home?” I asked quietly.

“It is the marital residence!” Adrian barked, repeating a phrase he had clearly memorized from an online legal forum.

“It is titled solely under my name, purchased years before our marriage,” I corrected him.

Beatrice snapped at me, her voice shrill. “Stop with your arrogant legal talk! There is an heir now! A Dela Cruz bloodline! You are a barren, selfish woman who couldn't even give my son a family!”

Selene offered a cruel, pitying smile. “A wife who cannot keep her husband happy shouldn't be surprised when another woman steps up to fulfill his needs.”

I looked closely at Selene.

She was sipping a cup of black, high-caffeine coffee. Her center of gravity didn't shift when she walked. Her ankles showed zero swelling despite the massive heels, and her belly didn't move an inch when she leaned over.

“You can stay in the guest room for a couple of days,” I said smoothly, standing up. “While my lawyer reviews these divorce papers.”