Pregnant With The Ruthless CEO's Heir

The heavy oak doors of St. David's Church gave way under Cora's weight. The brutal November wind followed her inside, slicing through the thin fabric of her black trench coat and biting into her calves. She welcomed the sting. It kept her grounded. The sanctuary smelled of burning wax, old wood, and thousands of white roses. The scent was sickeningly sweet. It coated the back of her throat like syrup. She forced herself to swallow it down, keeping her spine rigid. A woman in the third row-a socialite whose name Cora didn't care to remember-turned her head. Her eyes widened. A harsh gasp slipped past her glossy lips. It was the spark that lit the powder keg. Heads snapped around. Whispers hissed through the pews, a collective, venomous buzz. Cora ignored the venom in their stares. She didn't look at the floor. She didn't shrink. She walked to an empty seat in the darkest corner of the back row, sat down, and crossed her legs. At the altar, Axel Malone stood bathed in the warm light of the stained-glass windows. He wore a custom Tom Ford tuxedo. His hair was perfectly styled. He looked like a prince. He looked like a man who hadn't spent the last three years bleeding her dry. Beside him stood Aubrey Mayer. The perfect heiress. The woman who had everything. The priest's voice was a dull drone in Cora's ears. She watched Axel take Aubrey's delicate hand. He slid a massive, blinding diamond onto her ring finger. Cora's stomach didn't drop. Her chest didn't cave in. Instead, her fingers slipped into the deep pocket of her coat. They found the folded piece of paper waiting there. The final notice from Mount Sinai Hospital. She gripped it so hard the crisp edge of the paper sliced a tiny, stinging cut into the pad of her thumb. She let the pain anchor her. The crowd rose to their feet. Applause thundered through the vaulted ceiling. Aubrey leaned into Axel's chest, the picture of a shy, radiant bride. But as she turned her head, her eyes cut through the crowd. They bypassed the smiling faces of her wealthy friends and locked dead onto the darkest corner of the back row. Aubrey found Cora. The bride's lips curved into a slow, smug smile. A silent declaration of victory. Cora didn't flinch. She reached into her cheap leather tote bag, pulled out a half-empty plastic water bottle, and raised it in the air. A silent, mocking toast. Axel followed his new wife's gaze. His eyes landed on Cora. The perfect smile on his face died instantly. His jaw clenched so hard Cora could see the muscle ticking from fifty feet away. Panic and raw, ugly rage flared in his eyes. Cora lowered the bottle. She stood up, turned her back on the altar, and walked out. The choir erupted into a booming hymn as she pushed through the heavy side doors, stepping into the dim, narrow hallway lined with wooden confessionals. The air here was stale. A hand shot out from the shadows. Large fingers wrapped around her wrist. The grip was bone-crushing. Cora was yanked backward. Her shoulder slammed hard into the stone wall. The breath was knocked out of her lungs in a sharp gasp. Axel stood over her. His chest heaved. He smelled of expensive scotch, mint, and nervous sweat. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he hissed. His voice vibrated with fury. "Are you out of your mind? Trying to ruin my day?" Cora looked down at his hand. His knuckles were white. He was hurting her. She yanked her arm free with a violent jerk. She smoothed the wrinkled fabric of her sleeve, her movements slow, deliberate, and entirely devoid of fear. "I just came to see what a soul costs these days," she said. Her voice was a flatline. Axel stepped closer. He boxed her in, slamming his hands against the stone wall on either side of her head. He was trying to use his size to intimidate her. "Don't play games with me, Cora. You need to learn your place." His tone shifted. The anger bled out, replaced by a sickening, condescending pity. "Keep your mouth shut. Stay out of my way. I'll set you up with an apartment on the Upper East Side. You won't have to work another day in your life." He thought she was a beggar. He thought he could buy her silence with real estate. Cora let out a harsh, scraping laugh. She reached up and flicked a crushed white rose petal off the lapel of his tuxedo. "Your spare change wouldn't even cover one day of Julian's life support," she said. Her voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "Keep your apartment, Axel." Axel flinched. The mention of her brother made his eyes dart away. He took a half-step back. "Axel? Where are you, man?" A groomsman's voice echoed from the main hall. Panic flashed across Axel's face. He looked toward the door, terrified of being caught. Cora didn't wait for him to look back. She shoved past him, her shoulder clipping his chest, and left him standing in the dark. She pushed through the exit. The cold air hit her face. A valet rushed forward with a black umbrella, but she waved him off. She stepped to the curb and threw her hand up. A yellow taxi screeched to a halt. "Mount Sinai Hospital. The back entrance," she told the driver. The partition went up. Cora slumped against the cracked leather seat. The rigid posture she had held for the last hour finally shattered. Her spine curved. She pulled the final notice from her pocket, its red 'URGENT' stamp seeming to burn in the dim light. Her chest tightened. It felt like a heavy stone was sitting on her ribs, making every breath a chore. Five hundred thousand dollars. When the taxi pulled up to the hospital, Cora shoved a twenty-dollar bill through the slot and ran through the sterile, brightly lit hallways. The smell of bleach and antiseptic coated the back of her throat. At the ICU nurses' station, the head nurse stepped into her path. "Ms. Nolan." The nurse's face was grim. She held out a clipboard. Cora didn't take it. She kept her hands at her sides. "If we don't have the five hundred thousand by noon tomorrow, the administration will cut off Julian's experimental treatments," the nurse said softly. "I'm sorry. My hands are tied." Cora's throat closed up. A hard lump formed, making it impossible to speak. She forced herself to swallow. It hurt. "The money will be wired by tomorrow morning. I promise." She walked past the desk and pushed open the heavy glass door to Room 412. The rhythmic, mechanical hiss of the ventilator was the only sound in the room. Julian lay on the bed. He was seventeen, but he looked like a hollowed-out shell. Wires and tubes snaked out from under his gown, keeping his failing heart beating. Cora walked to the side of the bed. She gently picked up his hand. It was ice cold. Her eyes burned. The back of her nose stung. But she refused to blink. She didn't have time to cry. Crying didn't pay medical bills. "I'm going to fix this, Jule," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I'm going to make them pay. All of them." Her phone vibrated in her pocket. A harsh, jarring buzz against her thigh. She pulled it out. A notification from a Hollywood gossip site lit up the cracked screen. JACE BAUER, CEO OF BAUER EMPIRE, RETURNS TO NEW YORK. Below the headline was a candid photo. Jace Bauer. His profile was sharp, his jawline looking like it could cut glass. His eyes held a terrifying, absolute authority. Cora stared at the screen. Her thumb hovered over the photo. She remembered the late nights when Axel would drink too much. He would talk about Jace. His older, legitimate half-brother. Axel hated him with a burning passion. But beneath the hate, Axel was terrified of him. Jace was the monster in Axel's closet. Her heart started to pound. A slow, heavy thud against her ribs. The blood rushed in her ears. An idea formed in her mind. It was reckless. It was dangerous. It was absolute suicide. She locked her phone. The desperation in her eyes was gone. Only cold, hard resolve remained. Cora leaned down and pressed her lips to Julian's cold forehead. "Wait for me," she whispered. She turned around and walked out of the room. Her heels clicked against the linoleum floor. The sound was sharp, steady, and completely devoid of fear.