Divorced And Penniless: The Billionaire's Secret Heir

Kiley slammed on the brakes in front of the brownstone, the car barely missing the curb. She didn't bother taking off her heels. She didn't bother closing the car door. She just ran. "Brenda!" she screamed as she burst through the front door. The living room was a crime scene. Jules was sitting on the white sofa, his small body slumped. His skin was the color of printer paper. Two thick red lines dripped from his nostrils, staining his pajama top and pooling on the fabric below. Brenda was pressing a bath towel to his face, but the towel was already soaked through, a heavy, wet mass of crimson. The little boy didn't even flinch. He just sat there, his eyes half-closed, too weak to even cry anymore. "Mommy's here," Kiley choked out, scooping him into her arms. The blood smeared across her silk dress, warm and sticky against her skin. "Hold on, baby. Mommy's got you." She didn't wait for the ambulance. She carried him out into the night, her heels slipping on the concrete steps. She buckled him into his car seat, her hands shaking so badly she almost dropped the clips. "Hang on, Jules," she whispered, stroking his cold cheek. "Just hang on." She drove like a maniac, weaving through the sparse late-night traffic, running red lights. She pulled into the emergency bay at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, laying on the horn until a team of nurses rushed out. "Help! My son is bleeding!" Kiley screamed, stumbling out of the car. The nurses took over. They lifted Jules onto a gurney and wheeled him through the double doors. Kiley tried to follow, but a nurse blocked her path. "Ma'am, you need to wait here. Let them work." Kelly stood there, trembling. She looked down at her documents, stained with blood. Her silk dress, soaked through with blood, stiffened. A wave of nausea rose in her throat, but she held it back. She had to be strong. She pulled out her phone. She had to call Aden. Despite everything, Jules was his son. He had to know. She dialed his number. It rang once, then twice, until it was finally picked up just before she was about to hang up. "Kiley, I told you not to call-" Aden's voice was cold. But before she could speak, she heard it. A woman's laugh, soft and breathy, in the background. Seraphina. "Aden," Kiley said, her voice trembling. "Jules is in the hospital. He's bleeding. He won't stop bleeding." There was a pause. "He bumped his nose again? Kiley, I'm busy. Kids get nosebleeds. Stop overreacting." "He's in the ER!" Kiley shrieked. "He looks like he's dying! You need to come!" "I'm not coming down there for a nosebleed," Aden said, his tone hardening. "Deal with it. I'll see you in court." The line went dead. Kiley stared at the phone. The screen glowed in the dim waiting room. The laughter echoed in her head. He was with her. While his son was fighting for his life, he was in bed with another woman. She walked to the restroom on autopilot. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly pallor on her reflection. She looked insane. Blood on her dress, mascara running down her cheeks, hair tangled. She raised her hand and touched the pearl necklace around her neck. It was a fifth-anniversary gift from Aiden. Pearls, to wipe away tears. She unfastened the necklace; the tiny pearls touched her fingertips, icy cold. She threw them into the trash can. The pearls sank to the bottom, making a soft, hollow sound. When she walked back into the hall, a doctor in blue scrubs was looking for her. His face was grave. He wasn't rushing. That scared her more than anything. "Mrs. Frost?" he asked. "Yes. How is he?" "His platelet count is dangerously low," the doctor said, his voice measured. "His blood is not clotting. We've stabilized the bleeding for now, but we need to do a bone marrow aspiration to rule out the worst-case scenarios." "Leukemia?" Kiley whispered the word, her legs turning to jelly. She reached out, grabbing the wall to keep from sliding to the floor. "We need to test," the doctor said gently. "I need your consent." Kiley signed the forms, her signature a jagged scrawl. She walked into Jules's room. He was hooked up to an IV, his tiny arm taped to a board. He looked so small in the hospital bed. He opened his eyes, a sliver of blue beneath the heavy lids. "Mommy," he whispered. "It doesn't hurt." Kiley bit her lip so hard she tasted copper. She took his cold little hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "I know, baby. You're so brave." She sat by his bed until his breathing evened out and he fell asleep. Then she stood up, her back aching, and walked out into the hallway. It was empty, quiet except for the beeping of monitors. She pulled out her phone. She scrolled to Aden's name. Her thumb hovered over the "Block" button. She thought of the laughter. She thought of the blood. She pressed the button. She drove back to the brownstone to get his things. She needed clothes, his favorite blanket, his toothbrush. She pushed open the front door. Silence breeds silence. The bloodstains on the sofa gradually dried, turning into rusty coconut shells. On the dining table, the divorce papers , which she had frantically tossed onto the surface , lay quietly, still damp, thick juice oozing out like fresh wounds. Kiley walked over to the mantle. She picked up the silver-framed wedding photo. She and Aden, smiling in Central Park. Happy. Fake. She stared at his face in the picture. The anger, the fear, the desperation-it all coalesced into a single, burning point. She raised the frame above her head and threw it at the floor. The glass shattered. The sound was sharp, satisfying. Shards skittered across the hardwood. A piece of glass sliced her finger. Blood welled up, bright red, dripping onto the carpet to mix with the traces of Jules's blood she had walked in. She didn't bandage it. She stepped over the broken frame, leaving a bloody footprint, and went to pack the bags. She took off the mixture of her and Jules' blood and threw it on the floor. The dress was Aiden's favorite style. In their seven-year marriage, she had tried to live up to his expectations. Distracted, she grabbed a set of sportswear, put it on, and locked the door . On her way back to the hospital, the city lights blurred past her vision. The fear remained, but it was different. It was no longer the fear of losing her husband , but a mother's intense and terrifying resolve. She was willing to burn herself out for Jules, and she would never let Aiden touch him again.