Fake Heiress Stole My Man, My Baby, My Life

"Push two units of O-negative!" Dr. Evans shouted, his hands pressing hard against my lower abdomen.

"Lines are in," Nurse Miller replied, her fingers flying over the monitors. "She's still losing too much blood."

"Rowan, stay awake," the doctor ordered, tapping my cheek. "Look at me."

I forced my heavy eyelids open. The blinding white lights of the emergency room seared my retinas.

"My baby," I rasped, the metallic taste of blood coating my tongue.

"The five-month fetus is gone," Dr. Evans said, his tone entirely clinical. "We need to stop the hemorrhaging or you won't make it either."

Gone.

"No," I whispered. "That's impossible."

"I need you to focus on surviving," Dr. Evans demanded. "Can you do that?"

"It was kicking this morning," I argued weakly.

"The trauma caused a placental abruption," he explained. "There was nothing we could do."

The words slammed into my chest. My child. Darius's child.

Dark red soaked the sheets beneath my thighs, a horrific testament to the life ripped away from me.

The memory of the penthouse dragged me under. Just a few hours ago, the world had been intact.

"Hand me the soup, Rowan," Elowen demanded, leaning against the marble counter.

"The chef is bringing your lunch soon," I replied, keeping my distance.

"I want that soup," she insisted, her perfectly manicured finger pointing at the bowl. "Bring it here."

"It's boiling hot," I warned.

"Are you deaf or just stupid?" she asked, dropping her sweet facade. "Darius isn't here. You don't have to pretend you're anything more than the hired help."

"I'm not the help," I said, my voice tight.

"You're a secret he's ashamed of," Elowen sneered. "Now give me the bowl."

I picked up the porcelain with a thick towel and extended my arms.

Elowen refused to take it. She swung her hand and slapped the rim hard.

Scalding broth flew through the air, splashing directly onto my exposed wrist.

"Ah!" I screamed, dropping the ceramic. It shattered across the floor.

"Look what you did!" Elowen yelled, though not a single drop had touched her designer dress.

Before I could cradle my blistering skin, she lunged. Her hands hit my shoulders with shocking force.

I stumbled backward. My spine slammed into the sharp edge of the marble island.

A sickening pop echoed in the room. Searing agony ripped through my stomach.

"Help!" a maid shrieked from the hallway. "Someone call Mr. Cross!"

I collapsed onto the tiles, clutching my belly. "Elowen... why?"

She just smirked, stepping carefully over the broken porcelain.

Ten minutes later, the front doors banged open. Darius stormed into the kitchen.

"Darius," I choked out, reaching a trembling hand toward him.

He didn't even look down. He stepped right over my legs and pulled Elowen into his chest.

"I'm here," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. "Are you hurt?"

"She tried to burn me with boiling soup," Elowen sobbed, burying her face in his expensive suit. "I was so terrified, Darius."

"Shh, you're safe now."

Darius finally turned his gaze to me. His eyes, usually warm when we were alone in the dark, held nothing but ice.

"Are you out of your mind, Rowan?" he barked.

"She pushed me!" I cried out, curling into a tight ball. "The baby is hurting, Darius. Please."

"Stop using the pregnancy as a shield," he snapped, his jaw tight.

"I'm bleeding," I begged.

"You threw boiling soup at my guest," he said, his voice laced with disgust.

"Look at my wrist!" I held up my blistering skin.

"A pathetic attempt to play the victim," Darius replied, not even blinking.

"Darius, she shoved me into the counter," I pleaded.

"Enough," he ordered. "I am taking Elowen upstairs to calm down. Clean up this mess."

"I need an ambulance!"

"You need a reality check," he said, turning his back.

The sterile beep of the heart monitor yanked me back to the freezing emergency room.

"Did you reach the emergency contact?" Nurse Miller asked, her voice tight with panic.

"I have him on the line," another nurse announced, holding up the receiver. "Speaker is on."

"Mr. Cross?" Nurse Miller asked loudly.

"Speak," Darius's voice crackled through the small speaker.

"Rowan Thorne is hemorrhaging," she explained rapidly.

"And?" he asked.

"She lost the baby."

Silence stretched across the trauma bay.

I stared at the ceiling tiles. My heart hammered a weak, erratic rhythm against my ribs.

Tell them you are coming, I prayed silently. Please, Darius. Our baby is dead.

"She is in critical condition," the nurse pressed. "We need you here immediately to authorize emergency surgery."

"Elowen is too fragile for this kind of stress right now," Darius said.

The words hung in the air, completely devoid of emotion.

"Sir, did you hear me?" Nurse Miller demanded.

"I heard you."

"Ms. Thorne might die tonight."

"Then do your jobs and save her," he interrupted. "Do not call this number again."

The line clicked. A dial tone echoed through the room.

A dry, rattling laugh scraped up my throat.

Tears refused to fall. Instead, a hollow chuckle vibrated in my chest, sounding completely unhinged.

"Ms. Thorne?" Dr. Evans frowned, pausing with a scalpel.

"I am fine," I whispered, the laughter dying instantly.

A junior nurse tried to comfort me, slipping my personal phone onto the edge of the bed.

"You dropped this in the ambulance," she offered softly.

The screen lit up. A social media notification flashed across the lock screen.

Darius Cross just posted an update.

I forced my heavy, bandaged thumb to swipe the glass.

A high-definition photo filled the screen.

Elowen stood inside a brightly lit luxury jewelry store, holding up her left hand. A massive diamond caught the light. Darius stood behind her, his arms wrapped securely around her waist.

The caption read: *She said yes. Forever with my only love.*

Posted five minutes ago.

While I lay bleeding out his dead child on a hospital bed, he was sliding a ring onto her finger.

Five years.

Five years of hiding in the shadows. Five years of playing his secret lover. Five years of enduring his public distance, swallowing my pride because he swore we would build a private future together.

It was all a joke. My loyalty, my suffering, my unborn baby. Just a punchline.

I gripped the blood-stained sheets. The coarse fabric dug deep into my palms.

The desperate, pathetic love that had anchored me to Darius Cross shattered. It didn't fade away slowly. It instantly turned to ash, leaving a cold, hard void in my chest.

"Doctor," I said, my voice shockingly steady.

"We are losing her pressure again!" Nurse Miller yelled.

"Doctor," I repeated, louder this time.

Dr. Evans locked eyes with me. "Stay awake, Rowan."

"Keep me alive."

"We are prepping the OR now."

"Do whatever it takes to fix me," I demanded, the monitors beeping wildly around me.

"Just hold on," the doctor urged.

"I will," I promised, my gaze fixing on the blinding overhead lights. "Because I have a wedding to destroy."