A Billionaire Heiress From The Ashes
My husband, Deegan, plunged a needle into my heavily pregnant belly. He said it was a mild sedative to "slow things down." The truth was a brutal betrayal.
His brother's widow, Karmen, was also due, and her son had to be born first to secure the family inheritance. He was sacrificing our child for money.
He locked me in a panic room, leaving me to suffer through agonizing contractions alone.
His sister found me, not to help, but to kick me and let her venomous snake sink its fangs into my arm.
As I lay bleeding out, my baby dying inside me, he had all the life-saving medical equipment moved to Karmen's private clinic, leaving me with nothing.
He called me a manipulative actress, a gold-digger trying to steal the inheritance. The man who swore to protect me left me to die on a cold floor, choosing a birthright over his own child.
But I didn't die. My billionaire father saved me, and I was reborn from the ashes of my grief. Years later, when Deegan stormed into my boardroom, convinced he could drag his "dead" wife home, I looked at the pathetic man he'd become. I slowly pulled the wedding ring from my finger and let it fall to the floor.
"The woman who loved you died that night."
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Chapter 2
Jada Norman POV:
The heavy steel door had barely clicked shut, but Deegan was already a ghost. I could almost feel his absence pressing down on me, heavier than the sedative, sharper than the contractions. He was gone, probably already back to Karmen's side, waiting for her to deliver the "right" heir. My husband, the man who had promised me forever, had chosen a birthright over his own child, over me.
My body was screaming now. The sedative was a cruel joke, dulling my mind but sharpening every nerve ending in my uterus. I was bleeding. I knew it, could feel the warm, sticky flow between my legs. The baby was coming, whether Deegan wanted it or not.
I pushed myself up, my arms trembling, muscles burning. The cold metal of the gurney bit into my skin. My fingers scraped against the slick, white sheet. I had to get out. I had to get help. For my baby.
I slid off the gurney, landing with a soft thud on the cold, hard floor. My knees buckled. A fresh wave of contractions seized me, stealing my breath. I gritted my teeth, a guttural sound tearing from my throat. Pain, raw and brutal, flared in my lower back. This wasn't just labor pains; this was pain infused with the toxic sting of betrayal.
Slowly, agonizingly, I started to crawl. Each inch was a Herculean effort. My vision swam. The room spun around me like a top. The only thing keeping me going was the fierce, desperate protectiveness for the life growing inside me. My child. Our child.
My fingers brushed against something cold and smooth. The heavy steel door. Deegan's escape hatch. My only hope. I dragged myself towards it, fingernails scraping against the polished concrete. My muscles screamed in protest, but I ignored them. I reached the door, my trembling fingers fumbling for a handle that wasn't there. It was a keypad, a cold, unyielding piece of technology. This was a panic room, a fortress, designed to keep people in or out. I was the former.
Suddenly, the door shuddered. A faint hum vibrated through the steel. I gasped, hope momentarily eclipsing the pain. Someone was coming! I slammed my hand against the cold metal, desperate to make any noise, to alert anyone on the other side.
The door burst open, not outward, but sliding inward, a heavy slab of steel. I hadn't moved fast enough. My left hand, still pressed against the jamb, was caught.
A sickening CRACK split the silence.
The pain was instantaneous, searing, overwhelming. It wasn't just my fingers, it was my entire hand, crushed. A scream ripped from my throat, raw and animalistic, piercing through the fog of pain and sedatives. It was louder than any contraction, more brutal than any kick from the baby.
My vision went black for a terrifying moment, then slowly returned, speckled with flashing lights. My fingers, mangled and twisted, were trapped. This new agony was so absolute it momentarily eclipsed the grinding torture of the drugs and labor.
Deegan. He was out there, celebrating a new life, while I was trapped, broken, and bleeding. My screams echoed in the padded silence of the room. He wouldn't hear me. He wouldn't care.
Then, a gush. A warm, horrifying flood between my legs. My water had broken.
A cold, absolute terror seized me, colder than the concrete floor, colder than the steel door. My baby was coming. And I was alone. No doctors, no nurses, no help. Just me, dying on a cold floor, in a room designed for safety that had become my tomb.
The only light was a faint, red emergency exit sign above the door. A cruel beacon of false hope.
"Help!" I croaked, my voice hoarse, a thin, reedy sound against the thick silence. "Please! Someone! I'm giving birth! I'm locked in here!"
No answer. This was Deegan's private surgery room. Soundproof, isolated. A perfect place to hide a secret. Or to let one die. My whispers were swallowed by the insulated walls.
My baby kicked, a fierce, desperate flutter, as if trying to rip free of this hell. My entire body was drenched, sweat mingling with blood and amniotic fluid. I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. The drug's toxins were draining my strength, making every push, every breath, a monumental task. My body was failing.
I gathered every last ounce of my fading strength, a desperate, primal scream tearing from my lungs. "HELPPPP!"
Footsteps.
I heard them. Faint at first, then growing louder. My heart leaped. Hope, fragile and desperate, blossomed in my chest. Someone!
"I'm in here!" I screamed, my voice cracking. "I'm having the baby! I'm locked in Deegan's surgery room!"
I repeated it, over and over, until my throat burned. Salvation. It had to be.
Then, a voice. Not the calm, professional tone of a doctor, nor the concerned voice of a staff member. It was high-pitched, laced with a sadistic delight that made my blood run cold.
"Well, well, well," the voice purred, "look what the cat dragged in."
Kamryn. Deegan's younger sister. My blood ran colder. My eyes, swollen with tears and exhaustion, squeezed shut. I tried to steady my breathing, to keep my voice from trembling.
"Kamryn, please," I begged, the words barely a whisper. "Let me out. The baby's coming."
The steel door slid open further, revealing her. She stood framed in the doorway, a predatory smile on her perfectly made-up face, looking down at me with disdain. For a fleeting second, I thought she might help. That maybe, just maybe, the sight of me like this would awaken some shred of humanity in her.
She lifted her foot and kicked me hard in the ribs.
A gasp, sharp and painful, ripped from me. I instantly curled around my swollen belly, trying to protect my child. My breath hitched. Black spots danced before my eyes.
"Don't you dare ruin Karmen's perfect delivery with your theatrics," Kamryn sneered, her voice shrill. "Deegan told me to keep an eye on you. Make sure you didn't try any of your desperate stunts. Who do you think you are, Jada Norman? You're not worthy of the Manning name. You never were. Deegan wants you to reflect on your actions." She leaned closer, her eyes glittering with malice. "The true heir, Karmen's son, will be born tonight. Not your little bastard."
Another violent contraction seized me. I screamed, tears streaming down my face, clinging to my baby bump. My body convulsed, a wave of liquid warmth confirming the inevitable.
"He won't be involved in any of this," I sobbed, desperate, defeated. "I'll give up everything. Just let me and my baby go. Tell Deegan. I'll disappear. I swear, you'll never see me again."
My pleading seemed to enrage her further. "You shameless tart!" she shrieked, her face twisting into an ugly mask. She pulled a small walkie-talkie from her pocket. "Deegan, she's still putting on a show. Disgusting, really."
The drugs, the pain, the terror... it was all tearing me apart, shredding my very soul. My baby was coming, and all I could hear was Kamryn's cruel laughter.