Fake Heiress Stole My Man, My Baby, My Life

The anesthesia pulled me deep into the dark. But my mind refused to rest.

It dragged me backward, straight into the memory of the day my nightmare began. Five months ago.

Five years. I spent them hiding in his shadow, trusting his whispered promises of a public wedding. I swallowed the secrecy, waiting for the day he would finally give me his name.

Then came the two pink lines.

I walked into Darius's private study, clutching the medical envelope. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

Darius stood behind his mahogany desk. Elowen sat in the leather armchair, dabbing her dry eyes with a silk tissue.

"Darius," I began, stepping onto the Persian rug. "I need to tell you something."

"Shut your mouth," Darius ordered. His voice cracked like a whip.

I froze. My fingers tightened around the paper. "What?"

He grabbed a stack of glossy photographs from his desk and hurled them at my chest. The sharp edges scratched my collarbone before scattering across the floor.

I looked down. Images of me standing close to a man I didn't recognize outside a cafe. Another of me getting into a black sedan.

"Darius, who gave you these?" I asked, pointing at the floor. "I don't even know this man."

"I did," Elowen chimed in.

She stood up, smoothing down her designer skirt.

"Look at the timestamp, Rowan," Elowen instructed, her tone heavy with false sympathy. "Last Tuesday. When you told Darius you were at the clinic for a routine checkup."

"I was at the clinic!" I yelled. "I was getting my blood drawn!"

"I hired a private investigator," Elowen continued, ignoring my defense. "I had to protect him."

"Protect him from what?" I shot back.

"From a gold-digging orphan," she replied. "Your mother was a cleaner in the old estate. You were her charity case. You hid your background to crawl into his bed."

"You went digging through my adoption records?" I asked, my stomach twisting.

"Someone had to," Elowen countered. "You played the mysterious, independent artist perfectly. But you're just a parasite."

I shifted my gaze to the man I loved. "You know I grew up in foster care. I never hid that."

"You hid the calculated scheme," Darius growled. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the desk. "You targeted me. You played the innocent, devoted secret lover flawlessly."

"I gave you five years of my life!" I yelled, stepping forward.

"And you almost got exactly what you wanted," he said.

He picked up a thick, cream-colored document. The gold seal of his legal team gleamed under the desk lamp.

"I drafted our engagement agreement yesterday," Darius stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "I spent hours negotiating the terms to ensure you would be protected. I was going to announce us tonight at the gala."

The words punched the air from my lungs. An engagement. Five years of waiting, and it had been hours away.

"Then do it," I pleaded. I held out the envelope, my hand shaking. "Look at this. I'm pregnant. We are going to have a baby, Darius."

Elowen let out a sharp, mocking gasp. "You really have no shame."

"Stay out of this, Elowen," I warned, glaring at her.

"Tell him the truth!" she shouted, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at my face. "Tell him about the man in those photos. You got knocked up by some street trash and now you want to pin the bastard on the Cross family!"

"That is a lie! Darius, look at me," I begged, stepping toward him. "You know me."

"I don't know you at all," he replied.

Darius crossed the room in three massive strides. He snatched the envelope from my hand. He didn't pull out the ultrasound. He didn't read the doctor's notes.

He just crushed the paper in his fist until it was nothing but a crumpled ball.

"Did you really think I would fall for this?" he asked. His tone dropped to a lethal whisper. "A convenient pregnancy just as I prepare to propose?"

"It is your child," I insisted, my voice breaking. "I swear it."

"I have never been so disgusted," he said.

He raised the engagement agreement. His hands gripped the thick parchment.

"Darius, no," I whispered.

"Clause four," he recited mockingly. "Full inclusion into the family trust. You almost had it all, Rowan."

With a sharp rip, he tore the contract in half. The sound echoed in the quiet office. Then he tore it again.

He dropped the shredded pieces onto the floor, letting them fall like snow over the fake photos.

"Darius, please," I begged. I dropped to my knees, frantically gathering the torn paper. "Don't do this."

"You are nothing but a cheap, manipulative fraud," he spat, looming over me. "Pack your bags. I want you out of my penthouse in one hour."

A dry, hollow laugh escaped my throat. I sat on my heels, surrounded by shredded promises and fabricated lies. Tears refused to fall.

Elowen stepped closer. Her shoes made no sound on the thick rug. She placed a gentle hand on Darius's arm, sliding her fingers down to his wrist.

"Darius, wait," she murmured softly. "She has no money. No family. If you throw her out, the press might find her. She could sell fake stories about you to the tabloids."

"Let her try," he challenged, his jaw ticking. "My lawyers will bury her."

"No, it's too risky," Elowen argued. "Keep her here. Let her pay off what she owes you."

Darius frowned, pulling his arm away. "I don't want her in my sight."

"She can work," Elowen suggested. A cruel smile touched the corners of her mouth. "Her mother was a servant. It's in her blood. Let her be a maid. She can clean the floors she tried to steal. It will be a fitting punishment."

I jerked my head up. "I will never be your maid. I would rather starve."

"You will do exactly what I tell you," Darius commanded. His eyes lacked any trace of the warmth I had worshipped. "You want a roof over your head and that bastard child? You earn your keep. Or you leave right now with nothing, and I make sure no company in this city ever hires you."

The threat hung heavy in the air. He had the power to ruin me completely. To leave me pregnant and homeless on the streets.

"You can't do this," I whispered, my spirit breaking.

"You start in the kitchen," he finalized, turning his back on me. "Get out of my office."

The memory faded, replaced by the harsh, rhythmic beeping of the surgical monitors.

I opened my eyes. The blinding lights of the OR blurred my vision.

"Vitals are stabilizing," Dr. Evans announced. "She is pulling through."

I stared at the ceiling. The naive girl kneeling on the rug was dead. The mother desperate to protect her baby was dead.

Darius wanted a maid. He wanted to break me.

He had no idea what he had just created.

The OR doors swung open, and heavy footsteps echoed into the sterile room.

"Stop the surgery," a deep, unfamiliar voice demanded.