The Unwanted Wife's Ultimate Vengeful Return

The heavy hospital door hit the wall with a deafening crash.

Carlota flinched violently. She lifted her head from the tear-soaked pillow. Her eyes, red and swollen, locked onto the doorway.

Donavan stood there. The coldness radiating from his tall frame dropped the temperature in the room by ten degrees. He looked down at her pale, tear-streaked face with absolute disgust.

Carlota's breath caught. She thought he was here to mock her pain. Instinctively, she grabbed the thin hospital blanket and pulled it up to her chest, shrinking back against the headboard.

Donavan saw her defensive movement. The fire in his veins exploded.

He closed the distance in three long strides. He reached out and violently ripped the blanket out of her hands, throwing it onto the floor.

"Look at you," Donavan spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Destroying yourself over a five-month-old bastard."

Carlota froze. Her brain short-circuited. The ringing in her ears drowned out the hum of the machines.

Five months?

Why was he saying five months? The baby was seven months.

Carlota's brain buzzed with static. No, that was completely wrong. Her baby was exactly seven months along. Why would the doctor lie to Donavan? Was this another layer of Chesnee's twisted conspiracy to erase the truth and ruin her completely?

Donavan leaned over the bed. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his large hands bruising her fragile skin. He hauled her up so her face was inches from his.

"Who is the father, Carlota?" Donavan demanded, his breath hot against her face. "Who were you spreading your legs for while you were playing innocent with me?"

The physical pain in her shoulders was nothing compared to the agony ripping through her heart. Carlota stared into his dark, furious eyes. It all suddenly felt incredibly absurd.

She remembered Harper pushing her. Harper, the woman Donavan protected. Harper, the woman who had just murdered his actual child. And here he was, calling their dead baby a five-month bastard.

A hysterical, broken laugh ripped from Carlota's throat. The sound echoed off the sterile walls, sharp and terrifying.

She didn't explain the doctor's lie. She didn't defend herself. The grief had broken her beyond repair.

"You want to know?" Carlota screamed, tears pouring down her face. "I'm exactly what you think I am! I'm a shameless, filthy whore!"

Donavan's pupils contracted violently. His heart felt like it was being squeezed by a vice. He stopped breathing.

Carlota raised her shaking hand and pointed a trembling finger toward the door.

"This is all your fault!" she shrieked, her voice tearing her vocal cords. "If you hadn't pushed me! If you hadn't cornered me at the hotel! Harper wouldn't have gone crazy! My baby wouldn't be dead!"

Donavan felt the words slice into his flesh like razor blades. He opened his mouth to defend himself, to tell her he didn't know Harper did this, but no sound came out.

Carlota violently shoved his chest, breaking his grip on her shoulders. She fell back against the pillows, gasping for air.

"Get out," Carlota sobbed, pointing at the door. "Get out of my room!"

Donavan stared at his empty hands hovering in the air. His massive ego, his pride as the untouchable CEO of the Raymond Group, could not handle the rejection. He was bleeding inside, but he refused to show it.

He let out a cruel, mocking laugh.

"You're right," Donavan said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "A woman like you doesn't deserve to give birth to anyone's child. It's a blessing the thing died."

The words hit Carlota like a physical blow to the head. All the blood drained from her face. Her lips parted, but she couldn't breathe. Her body began to shake with violent, uncontrollable tremors.

Donavan saw the absolute devastation in her eyes. The second the words left his mouth, a sickening wave of regret hit his stomach. But his stubborn pride forced him to clamp his jaw shut. He didn't take it back.

Carlota slowly turned her head away. She closed her eyes, completely shutting him out. She looked like a corpse.

The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Donavan felt a suffocating wave of frustration. He reached up and violently yanked his tie loose. He turned around and marched toward the door.

When his hand wrapped around the cold metal handle, he paused. A sudden, inexplicable wave of irritation gripped his chest. He wanted to storm out of this suffocating room immediately, but his feet felt as though they were cast in heavy lead.

Silence.

Donavan ground his teeth together. He pushed the door open and walked out, letting it slam shut behind him.

The moment he was gone, a guttural, animalistic wail tore from Carlota's throat. She grabbed the pillow and shoved it over her face, screaming into the fabric until her lungs burned.

Out in the hallway, Donavan leaned his back against the cold plaster wall. He pulled a silver cigarette case from his pocket with shaking hands.

He lit a cigarette, taking a deep, burning drag. Carlota's dead, hateful eyes burned into his brain.

He aggressively crushed the half-smoked cigarette into the top of a metal trash can. He pulled out his phone.

"Block all media coverage of Carlota Hall's miscarriage," Donavan ordered his assistant, his voice rough. "Wipe it from the hospital records."

He hung up and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall.