Reclaiming the Billionaire Heiress Throne

"Miss Sterling," he said. "Are you aware that you are six weeks pregnant?"

The sterile smell of the hospital suddenly vanished. The hum of the fluorescent lights faded into absolute silence.

I stared at him, my lips parted, unable to form a single word.

Pregnant.

"The fall you took was severe," the doctor continued, his tone gentle but firm. "You are experiencing a threatened miscarriage. If you had hit that stone step even an inch harder, you would have lost the baby."

My hand instinctively moved from the mattress, hovering over my flat stomach.

"You need strict bed rest and zero stress," the doctor warned, writing a prescription. "Your body has been through a trauma. Please, take care of yourself, and your child."

When the doctor left, I sat alone in the quiet room for a long time.

The coldness that had frozen my heart at the altar began to thaw, replaced by a desperate, foolish warmth.

A child. We were going to have a family.

For five years, Tristan had told me he wasn't ready. He said his company needed him, that we didn't have the money, that the twins were enough of a burden. But now, the life growing inside me felt like a lifeline.

Maybe this was the wake-up call he needed.

Maybe, when he realized his violent shove had almost killed his own flesh and blood, the guilt would finally break through his arrogance. Maybe he would realize what he was throwing away for a spoiled "foster sister."

I wiped the dried tears from my face, a fierce, protective instinct rising in my chest.

I had to tell him. I had to save whatever was left of our family.

I pulled my heavy coat tightly over my stained gown, hailed a taxi, and headed straight back to the apartment we shared. The apartment I had paid the deposit for. The apartment I had scrubbed on my hands and knees.

When I pushed the front door open, the living room was dark and quiet.

I walked softly down the hallway, preparing the words in my head. Tristan, I'm pregnant. We almost lost it today.

But as I approached our master bedroom, I noticed the door was slightly ajar.

A sliver of warm, yellow light spilled out onto the hardwood floor.

And then, I heard the laughter.

"You really should have seen her face, Paula. She looked like a drowned rat."

"Brother Tristan, you were so mean to her today," Paula’s sweet, sugary voice drifted through the crack in the door. "Aren't you worried she'll actually leave you?"

"Leave me?" Tristan scoffed, the sound dripping with absolute arrogance. "Where would she go? She’s an orphan with nothing. She’s been obsessed with me for five years. She’ll be back on her knees apologizing by tomorrow morning."

"But what if she doesn't?" Paula pressed, her voice dropping into a pout. "What if you actually have to marry her? You promised me you wouldn't."

There was a rustle of fabric, the sound of someone shifting on the bed. My bed.

"I never planned to marry her, Paula," Tristan said. His voice was so cold, so casual, it felt like a physical blow to my chest. "I just needed her to keep paying the bills while my company got off the ground. Plus, she’s a free nanny for Leo and Mia. Why would I throw away free labor?"

My breathing stopped.

The late nights typing his reports. The burned fingers from cooking his favorite meals. The years of wearing threadbare coats so he could look like a successful CEO.

"You're so bad," Paula giggled, though she sounded immensely pleased. "But... what if she gets pregnant? You know how she is. What if she tries to trap you with a baby?"

"If she gets pregnant?" Tristan’s voice turned dangerously cold, devoid of any human warmth. "I'd make her get rid of it."

My eyes widened in the darkness.

"I'm not having a child with a pathetic, boring woman like her," Tristan continued smoothly. "You're the only one I want a future with, Paula. You're the only one I want a family with."

The foolish, desperate hope that had brought me home shattered into a million jagged pieces.

He didn't love me. He had never loved me.

And if he knew about the fragile life inside my stomach, he wouldn't feel guilt. He would kill it.

A wave of absolute, suffocating horror washed over me. I couldn't breathe. The air in the hallway felt toxic.

I had to get out. I had to get away from this monster.

I took a shaky step backward, my vision blurring with fresh, agonizing tears.

But my foot caught on the edge of the hallway runner.

I stumbled, my shoulder hitting the narrow console table against the wall.

The expensive porcelain vase Tristan had bought for himself wobbled, tipped, and fell to the hardwood floor.

CRASH.

The sound was deafening in the quiet apartment.

The giggling inside the bedroom stopped instantly.

"Who's out there?" Tristan’s voice barked, sharp and alert.

I scrambled backward, my hands instinctively wrapping around my stomach to shield it, my heart pounding wildly against my ribs.

The bedroom door swung open violently, hitting the wall with a loud bang.

Tristan stood in the doorway, his shirt unbuttoned, his hair messy.

His eyes locked onto me, cowering in the dark hallway in my ruined, blood-stained wedding dress, my hands clutching my stomach.

For a second, surprise flashed across his face.

But it was immediately swallowed by a dark, venomous disgust.

"Spying on us now, Elena?" he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "Are you really that pathetic?"

He didn't look at my pale face. He didn't look at my trembling hands.

He took a heavy, menacing step forward into the hallway, his hand reaching out to grab me.