The Runaway Wife: Hiding The Don's Heir

Aurelia POV

Two days later, the courier found me at my new apartment.

It was a cramped, dingy box in a part of the city where the streetlights flickered and died, and the neighbors knew better than to ask questions. I had paid six months' rent in cash upfront.

The courier handed me a large envelope and left without a word.

Inside lay the divorce papers I had served Jacob. Or what was left of them. They had been fed through a shredder. The strips of paper were tangled together like macabre confetti at a funeral.

My phone buzzed.

It was a text from an unknown number. But I knew who it was.

Nice apartment, sis. Does it have hot water, or do you have to boil it on the stove?

Kaleigh.

I didn't reply.

Another buzz. A voice note.

I shouldn't have played it. I knew it would be poison. But my thumb hovered over the screen, driven by a sick compulsion, and I pressed play.

"He's in the shower right now," Kaleigh's voice purred, sickly sweet. "He says you were always so boring in bed. A convenient substitute until the real queen could take her throne. Don't worry about the baby. I've already picked out a nursery theme. Royal blue. Suitable for a Prince."

I felt the bile rise in my throat.

Then came the photo.

It was taken in the master bedroom of the estate. My bedroom. Kaleigh was sprawled in my bed, wearing one of Jacob's dress shirts. She was smiling, holding a pregnancy test that was clearly negative, but the caption read: Practice makes perfect.

In the background, blurred but unmistakable, was Jacob. He was asleep.

He looked peaceful.

He never looked peaceful with me. Never. With me, he was always watching, calculating, assessing his investment.

I dropped the phone on the peeling laminate counter. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely breathe.

They weren't just hurting me. They were erasing me. They were planning to take the baby the moment he was born, hand him to Kaleigh, and pretend I never existed. I was just the vessel. The incubator.

The fear evaporated, incinerated by a sudden, blinding rage.

I picked up the phone. I didn't block them yet. I needed to send one message.

To Jacob.

Keep the mistress. Keep the estate. Keep the money. But you will never have my son. He is not an asset. He is a boy. And he is mine.

I hit send.

Then I blocked the number. I blocked Kaleigh. I pulled the SIM card out of the phone and snapped it in half.

I went to the window and looked out at the gray street, praying the distance was enough.

Five minutes later, the cheap burner phone I had bought with cash at a roadside gas station lit up against the gloom.

I stared at it. Only one person had this number. My lawyer, Ms. Davis.

A cold dread settled in my stomach. The text wasn't from her.

The child is Family Property. You are Family Property. There is nowhere you can go that my shadows cannot find you. Come home, Aurelia. Or I will drag you back.

Jacob.

He had already found the new number. Ms. Davis had sold me out.

He wasn't asking anymore. He was hunting.