Jilted Wife, Billionaire's Daughter Rises

Blake Gibson POV:

Dalton stared at me, his eyes flickering with confusion, then suspicion. My smile remained, unwavering, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in his face. He hated not being in control.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, his voice tight. His grip on my arm tightened further, his fingers digging into my flesh.

"My mother, Dalton," I stated, my voice devoid of emotion. "She's not just recovering. She's been discharged. She's at home, living a perfectly normal life. No more hospital bills. No more need for your 'generosity'."

His jaw dropped. He released my arm as if I had burned him. "That's a lie! You told me just last week she was still... you said she needed constant care!"

"And you believed me," I said with a shrug. "Your mistake, not mine. Turns out, some miracles do happen. Especially when a certain powerful relative decides to step in, unnoticed, to ensure her well-being."

His face paled, remembering our conversation from weeks ago. Garrison Perry. He knew my father was a force to be reckoned with, even if we were estranged. Dalton had always believed my refusal to join my father's firm meant I had no recourse. He was wrong.

Flashback

"Blake, my dear," Garrison Perry's voice had been gruff but laced with an unusual tenderness over the phone. "I've heard about Hertha. Don't worry. I've arranged for the best care money can buy. No more draining your accounts for that man."

My throat had tightened. "Father... why now?"

"Some things are best done quietly, Blake. And some men need a harder lesson than others. You just focus on yourself. When you're ready, I'll be here. And so will everything you need to take back what's yours."

End Flashback

Dalton's eyes darted around the room, as if looking for an escape. "No, you're lying. You're trying to manipulate me."

"Am I?" I raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead, call the hospital. See what they tell you."

He pulled out his phone, his hands trembling slightly. But before he could dial, a frantic ring pierced the silence of our apartment. It was his assistant.

Dalton put the call on speaker, his face etched with worry. "What is it?"

"Mr. Anderson! It's... it's Ms. Farley! She's at St. Jude's, and she's not well! She was saying something about Blake's mother..."

My blood ran cold. Justine.

Dalton looked at me, a mixture of rage and terror in his eyes. "What did you do?!"

"Me? I didn't do anything, Dalton. But it seems your pregnant mistress just couldn't resist a final, cruel jab at my ailing mother." My voice was a whisper, but it carried the weight of a death knell.

He grabbed my arm again, this time with desperate force. "We're going to the hospital. Now."

He practically dragged me out of the apartment, shoving me into his car. The air inside was thick with Justine's cloying perfume and the faint scent of stale cigarettes. I recognized her scarf on the passenger seat. My stomach churned.

The drive was a blur of flashing lights and Dalton's frantic calls. My heart hammered against my ribs, a terrible premonition gripping me.

When we pulled up to St. Jude's, the parking lot was swarming with emergency vehicles. A chaotic scene. My mother's hospital.

"This can't be happening," I whispered, scrambling out of the car.

I saw the flashing lights at the top of the building. The rooftop. No.

My legs moved on their own, carrying me through the automatic doors. My mind screamed at me to run faster, to reach her before it was too late.

Then I saw her. Justine. Standing near the reception desk, her face streaked with tears, her hands on her swollen belly. A doctor was trying to calm her.

"What happened?" I demanded, my voice hoarse.

Justine looked up, her eyes wide and innocent, but a flicker of triumph danced within them. "Oh, Blake. It's awful. Your mother... she just... she just jumped."

The words hit me like a physical blow. My mother. Jumped.

No. Not possible.

"You," I snarled, my hand already flying. The sharp crack of my palm against her cheek echoed in the silent lobby.

Justine reeled back, clutching her face. "How dare you! I was just trying to help!"

"Help?" My voice was a raw scream. "You told her, didn't you? You told her everything! All the years of humiliation, the sacrifices I made for her sake, because of her condition!"

Her eyes widened. "She deserved to know the truth! You were trapped because of her! You hated her!"

That was it. The final, unforgivable lie.

Dalton rushed forward, pushing me away from Justine. "Blake, stop! She's pregnant!"

"And she just murdered my mother!" I shrieked, tears streaming down my face.

He put himself between us, shielding Justine. "Get out of here, Blake! You're insane!"

"I'm insane?" I laughed, a broken, hysterical sound. "Look at her, Dalton! She's gloating! She told my mother everything, hoping to break me, and she succeeded!"

Justine, still crying, looked at Dalton. "She hit me, Dalton! She attacked me! And the baby... oh, the baby!"

Dalton's face hardened, his focus entirely on Justine. He turned back to me, his eyes filled with a cold fury. "You bitch! You put my child at risk! Get out of my sight!"

He shoved me hard. I stumbled, falling backward onto the cold, hard floor. My head hit with a dull thud.

Justine watched me, a smirk momentarily replacing her tears. "Dalton, please. Make her leave. She's unstable."

"Don't worry, Justine," Dalton said, pulling her close. "I'll handle her. And I'll make sure you and our baby are safe. I'll take care of everything. You won't have to worry about a thing ever again."

His words, meant to soothe her, were a fresh stab to my heart. He had never spoken to me like that. Never offered such unconditional assurance.

I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the throbbing in my head. My mother. I had to reach her.

"Mother!" I screamed, pushing past Dalton, running towards the elevator. The doors slid open, revealing an empty shaft. My heart plummeted.

"Blake, wait!" Dalton yelled, but I was already gone, scaling the emergency stairs, fueled by a frantic, desperate hope that it wasn't true. That she was still there.