Engaged To A Coldhearted Murderer

Eleanora Bryan POV:

"I am his mother!" I insisted, trying to push myself up, my voice hoarse from crying and screaming. "And Gabe is his half-brother! My son!"

Brittnie stared at me, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, quickly masked by rage. But before she could respond, the heavy ER doors burst open.

A hulking figure with a shaved head and a brutal, intimidating presence strode into the room. It was Clabe Snow, Brittnie's brother, the hospital's Head of Security. Two burly guards, their hands resting on their holstered weapons, flanked him. They looked like something out of a bad action movie, not a prestigious hospital.

Clabe's eyes, cold and assessing, swept over me, then landed on Gabe's inert form on the gurney. He held up his phone, the camera lens staring at me like a malevolent eye.

"What's the problem here, Brittnie?" Clabe's voice was a low growl, devoid of any warmth.

I was huddled on the floor, bruised and battered, my coat torn, my hair disheveled. I must have looked like a wild animal.

Brittnie immediately softened, adopting a pitiful, injured tone. "Oh, Clabe, thank goodness you're here. This... this woman," she gestured vaguely at me, "she's a stalker. Cannon's secret mistress. She tried to force her way in, claiming this child is his. She's delusional."

My blood ran cold. A stalker? A mistress? My mind reeled.

Clabe's gaze lingered on me, a sneer twisting his lips. "This old hag? Cannon's mistress? Please. He has better taste than that." He turned to Brittnie, a possessive glint in his eye. "You should know, sis. You're the only woman for Cannon."

He spat the words "old hag" like venom. The guards behind him chuckled.

"She's trying to manipulate him, Clabe," Brittnie continued, her voice dripping with false concern. "She probably thinks this... boy... will get her a payout. She's a gold digger."

A gold digger? My head swam. I'd raised Cannon alone, sacrificing everything for his education, his future. Now I was a gold digger?

Brittnie' s eyes met mine, a triumphant, malicious glint in them. She knew she had me.

Clabe gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Alright, Brittnie. What do you want me to do with this... distraction?"

Brittnie's smile widened, a truly terrifying sight. She strolled towards me, stopping just inches away. She leaned down, her voice a chilling whisper. "Cannon called me this morning, complaining about his mother. Said she was getting difficult." She paused, letting the words sink in. "He said he wished she'd just... disappear."

My breath hitched. Cannon would never. He loved me.

Brittnie straightened, her voice regaining its sugary sweetness. "But I'm a kind woman, Eleanora. I'm willing to overlook your... indiscretion. For Cannon's sake."

She reached out, grabbing a handful of my hair, yanking my head back. My scalp screamed in protest.

"You're going to record a video for me," she hissed, her eyes burning with triumph. "You're going to confess everything. That you're Cannon's secret mistress. That this boy isn't his. That you're a homewrecker, trying to break up our engagement."

My mind screamed in protest. Humiliation. Public shaming. Everything I held dear, reduced to this.

"No!" I cried, struggling against her grip. "I won't! This is insane!"

She tightened her grip, her fingers digging into my scalp. "Oh, you will. Or your little 'son' here," she gestured to Gabe, who lay motionless on the gurney, "will simply... stop breathing. And it will be your fault."

Her face was inches from mine, her breath cold and venomous. "You'll tell the camera that you apologize for trying to ruin Cannon and Brittnie's beautiful relationship. You'll say you'll never bother him again. And you'll hand over that brooch as a sign of your repentance."

The brooch, still clutched in her fist, flashed under the harsh lights. It was her leverage. Her twisted trophy.

"Do it," Clabe barked, his phone still aimed at me, recording my humiliation. "Or the kid gets no help."

My eyes darted to Gabe. He was so still. Too still. His chest barely rose and fell. His small hand, which had gripped mine so tightly just hours ago, lay limp on the sheet.

My stomach churned. My pride, my dignity, my entire being screamed in protest. But Gabe. My baby.