Betrayed Heiress: My Husband's Deadly Mistake

Izzy POV

The guard hoisted a fresh bucket of ice water. It was heavy, the slush sloshing violently over the rusted rim.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I curled my body around my stomach, a futile shield of flesh and bone against the inevitable.

"No," I whispered, the word barely a breath.

The water hit me.

It was a shock so profound my heart stuttered in my chest. It wasn't just cold; it was a physical assault, a sledgehammer of frost. The freezing torrent drenched my hair, my face, my chest. It cascaded down my back and pooled around my kneeling legs, stealing the heat from my skin in an instant.

My body seized. Every muscle contracted in a violent, uncontrollable spasm.

I gasped for air, but my lungs were frozen solid. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think.

Before I could recover, another bucket hit me from the other side.

I collapsed onto the ice, my cheek pressing against the frozen slush. I was shaking so hard my teeth clacked together, the sound echoing in my skull, threatening to shatter my jaw.

Then, the pain started.

It wasn't the cold. It was something else entirely-a deep, twisting cramp in my lower abdomen. It felt like a fist clenching around my uterus, squeezing the life out of me with a hot, iron grip.

I groaned, a low, guttural sound of pure agony that scraped my throat. I tried to sit up, to check, but another wave of pain doubled me over, forcing my forehead to the floor.

I felt a sudden, sickening warmth between my legs. It was a stark, terrifying contrast to the freezing water.

I looked down.

Bright red blood was spreading across the white ice. It swirled with the water, creating a grotesque pink slush beneath me, a blooming flower of death.

The warehouse went silent. The laughter died in their throats. The socialite in the corner covered her mouth with a manicured hand, her pearls trembling.

I looked up at the glass partition. My vision was blurring, black spots dancing at the edges of my sight.

The baby, I mouthed.

Austen stared at the blood. His face went pale, the color draining away as if he were the one bleeding. The arrogance vanished, replaced by a sudden, dawning horror. He took a step toward the glass, his hand reaching out involuntarily, his palm pressing against the pane.

This wasn't part of his plan. He wanted the money. He wanted the power. I didn't think he wanted a dead heir.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it, his eyes locked on the crimson pool.

Then, the man in the suit-his legal counsel-checked his own phone.

"Mr. Nolan," the lawyer called out, his voice sharp, breaking the heavy silence. "The transfer is complete. Blackwell Innovations is officially Nolan Enterprises. The assets are yours."

The greed snapped Austen back. He blinked, tearing his gaze from the blood to look at the lawyer.

Deb saw him wavering. She grabbed his face, her nails digging into his skin, forcing him to look at her.

"She is faking it, Austen," she hissed, her voice venomous. "Look at her. It is a trick. She cut herself to make you feel guilty. She wants to ruin your victory."

Austen looked at me, shivering in a pool of my own blood. He looked at the red slush again. He wanted to believe Deb. It was easier to believe the lie than to accept the monster he had become.

"She is lying," he muttered, his voice shaking, trying to convince himself.

Then, louder, fueled by a desperate need to be right: "Drop the temperature," he yelled at the technician. "Drop it to zero. Let's see how long she can act."

A violent contraction ripped through me, tearing a scream from my lips. I knew, with a mother's instinct, that it was over. The life inside me was fading, slipping away into the cold.

"You killed him!" I screamed. It was a raw, tearing sound that scraped my throat raw. "You killed our son!"

Darkness rushed in from the edges of my vision, a welcoming tide. The cold wasn't cold anymore. It was numb. It was peaceful.

I let it take me.