The Pregnant Heiress: Rising From The Grave

Claudius strode down the marble hallway, straightening his cufflinks. He was annoyed. This was supposed to be clean.

His phone buzzed. Victoria. “Claudius, why are the security cameras black?”

“Danvers probably loosened a wire,” he snapped. “Incompetent help.”

Behind him, his sister Lydia trailed behind, a martini in her hand. She looked bored, wearing a dress that cost more than most people’s cars. “Maybe your little bride is haunting you? A vengeful ghost?” She giggled.

“Shut up, Lydia,” Claudius hissed.

They reached the suite. The door was slightly ajar.

Claudius pushed it open, bracing himself to see a corpse posed in tragic beauty.

The chaise lounge was empty.

Olga was nowhere to be seen. The room was eerily silent. The air smelled of expensive peat and alcohol. Claudius’s gaze swept to the side table. His bottle of Macallan 30 was half empty.

“What the—”

Lydia screamed. She pointed a manicured finger toward the bathroom.

Callie sat on the vanity counter. She was wearing Claudius’s navy silk robe, the sleeves rolled up. Calmly, she wrapped a strip of silk torn from a pillowcase around the wounds on her arm.

“You…” Claudius stumbled back, his face going white. “You were supposed to…”

“Dead?” Callie finished for him. She looked up, her eyes clear and icy. “Over a potassium chloride cocktail? Your mother should have hired a real chemist.”

Claudius froze. She knew the method.

Lydia stepped forward, her face twisting into a sneer. “You liar! You Elliott trash! You’re wearing my brother’s robe!”

Callie’s gaze shifted to her. “And you’re wearing my dress, Lydia,” she said, her voice soft but razor-sharp. “Does it feel as cheap as your loyalty?”

Lydia flinched as if struck.

“Are you insane?” Claudius finally found his voice, roaring. “This is Morton Manor!”

Callie hopped off the counter. Her bare feet made no sound on the carpet. She walked toward him. “Correction, Claudius. This is a crime scene.”

Claudius lunged, trying to grab her wrist. “I’ll kill you myself!”

Callie didn’t retreat. She sidestepped his clumsy grab, letting his momentum carry him past her. “Assaulting a pregnant woman, Claudius?” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “Add that to the list. I’m sure the board of Morton Media would love to hear about it during the SEC investigation.”

He froze mid-lunge, her words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He doubled over, not in pain, but from the sudden, chilling exposure.

Heavy boots thundered down the hallway. Private security.

Callie stepped back, raising her hands, palms out, the picture of a calm victim.