I Sterilized Myself for Him, Then Found His Twins - Chapter 6: Chapter 6
You are reading I Sterilized Myself for Him, Then Found His Twins, Chapter 6: Chapter 6. Read more chapters of I Sterilized Myself for Him, Then Found His Twins.
Third Person's POV
Brent and Shalane took the kids to the hospital, where the doctor cleaned and bandaged Galvin's minor scrape—hardly more than a scratch. Afterward, they treated the twins to steak and fried chicken before heading back to Shalane's villa.
Galvin clung to Brent like a lifeline. "Daddy, stay with me tonight."
But as Brent tucked him in, Camryn's eerily calm expression flashed in his mind—too calm. Unease twisted in his gut. Gently prying his son's fingers away, he grabbed his keys and sped home.
Guilt gnawed at him. In his rage earlier, he hadn't even let Camryn explain. And Devin—his little boy had sobbed hysterically, terrified for his twin.
The moment Brent shoved open the front door, silence swallowed him whole.
"Camryn?"
Only his own voice echoed back.
He took the stairs two at a time, wrenching open the closet—empty. Hangers swayed mockingly. His pulse spiked as his gaze darted around. Their wedding photo was gone.
The bathroom was stripped bare—no toothbrush, no towel, no trace of her.
Cold dread slithered down his spine. Hands shaking, he dialed her number.
"Sorry, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable."
An hour later, he sat slumped on the couch, phone limp in his hand. Security footage played on the screen, confirming what the divorce papers beside him already screamed:
Camryn was gone. And she hadn't taken a damn thing.
For the first time in years, raw panic clawed at his throat. He hunched forward, arms wrapped tight around himself, just like he had two decades ago—when debt collectors pounded on their door, when his father rotted in jail, when their home reeked of rotting produce hurled by furious creditors.
Back then, Camryn had barreled into his life, shielding him, negotiating with those wolves. She'd even signed a promissory note in his stead.
His phone blared, snapping him back. Shalane's number flashed again. He declined, but she kept calling. Telegram notifications piled up:
[Daddy, my hand hurts! Come now!]
[Brent, Galvin's hysterical. I can't handle him alone.]
Her saccharine voice message oozed through: "Camryn's upset, and I get it. Let her hit you tomorrow—yell, whatever. But Galvin's just a child. We should be patient."
For the first time, Brent saw the venom beneath her sweetness.
He'd been an idiot.
She'd played him—sobbing about her dying mother, begging for a child to "continue the family line," exploiting their college friendship. He'd agreed, thinking it'd be simple: a secret heir, no strings. She'd sworn it wouldn't touch his marriage.
But then Galvin got sick. Then birthdays. Then he kept showing up, pulled deeper into her orbit.
Now, clarity hit like ice water.
He'd fix this.
Apologize. Beg. Send the twins back to London—cut off everything beyond necessities.
He called his lawyer immediately: transfer the stocks back, repossess Shalane's villa, sell the car. He'd clean this mess up now, so when Camryn returned—
If she returned—
There'd be nothing left to forgive.
When Shalane arrived with the kids, Brent was rehanging their wedding photo.
Her lip curled. "Couples fight, Brent. But using divorce as a threat? Petty."
He turned slowly. "You think this is a threat?"
Misreading his tone, she brightened. "Obviously! Tearing photos, running off—classic tantrum. Let her stew. She'll crawl back." A derisive laugh. "What's she without you? A barren nobody who should've kissed your feet for tolerating her."
The photo slammed into her head before Brent even realized he'd thrown it.
His hands trembled.
So this was what they all thought of Camryn. His parents. His so-called friends.
A barren leech. An outsider.
How much had she endured behind his back? Stepping down from the company had cost her respect—but infertility? To the Ceppetellis, that made her disposable.
Brent and Shalane took the kids to the hospital, where the doctor cleaned and bandaged Galvin's minor scrape—hardly more than a scratch. Afterward, they treated the twins to steak and fried chicken before heading back to Shalane's villa.
Galvin clung to Brent like a lifeline. "Daddy, stay with me tonight."
But as Brent tucked him in, Camryn's eerily calm expression flashed in his mind—too calm. Unease twisted in his gut. Gently prying his son's fingers away, he grabbed his keys and sped home.
Guilt gnawed at him. In his rage earlier, he hadn't even let Camryn explain. And Devin—his little boy had sobbed hysterically, terrified for his twin.
The moment Brent shoved open the front door, silence swallowed him whole.
"Camryn?"
Only his own voice echoed back.
He took the stairs two at a time, wrenching open the closet—empty. Hangers swayed mockingly. His pulse spiked as his gaze darted around. Their wedding photo was gone.
The bathroom was stripped bare—no toothbrush, no towel, no trace of her.
Cold dread slithered down his spine. Hands shaking, he dialed her number.
"Sorry, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable."
An hour later, he sat slumped on the couch, phone limp in his hand. Security footage played on the screen, confirming what the divorce papers beside him already screamed:
Camryn was gone. And she hadn't taken a damn thing.
For the first time in years, raw panic clawed at his throat. He hunched forward, arms wrapped tight around himself, just like he had two decades ago—when debt collectors pounded on their door, when his father rotted in jail, when their home reeked of rotting produce hurled by furious creditors.
Back then, Camryn had barreled into his life, shielding him, negotiating with those wolves. She'd even signed a promissory note in his stead.
His phone blared, snapping him back. Shalane's number flashed again. He declined, but she kept calling. Telegram notifications piled up:
[Daddy, my hand hurts! Come now!]
[Brent, Galvin's hysterical. I can't handle him alone.]
Her saccharine voice message oozed through: "Camryn's upset, and I get it. Let her hit you tomorrow—yell, whatever. But Galvin's just a child. We should be patient."
For the first time, Brent saw the venom beneath her sweetness.
He'd been an idiot.
She'd played him—sobbing about her dying mother, begging for a child to "continue the family line," exploiting their college friendship. He'd agreed, thinking it'd be simple: a secret heir, no strings. She'd sworn it wouldn't touch his marriage.
But then Galvin got sick. Then birthdays. Then he kept showing up, pulled deeper into her orbit.
Now, clarity hit like ice water.
He'd fix this.
Apologize. Beg. Send the twins back to London—cut off everything beyond necessities.
He called his lawyer immediately: transfer the stocks back, repossess Shalane's villa, sell the car. He'd clean this mess up now, so when Camryn returned—
If she returned—
There'd be nothing left to forgive.
When Shalane arrived with the kids, Brent was rehanging their wedding photo.
Her lip curled. "Couples fight, Brent. But using divorce as a threat? Petty."
He turned slowly. "You think this is a threat?"
Misreading his tone, she brightened. "Obviously! Tearing photos, running off—classic tantrum. Let her stew. She'll crawl back." A derisive laugh. "What's she without you? A barren nobody who should've kissed your feet for tolerating her."
The photo slammed into her head before Brent even realized he'd thrown it.
His hands trembled.
So this was what they all thought of Camryn. His parents. His so-called friends.
A barren leech. An outsider.
How much had she endured behind his back? Stepping down from the company had cost her respect—but infertility? To the Ceppetellis, that made her disposable.
End of I Sterilized Myself for Him, Then Found His Twins Chapter 6. Continue reading Chapter 7 or return to I Sterilized Myself for Him, Then Found His Twins book page.