The Billionaire's Asset: Carrying His Heir

The backstage corridor of the Pierre Hotel smelled of floor wax and stale champagne. Aurora sat on a folding chair, hugging herself against a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Senator Hansen paced in front of her. He was shouting, but Aurora heard it as a dull roar, like being underwater.

"Do you have any idea what the polls are going to look like tomorrow?" Hansen screamed. He pointed a finger in her face. "You selfish, stupid girl. You just tanked my campaign."

"I was set up," Aurora whispered. Her voice was hoarse.

"I don't care!" Hansen roared. "I care about the narrative! And right now, the narrative is that my stepdaughter is a whore who tried to trap a Sterling."

Kendall leaned against the wall, checking her nails. "Ideally, we spin this," she said calmly. "Say she has a history of mental instability. Pathological lying. It distances us."

Hansen stopped pacing. He looked at Kendall, then at Aurora. "Do it."

A man in a grey suit walked in. Preston's assistant. He didn't look at Aurora. He placed a tablet on her lap.

"Mr. Sterling requires you to sign this NDA immediately," the assistant said. "It acknowledges your material misrepresentation. It also waives your rights to any settlements or trust fund distributions previously agreed upon."

Aurora looked at the screen. The words blurred. Material misrepresentation. She was a broken contract.

"I won't sign," she said. She tried to stand up. "I need to talk to Preston."

Hansen snapped his fingers. Two large security guards stepped forward.

"Get her out of here," Hansen said. "She's trespassing."

The guards grabbed her arms. They didn't drag her, but they marched her with a force that bruised. They moved her through the kitchen, past the staring staff, and out into the lobby.

People were still milling about. Phones went up. Flashes blinded her.

"Look at her," someone sneered.

"Trash."

One of her heels caught on the edge of a rug. She stumbled. The shoe came off. The guard didn't stop. She hopped, barefoot on one side, the cold marble biting into her skin.

They reached the revolving doors. The guard shoved her.

Aurora stumbled out onto the concrete steps.

It was pouring rain. A sheet of icy water hit her instantly, soaking her silk dress, plastering her hair to her skull.

Her clutch was tossed out after her. It landed in a puddle, splashing muddy water onto her legs. The contents spilled out-lipstick, phone, a single key card to her now-inaccessible apartment.

Aurora fell to her knees. She scrambled to gather her things. Her knee scraped against the rough pavement, skinning it raw.

She grabbed her phone. Her fingers were shaking so hard she dropped it twice. She opened the Uber app.

Payment Declined.

She tried again.

Card Frozen. Contact Issuer.

She looked up. Senator Hansen's black town car rolled past. The windows were tinted dark, impenetrable. It splashed a wave of gutter water over her as it sped away.

Then Preston walked out. Kendall was on his arm. They stood under the awning, dry and warm. Preston looked at her-really looked at her-huddled in the rain like a stray dog.

He turned his head and said something to Kendall. They both laughed.

Aurora felt something break inside her chest. It wasn't her heart. It was her dignity.

She tried to stand, but her ankle gave way. She collapsed back onto the wet sidewalk. She curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her stomach. The rain was freezing, but her abdomen felt hot, a strange, cramping heat.

The baby.

She hated how her hands moved instinctively to protect it. This thing that had ruined her life. But it was also the only thing she had left.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, pushing the panic down. This was not the end. This was rock bottom, and from here, there was only one way to go. She had one card left to play. A nuclear option she had been researching for weeks. She pulled out a small, waterproof case from a hidden pocket in her clutch. Inside was a flash drive.

Headlights blinded her. A fleet of black SUVs was pulling up to the curb. The lead car, a Rolls-Royce Phantom with custom plates, stopped directly in front of her. The back door opened, but no one got out. It was an invitation. A summons.

Aurora knew that car. She had been tracking its owner's movements for a month. Corbin Heath.

She stood up, her movements no longer shaky but filled with a cold, hard purpose. She walked not to the passenger door, but to the driver's side window, forcing the man in the back to acknowledge her on her terms. She held up the flash drive.

The tinted rear window slid down. In the dim light, she saw him. Corbin Heath. His eyes were the color of steel, and they held no pity. Only calculation.

"You have five minutes of my time, Ms. Paul," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Start talking."