His Unwanted Wife, The Rival Don's Queen

Haven POV I didn't go to the hospital. Not yet. I physically couldn't move. The guards practically carried me to the car, their grip the only thing keeping me upright as they drove me back to the penthouse. I was bleeding, but the agony radiating from my chest was so acute it dulled the cramping in my womb to a distant, throbbing hum. I lay in the guest bedroom, staring blindly at the ceiling. Time bled away until, an hour later, I heard the front door click open. Connor's voice. Hushed. Gentle. I dragged myself out of the sheets. I needed him to know. I needed him to witness the ruin he had caused. I needed him to see the blood staining my dress. I walked down the hallway, trailing a trembling hand against the wall to stay upright. The door to his study was ajar, a sliver of golden light spilling onto the floor. Then, I heard Gemma. It wasn't the scared little girl voice anymore. It was low, sultry, and confident. "They bought it," she said smoothly. "The George family is satisfied. The shipping routes are unblocked." I froze. She was confessing. Connor sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. "I know," he said. "I saw the photos before I kicked them into the river. I knew, Gemma." The ground beneath me seemed to liquefy. He knew. He knew she was a traitor, a liar, and he had still chosen her. "Why didn't you let her kill me?" Gemma asked softly. "Because I owe your father," Connor replied. "And because... because looking at you makes me feel like a man again. With her... she makes me feel like an employee." I leaned forward, forcing my eyes to peer through the crack. Connor was sinking into his leather chair. Gemma was straddling his lap. He kissed her. It was hungry. Desperate. "I am going to leave her," Connor murmured against her lips, the promise vibrating through the air. "As soon as the baby is born, I will take the heir and divorce her. We can be together." A sound ripped from my throat. A sob that sounded like an animal dying. They sprang apart. Connor's head snapped toward the door. "Haven?" I collapsed. The darkness rose up to claim me, but not before I felt the warm, devastating rush of blood soaking my thighs, carrying the life I had wanted so desperately out of my body. I woke up in a hospital. Not the Family hospital. Somewhere sterile. Anonymous. Dr. Evans was there. Her face was a mask of grim professional pity. "I am so sorry, Haven," she said softly. "The stress... the physical trauma... the placenta detached. The baby is gone." I stared at her. I felt hollow. Scraped clean. "We need to perform a D&C to clear the lining," she explained gently. "It is a surgical procedure. We will put you under general anesthesia. You won't feel a thing." I sat up. My eyes were dry as bone. "No," I said. Dr. Evans blinked. "Excuse me?" "No anesthesia," I repeated. "Haven, that is barbaric," she gasped, her composure cracking. "It is incredibly painful. There is no reason to suffer." "There is a reason," I said. I looked down at my empty hands. I wanted to remember. I wanted to burn this moment into my neurons so deeply that I would never, ever forget what Connor Jones had cost me. "I want to feel it," I told her, my voice turning to steel. "I want to feel every scrap of him leaving my body." "But-" "Do it," I commanded. "Or I will do it myself with a hanger in the bathroom." She paled. She prepped the instruments. When the metal scraped against the inside of my womb, I didn't scream. I gripped the side rails of the bed until my knuckles popped. Sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes. Agony radiated from my core, a white-hot fire that consumed the woman I used to be. With every scrape, I made a vow. I wasn't just losing a child. I was shedding a skin. The dutiful wife died on that table. The Consigliere died on that table. When it was over, I lay in a pool of my own sweat, shaking uncontrollably. Dr. Evans looked nauseous, like she was about to cry. I looked at the ceiling. I felt light. I felt empty. I felt lethal.