What the Don's Daughter Wants

Janet's POV

I did't know how long I lay there in that basement.

The blood kept coming, pooling beneath me until my dress was soaked through.

My vision was starting to blur at the edges when the door finally swung open.

It wasn't Ashley. And it wasn't one of the guards.

It was the Martinez family physician—Dr. Miller.

The moment he saw me, all the color drained from his face.

"Mrs. Martinez? What the hell are you doing down here?"

"Mr. Martinez said you were resting in the VIP suite."

I tried to speak, but nothing came out.

All I could do was point at my stomach, tears streaming down my face.

Dr. Miller rushed over and dropped to his knees beside me. The second his hand touched my belly, he sucked in a sharp breath.

"You're fully dilated—and your water's already broken!"

"We need to get you into surgery—now."

He tried to lift me, but the moment I moved, a gush of warmth spilled out from between my legs.

Blood. A lot of blood.

Dr. Miller's hands were shaking as he screamed toward the hallway:

"Someone—anyone! We've got a hemorrhaging mother down here!"

The corridor was empty.

This private hospital was bankrolled by the Martinez family. Tonight, they'd cleared the entire floor for Rachel's delivery.

Every single nurse and doctor was stationed on the third floor, on standby for her.

Dr. Miller fumbled for his phone—then cursed. No signal in the basement.

"I'm carrying you up. Hold on, just hold on."

He gritted his teeth and lifted me, staggering toward the stairs.

Every step jarred my body, sending white-hot agony through my spine.

I could feel my baby descending, but she wouldn't come out.

The drug was still fighting my contractions, making them weak and erratic.

The most dangerous kind of labor.

"Dr. Miller..." I grabbed his collar, my voice barely a whisper. "Save the baby. Please."

"Don't say that—you're both going to be fine."

He finally burst through the first-floor door and sprinted toward the OR.

But when we got there, we both froze.

The doors were wide open.

Inside was nothing.

The surgical light—gone.

The operating table—gone.

The monitors, the oxygen machines, every single piece of medical equipment—all gone.

Just an empty room with a few electrical outlets staring back at us from the walls.

Dr. Miller stood there, paralyzed.

I could hear this strangled sound coming from his throat, like someone had their hand wrapped around it.

"How is this possible..."

"I checked the equipment this afternoon..."

Footsteps echoed from the end of the hall.

Ashley strolled over with two nurses in tow. She raised an eyebrow when she saw us.

"Dr. Miller? What are you doing down here?"

"Rachel's on the third floor. Why aren't you up there?"

Dr. Miller pointed at the empty OR, his voice cracking:

"Where's the equipment? What happened to all of it?"

Ashley blinked, all innocence.

"We moved it upstairs."

"Rachel's having a C-section. She needs the best equipment—God forbid anything goes wrong, the standard OR just wouldn't cut it."

She let her gaze drift down to me, and her lips curved.

"Oh—Janet's in labor?"

"Well, you're gonna have to wait a minute. Rachel's not done yet."

"Just hang in there a little longer, okay?"

I stared at her perfectly made-up face.

And suddenly I remembered—six months ago, she'd hooked her arm through mine while we were shopping, all sweet and smiley, saying:

"Janet, you're the best. You're like a real sister to me."

Back then, I dropped over a hundred thousand on a bag for her.

Looking back now?

What a joke.