For the sake of his illegitimate child, my child died

James laughed—easy, dismissive. “Divorce? Seriously? You’re being dramatic because it’s our anniversary? This is ridiculous.”

“I’m done,” I said, flat.

He shrugged, like my words were a mood he could smooth away. “Come on. Tonight—dinner. Let’s go out. You’ll feel better. Let me take you out. Now.”

His calm was deliberate, practiced. He was already angling to defuse, to pretend nothing had changed.

A small cry cut the air. Nico.

James’s smile didn’t drop—only shifted to attentive. “Wait. Hold on.” He moved toward the hallway in one quick stride, hands already softening into the father routine.

Sasha trailed behind him, concern arranged on her face. He looked back once, pity threaded through his voice. “Later, Nicole. We’ll talk. Tonight. Promise.”

He left before I could answer. I stood there a moment, then turned and walked out without looking back. I just want to be free, so I booked a hotel. Until a knock on the door broke the silence. I opened it expecting the food delivery, but it was Sasha.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

She stepped in without waiting. “I needed to see you. James told me you asked for a divorce. He was devastated. Ten years, Nicole. He’s not—” She trailed off, trying the pity voice.

I laughed. It was sharp and short. “You’re telling me to spare us both a scene? After everything?”

“Look, this isn’t the time to start a war. Think about your life. Think about the family.”

“You mean your family,” I said. “The one you built with betrayal and lies? Do you really think I wouldn’t know? Don’t make me ask you twice, Sasha. Whose son is Nico?”

She blinked. For a second she tried to keep the façade. Then she shrugged like someone tired of pretending. “You’re not as clueless as you looked, Nicole. Fine. Yes. He’s James’s son.”

I heard it the way a gunshot sounds in a room. “And the heart?” I asked. “The transplant meant for Amelia?”

Sasha’s laugh was small and vicious. “You finally get it. Good for you. I mean, I always tell James to tell you the truth. To dispose of you, but he never wants to because she pities you. Figured out, you would eventually do it, so file your papers. We don’t need you. You were always in the way.”

Anger rose hot and steady. “Do you think I’ll let you get away with this?” I said. “You sold my daughter’s life for your child. You helped him take our baby’s heart.”

She stepped forward, too close. “You think you scare me? You think threats from a Reid will do anything? Not if you’re dead.”

The words landed like ice. I saw red for a heartbeat—years of betrayal compressed into that single sentence. I moved before I could think. Her hand came up. Mine found her hair. We tore at each other. Clothes snagged. Nails marked skin.

When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t sure if I was alive. Everything was blurry—lights moving, voices blending into static. My body felt weightless and cold.

“She fell from the fifth floor—how is she still breathing?” a voice said somewhere near me.

Another answered sharply, “We can’t accept her here. Mr. Wilson already gave orders—no treatment.”

I tried to move, to speak, but my lips wouldn’t part. My body wouldn’t obey.

“She’s bleeding out,” someone whispered. “If we move her now, she won’t make it.”

“Then move her,” another replied. “James Wilson said to transfer her immediately. He doesn’t want her under his name. James doesn’t want her to be cured.”

The words cut through the haze like blades. My husband wanted me dead.

I tried to scream, but only a weak breath escaped. Darkness swallowed me again.

When I opened my eyes the second time, everything was quieter. White ceiling. Soft beeping. A faint smell of antiseptic. My throat burned when I tried to speak.

A nurse gasped. “She’s awake!”

Footsteps approached quickly. A doctor leaned over me, his eyes tired but kind. “Mrs. Wilson, can you hear me?”

I nodded weakly. “Where… am I?”

“You’re in St. Vincent Hospital,” he said softly. “You were unconscious for two days. But you’re stable now. You and your baby are safe.”

My breath caught. “My baby?”

He smiled gently. “You’re lucky. But the baby didn’t survive. I’m so sorry.”

The words sank in slowly, like ice spreading through my chest. For a long moment, I just stared at him, unable to breathe. Then the tears came—quiet, shaking, uncontrollable.

I cried for the second time in my life—the first was when Amelia died, and now, for the child I would never meet. But beneath the grief, a strange calm settled in. Maybe this was for the better. Maybe fate was sparing another innocent soul from being tied to a man like James.

It was cruel, but it felt like release.

I pressed a hand to my stomach and whispered, “Rest now, little one. You don’t have to suffer like I did.”

I blinked back tears. “How?” I whispered. “How am I alive when James ordered them not to save me?”

Before he could answer, the door opened. A tall man stepped inside, his presence sharp enough to change the air. He wore a dark suit, no hesitation in his stride. His voice was low, steady, commanding.

“That’s because I stopped them,” he said. “I had you transferred here under my name before they could finish what he ordered.”

The doctor stepped aside instantly.

I stared at the man. Strong jaw. Cold eyes. I knew that face from the news, from James’s endless rants about competition. “Oliver,” I whispered.

He gave a faint smile. “So you’ve heard of me.”

“What do you want?” I asked warily.

He studied me for a long moment before speaking. “He’s my rival—and now, he’s yours. We want the same thing. So, how about you marry me and get revenge?”