Chapter 2

Under the bright studio ring lights, Tyler gently helped me sit up and used a soft towel to dab my damp hair dry.

Right after that, he placed a sponsored blow dryer on the vanity and started styling my hair on camera.

Exhausted to my core, I forced myself to play along and showcase the product. By the time the take was over, my stomach was screaming with hunger.

The moment I reached for the takeout container on the nightstand, Tyler slapped my hand away. "We haven't shot the food segment yet! What do you think you're doing?"

I pulled my hand back silently, waiting for the crew to adjust the softboxes and lenses.

Tyler poured some soup into a thermos, waiting for the red recording light before picking up a spoon to feed me.

Beaming with rehearsed adoration, he carried the ceramic bowl over to the bed. "Babe, I made your favorite soup. Let me feed you."

I glanced at the lens. My professional training kicked in, and I pasted on a warm smile and nodded.

He scooped up a spoonful, blew on it with exaggerated care, and brought it to my lips.

I swallowed a mouthful. When I looked up, the director was holding up a cue card.

Swallowing the rising nausea, I played along, sounding deeply touched. "Tyler, this tastes a little different than usual. Did you change the recipe?"

He feigned endless devotion, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "You need to be careful with your diet right now, but I couldn't bear to let you suffer. So I made sure to add a scoop of this amazing recovery powder. It’s perfect for postpartum healing."

The camera zoomed in slowly as Tyler spoon-fed me a few more times with infinite patience.

The instant the director called wrap, Tyler dropped the bowl onto the table with an audible thud, completely dropping the act.

I reached out to finish the soup myself, but our daughter started wailing from the bassinet.

At the sound of her crying, undisguised disgust twisted Tyler’s face. "Shut her up! Aren't you supposed to be her mother?"

Tears pricked my eyes, but I swallowed the grievance, lifting the baby into my arms to rock her gently.

In her frantic fussing, her tiny arm flailed out and knocked the bowl clean off the nightstand.

Tyler marched over, slamming the empty bowl down and screaming in my face, "You can't even handle one simple thing! If you stain those sheets, are you going to be the one washing them?"

startled by his furious shout, the baby screamed even louder.

Between the relentless noise and the crushing humiliation, something inside me snapped. "Did I make this baby alone? Aren't you her father?"

Tyler planted his hands on his hips, gesturing wildly at the film crew packing up their gear. "If I don't hustle for content, how the hell are you and your kid going to survive? On fresh air?"

I broke down into quiet sobs, rocking the baby against my chest. "Where’s the postpartum doula? You swore you hired one to help me!"

Standing by the doorway, our creative director, Simon, adjusted his glasses in deep embarrassment.

"Chloe... that doula was just a hired actress. We settled her day rate and she already left."

Tyler flipped through his upcoming livestream schedule without looking up. "Why waste thousands on a doula? It's a joke. I'll just have my mom fly in for a couple of weeks."

I wiped at my wet cheeks, but the tears wouldn't stop flowing. "You promised me! You swore we’d stay at a luxury recovery retreat and hire full-time help!"

Hearing this, Tyler’s expression curdled into pure annoyance. He threw down his papers and stepped right up to my face.

"Didn't I already explain it to you? The retreat refused to sponsor us! What, did you want me to give them free promo and clout for nothing?"

I couldn't take it anymore. "Clout! Engagement! Clout! That's all you care about!"

Enraged, Tyler grabbed the remaining bowl of broth from the counter and splashed it directly onto me.

My maternal instincts took over before my brain could process what was happening; I instantly hunched over, shielding my baby from the mess.

The lukewarm liquid soaked through my shirt, sticking to my skin.

In that quiet, sticky second, my heart went completely cold.