The Discarded Wife Is A Billionaire

I don't like her.

The sentence echoed in her head, overlapping with the memory of the child she had lost. The child she thought had died in the chaos of her departure six years ago. If her baby had lived, he would be exactly Jamin's age.

She turned back.

Jamin was still there, looking at his shiny black shoes.

"Hey," she said softly.

His head snapped up. Hope flared in those dark eyes.

"You said your dad has headaches?" she asked, crouching down to his eye level again.

"Yeah," Jamin nodded vigorously. "Super bad ones. He locks himself in the dark room. He thinks I don't know, but I hear him groaning."

He reached into his tiny jacket pocket and pulled out a card. It wasn't a business card. It was a black American Express Centurion card.

"I can pay you," he said earnestly, holding it out with two hands. "I have lots of money. I can buy the whole hospital if you want."

Giselle stared at the heavy titanium card. It was absurd. It was heartbreaking.

"Put that away," she said gently, pushing his hand back. "I don't want your money."

"Then what do you want?" he asked, desperate. "I have a limited edition Optimus Prime?"

She smiled behind her mask. "Keep your robot. I just want you to promise not to run away from your guards again."

He nodded solemnly.

"Okay," she sighed. "I'll take a look at his chart. That's it. No promises."

Jamin squealed and threw his arms around her neck. He smelled like baby shampoo and sugar. He planted a wet, sloppy kiss on her masked cheek.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Her heart squeezed. She stood up and took his hand. "Where is he?"

"VIP floor. The penthouse suite," Jamin said, tugging her toward the elevators.

We stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut, enclosing them in a mirrored box.

Giselle looked at their reflection. The tall woman in the white coat, the small boy in the suit. There was something... harmonious about it. The curve of his jaw, the way he stood.

Stop it, she scolded herself. He is Joseph's son. He is the son of the man who ruined you.

But as the numbers on the display ticked upward-2, 3, 4... P-her anxiety wasn't about the past. It was about the immediate future.

She was about to walk into a room with Joseph Villarreal.

She hadn't seen him in six years. She had seen photos in magazines, of course. He looked colder, harder. More ruthless. Rumor had it he was injured during a hostile takeover attempt in Europe-a car bomb that should have killed him.

"Does your dad know you're bringing a doctor?" she asked.

Jamin bit his lip. "Um. Not exactly. He hates doctors. He throws things at them."

"Great," she muttered. "So I'm walking into a lion's den."

"Don't worry," Jamin squeezed her hand. "I'll protect you."

The elevator chimed. The doors opened to the VIP floor.

Two massive bodyguards stood at the end of the hall. They saw Jamin and relaxed visibly, then tensed again when they saw Giselle.

"Master Jamin," one of them said into his wrist mic. "We found him. He's with... a doctor."

Giselle took a deep breath. The air up here smelled different. Expensive. Sanitized.

"Come on," Jamin whispered.

She tightened her grip on his hand. She adjusted her glasses. She was Dr. Mandy. She was the heir to the Hines dynasty. She was not the scared girl in the rain anymore.

She could do this.

---