No Longer His Captive Surgeon Wife

The quiet intimacy of the hallway was shattered by the sound of heavy, frantic footsteps.

"The young master is over here!" a deep, panicked voice echoed off the walls.

Amy pulled back slightly, her brow furrowing in confusion. She looked down the long corridor.

Beckham was storming toward them. He looked like the god of death, his face a mask of terrifying, murderous rage. A team of bodyguards trailed closely behind him.

Beckham's eyes locked onto Amy holding the boy. His pupils contracted to tiny pinpricks.

He closed the distance in seconds, bringing a rush of cold, aggressive air with him.

Without a word, Beckham reached down and grabbed the boy's arm. He yanked the child out of Amy's embrace with brutal, unforgiving force.

The boy let out a sharp scream of terror. He kicked his legs wildly in the air, trying to fight Beckham off.

"What are you doing?!" Amy gasped, her maternal instinct flaring. She reached out, trying to grab the boy back.

Beckham shifted his weight. He brought his free hand up and shoved Amy hard in the chest.

Beckham shoved her away. Amy stumbled backward a few erratic steps, her sensible heels skidding on the polished floor. Her back hit the cold stone pillar hard enough to make her gasp in pain, a sharp ache radiating across her shoulder blade.

Beckham pulled the boy behind his legs, shielding him. He glared down at Amy.

"What the hell were you trying to do to Kevin?" Beckham roared, his voice vibrating with raw panic and fury.

Amy stopped breathing.

Kevin.

The name hit her like a physical blow to the head. She stayed frozen against the pillar, her eyes darting frantically between Beckham's furious face and the boy crying behind his legs.

Her brain went into overdrive. She calculated the boy's age. Five years old. The exact same year she had bled out on a table, losing her child.

A sickening, twisted realization clawed its way up her throat.

This was the child Beckham and Amira had bought. The product of a commercial surrogacy contract.

The warm, maternal glow she had felt seconds ago turned to absolute ash. A wave of profound disgust and betrayal washed over her. She felt physically sick that she had hugged the offspring of the woman who destroyed her life.

Her eyes turned bloodshot. She pushed herself off the pillar, her fingernails digging into her palms.

"Were you planning this surrogate freak five years ago while I was bleeding out?" she screamed, her voice tearing at her throat.

Beckham's face drained of color. The panic in his eyes instantly morphed into pure, lethal hatred.

He thought she was losing her mind out of jealousy over Amira.

"Keep your sick, twisted thoughts to yourself," Beckham snarled, stepping closer to her, his chest heaving. "Stay the hell away from my son."

Behind him, Kevin was sobbing hysterically. He reached his small hands out from behind Beckham's legs, making grabbing motions toward Amy.

Amy looked at those tiny, pleading hands. Her heart felt like it was being shredded by broken glass. But she forced her jaw to lock. She turned her head away, staring blankly at the wall, refusing to look at the boy.

Seeing her cold rejection, Beckham reached back and clamped his large hand over Kevin's eyes, hiding Amy from his view.

Two massive bodyguards immediately stepped forward, forming a solid wall of muscle between Amy and the father and son.

Beckham scooped the thrashing, crying boy into his arms. He shot Amy one final, warning glare.

He turned and walked away. The heavy thud of his shoes grew fainter and fainter until the hallway was completely silent again.

Amy stood alone.

Her legs gave out. She slid down the cold marble pillar until she hit the floor.

She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and buried her face. Her shoulders shook violently as silent, agonizing tears soaked the fabric of her pants.