The Divorced Heiress's Spectacular Comeback

Brooklyn lowered the phone. She closed her eyes, forcing her erratic breathing to slow down.

The doorknob rattled. The heavy door was pushed open again.

The head nurse walked in. She carried a metal medical tray loaded with vials and syringes.

She did not knock. She did not smile.

The nurse looked at Brooklyn, her eyes dragging up and down the bed with undisguised contempt.

She walked to the nightstand and slammed the metal tray down. The loud, clattering noise pierced the quiet room.

Brooklyn opened her eyes. Her gaze sliced toward the woman like a physical blade.

"Mr. Lindsay's assistant just informed the billing department," the nurse said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your VIP privileges have been revoked. You need to gather your things and move to the general ward on the second floor. Now."

Brooklyn let out a short, breathy laugh.

She sat up. Her core muscles screamed in agony, but she ignored the pain.

She reached over to her left hand. Without a single second of hesitation, she gripped the plastic hub of the IV needle taped to her skin.

She ripped it out.

A sharp sting bit into her vein. Several drops of dark red blood instantly splattered onto the pristine white bedsheets.

The nurse gasped, taking a half-step back, but she didn't offer to help.

Brooklyn threw the bloody needle onto the floor. She threw the blankets off her legs and swung her bare feet over the edge of the mattress.

Her toes hit the freezing linoleum floor. She pushed herself up to stand.

A wave of black spots exploded behind her eyes, and she bit her lip hard, the sharp pain being the only thing keeping her from collapsing. Her core muscles screamed in agony, protesting the unnatural strain so soon after delivery. A massive wave of dizziness hit her. The room spun, and her knees buckled.

She shot her hand out, gripping the metal railing of the bed so hard her knuckles turned stark white. She locked her joints, forcing herself to stay upright.

The nurse frowned. She stepped forward and reached out, aiming to grab Brooklyn's bare arm to pull her toward the door.

"I said, you need to move-"

Brooklyn's right hand snapped up. She slapped the nurse's hand away with a loud, stinging smack.

"Don't touch me," Brooklyn ordered.

Her voice was low, but it carried a terrifying, suffocating weight. She stared dead into the nurse's eyes. The sheer, oppressive aura of a predator radiated from her posture.

The nurse froze. The color drained from her face. She stumbled backward, genuinely terrified by the look in the patient's eyes.

Brooklyn turned away from her. She walked slowly, her steps stiff but steady, toward the massive mahogany wardrobe in the corner.

She opened the doors and pulled out the clothes she had arrived in-a long, black silk dress.

She walked into the adjoining private bathroom and locked the door behind her.

She stood in front of the mirror. She stared at her pale, sunken face, the dark circles under her eyes.

She turned on the faucet. She cupped the freezing water in her hands and splashed it violently onto her face.

The icy shock jolted her nervous system. Water dripped from her chin, soaking into the collar of her hospital gown.

When she looked up again, the woman who had cried for Baron Lindsay was dead.

She stripped off the hospital gown and pulled the black silk dress over her head. The dark, flowing fabric perfectly concealed her postpartum figure and the slight trembling in her legs.

She unlocked the door and stepped back into the room.

The nurse was still standing by the bed, completely silent, too intimidated to speak.

Brooklyn ignored her. She walked straight to the incubator.

She reached in and gently scooped up the sleeping infant. The warm, solid weight of the baby against her chest sent a surge of adrenaline through her veins.

She turned her head, shooting one last, freezing glare at the nurse.

"Get out of my way."

The nurse swallowed hard and practically pressed herself against the wall to clear the path.

Brooklyn held her baby tightly. She walked out of the delivery room and stepped into the long, brightly lit hospital corridor.

She kept her spine perfectly straight. Her bare feet made no sound against the polished floor.

As she rounded the corner toward the main elevators, she heard a familiar voice.

Alistair, the hospital director, was walking down the hall, his hands clasped together in a sickeningly eager posture.

"We deeply appreciate your continued funding, Mr. Lindsay," Alistair was saying, practically bowing as he walked.

Baron walked beside him, his hands shoved into his suit pockets.

He heard the soft rustle of fabric. He turned his head.

His eyes locked onto Brooklyn. He saw the black dress. He saw the baby in her arms.

The muscles in his jaw tightened instantly. A deep, angry crease formed between his eyebrows.