Just A Substitute: The Don's Lost Love

Ellie POV

The fluorescent strips overhead glared down, humming with a sterile, aggressive electricity that drove spikes through my skull.

I lay on the gurney, my shirt cut open. The burns across my stomach were angry red welts, glistening with thick, cooling salve.

"The fetus seems unaffected," the nurse murmured to the doctor, her voice a professional hush. She glanced at my flat stomach.

My eyes snapped open.

"What?" The word scraped out of my throat.

The nurse looked startled. "Oh, honey. You didn't know? Your HCG levels are elevated. You're very early along, maybe four weeks."

Gravity seemed to vanish. Pregnant. I was pregnant.

David was holding my hand. His grip tightened until his knuckles turned white. His eyes filled with tears. "Ellie..."

"Is it safe?" I asked, panic rising like bile. "The burn... the stress..."

"It's early," the doctor said. "But the trauma... there's spotting. We need to monitor you. It's a threatened miscarriage."

*Threatened.* Like everything else in my life.

"Don't tell him," I whispered.

"Who?" David asked.

"Marcus," I said. "If he comes... don't tell him about the baby. He can't know."

If Marcus knew I was carrying David's child—a child created in freedom—he would destroy it. Or claim it. Or use it.

"He won't know," David promised, his voice fierce. "I won't let him near you."

But Marcus was a Don. Locks didn't stop him; they only delayed him.

Ten minutes later, the curtain whipped back.

Marcus stood there. He was out of breath, his tie crooked.

"Ellie," he breathed. He looked at the bandages. "I came as soon as I dropped Chloe off. Is it bad?"

"It's second-degree burns," David said, positioning himself like a shield between the bed and Marcus. "Not that you care."

Marcus flinched. "I care. It was... chaotic. I didn't realize."

"You chose your phone," I said. My voice was weak, but steady. "You saved your phone because her face was on it."

Marcus stepped closer, ignoring David. He reached for my hand.

"I'm sorry, Ellie. I'll pay for the best plastic surgeons. There won't be a scar."

He tried to take my hand. His ring, a heavy gold signet, scraped against my fingernail. It tore the skin. A tiny drop of blood welled up.

Even his apologies drew blood.

"Go away, Marcus," I said.

"I'm not leaving you here," he said, pulling a chair up. "I'm your guardian."

"You're nothing," David snapped.

Just then, Marcus's phone buzzed. He looked at it. His brow furrowed, then instantly relaxed. A smile—a genuine, boyish smile—touched his lips.

"She's okay," he whispered. "She stopped crying."

He looked at me, his eyes shining. "Chloe forgives me for leaving her. She's so understanding."

I stared at him. I was lying in a hospital bed, skin burned off, terrified of losing my baby, and he was relieved his fiancée stopped crying about a nail.

The absurdity of it choked me.

"Marcus," I said. "Did you hear what the doctor said?"

He looked blank. "What? About the ointment?"

He hadn't even asked the doctor for an update. He had walked in, offered money, and checked his texts.

"Nothing," I said, exhaustion settling deep in my bones. "Just... go home to her. I'm tired."

"Are you sure?" He stood up, almost eager. "I can come back tomorrow."

"Don't bother," I said. "I'm leaving."

"Leaving the hospital?"

"Leaving everything."

He laughed, patting my leg condescendingly. "You're so dramatic, El. Get some rest. I'll see you at the wedding. I'll walk you down the aisle, remember?"

He turned and walked out. He whistled as he went down the hall.

I waited until his footsteps faded.

"David," I said. "Get the lawyer on the phone."

"Now?"

"Right now."

I sat up, gritting my teeth against the screaming protest of my burned skin.

"Draft a letter," I told David. "Total severance. I am returning the trust fund. I am renouncing the Thorne name. I am no longer his ward, his family, or his problem."

"And the baby?" David asked, his hand resting gently on my shoulder.

"The baby is ours," I said. "Only ours."

I looked out the window at the dark Arizona sky.

"Get the plane ready, David. We leave tonight. Even if I have to be carried on a stretcher."

"Where are we going?"

"Home," I said, the word tasting like salvation. "Florence."

I closed my eyes.

*Goodbye, Marcus. You didn't just lose a ward today. You lost the only person who would have died for you.*

*And you didn't even notice.*