The Billionaire's Greatest Loss: Ex Wife Please Come Back

(Serena's POV) The private jet's cabin hummed softly as we soared above the Atlantic. The leather seats smelled of expensive cologne and fear-induced sweat. I stared at the will document on my tablet, the words swimming before my exhausted eyes like fish in murky water. "To Serena Vaughn Blackwood, my granddaughter-in-law, who showed more steel in three years than my blood relatives have in thirty..." My hands shook as I read it again. And again. The baby kicked restlessly against my ribs, as if sensing my turmoil. I pressed a palm to my stomach, whispering softly, "Easy, little one. Mommy's just having a moment." Elena paced the narrow aisle, her red Louboutin heels clicking against the marble floor like a metronome counting down to disaster. Her usually perfect hair was disheveled, dark strands escaping her chignon to frame her flushed face. "This has to be fake. Eleanor would never..." "Never what?" I looked up, my voice hoarse from exhaustion and disbelief. "Never recognize someone who actually fights back?" The jet's champagne bar gleamed unused in the corner, crystal glasses catching the overhead lights like trapped lightning. I couldn't stomach alcohol anyway, not with the pregnancy, but the sight of luxury I couldn't enjoy felt like a metaphor for my entire marriage. Adrian sat across from me, his laptop balanced on his knees as he traced the document's digital fingerprints. His usually pristine Oxford shirt was wrinkled, the top button undone, revealing the pulse hammering at his throat. His face was pale, his usually steady hands trembling slightly as his fingers flew across the keyboard. "The encryption signature matches Eleanor's personal files. The timestamp..." He paused, swallowing hard enough that his Adam's apple bobbed. "It's dated three days after your wedding." The cabin fell silent except for the jet engines' steady drone and the soft beeping of Adrian's computer. Through the porthole windows, I could see nothing but an endless black ocean, the water looking like spilled ink against the star-pricked sky. Three days. Eleanor had written me into her will just three days after I'd married Damien. When I was still starry-eyed and stupid, believing I'd married for love instead of becoming a pawn in some twisted game. When I'd spent hours in her rose garden, desperately trying to win her approval with carefully researched compliments about her orchids. The memory made my chest tight. I'd been so young, so naive. Twenty-four and fresh out of MIT, thinking I could change the world with my inventions and my love for a man who saw me as a pretty accessory. "But why?" My voice cracked like thin ice. "She hates me." Elena stopped pacing, her eyes bright with sudden understanding. Her lipstick had worn off, leaving her mouth pale and vulnerable. "No. She doesn't." She grabbed the tablet from my hands with manicured fingers that shook slightly. "Look at the conditions." I leaned forward, the cabin's recirculated air suddenly feeling too thin. My heart hammered against my ribs as Elena read aloud, her voice gaining strength with each word. "'Should Serena prove herself worthy by building an empire independent of Blackwood influence, she shall inherit my personal holdings, including the controlling shares of Blackwood Industries.'" Elena's voice dropped to a whisper. "'She shall be the iron fist this family needs.'" The words hit me like a physical blow. Iron fist. Eleanor's favorite phrase for herself. The description she'd used when telling stories about crushing business rivals and unfaithful husbands. I felt tears prick my eyes, hot and unwelcome. "She was grooming me." Adrian looked up from his laptop, his brown eyes soft with something like pity. "All those board meetings where she made you sit silent in the corner..." "She was teaching me to observe." The realization crashed over me like a cold wave. "Every charity gala where she 'forgot' to introduce me to important people..." "She was showing you how power really works," Elena finished quietly. "Not through connections, but through being underestimated." I pressed both hands to my stomach, feeling my child move restlessly. Had Eleanor planned for this too? For her great-grandchild to be born into an empire built on secrets and manipulation? The jet's intercom crackled to life. "Mrs. Vaughn, we're experiencing some weather delays. ETA to Kennedy is now..." Elena was already on her phone before the pilot finished speaking. "Get me satellite weather reports for the entire Eastern seaboard. Now." She looked at me, her face grim. "If this delay isn't natural..." Adrian's laptop chimed with an incoming message. His face went ashen as he read the screen. "We have a problem." He turned the screen toward us. Security footage from the Blackwood Estate showed Natalia in Eleanor's private study, her platinum hair gleaming under the desk lamp as she photographed documents with professional efficiency. She wore all black, her movements precise and deadly. The timestamp read forty-eight hours ago. "She knows," I breathed, my lungs suddenly struggling for air. Elena was already pulling up flight manifests on her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. "Natalia boarded a jet to Moscow six hours ago. She's running." The cabin seemed to shrink around us. I pressed my hands to my stomach, feeling the baby kick restlessly against my palms. My child. Damien's child. The heir Eleanor had probably factored into her twisted calculations from the very beginning. "Turn the plane around," I said quietly. Eleanor hadn't been trying to destroy me. She'd been testing me. The cabin air grew thick with tension. I could smell Elena's stress sweat mixing with her expensive perfume, and Adrian's nervous energy practically radiated from his corner of the cabin. Adrian and Elena both stared at me, their faces mirror images of shock and concern. "Are you insane?" Elena demanded, her voice rising to match the jet engines' roar. "If Natalia has copies of that will..." "Then we need to get to Eleanor before she does." I stood on unsteady legs, gripping the back of my seat for support. The cabin seemed to sway, though I knew it was just my exhaustion playing tricks on me. "If Eleanor dies before I can prove she wrote that will voluntarily..." "Damien inherits everything," Adrian finished grimly, snapping his laptop shut with more force than necessary. I nodded, my throat tight with fear and determination. "And our baby becomes a pawn in a game that was rigged from the start." The thought of my unborn child being used the way I had been made my blood boil. I'd spent three years as Eleanor's test subject, enduring humiliation and isolation while she decided if I was worthy of her twisted legacy. I wouldn't let my baby suffer the same fate. Elena was already on the phone with the pilot, her voice sharp with urgency. "Emergency course correction. Kennedy Airport. Now." She paused, listening to the response. "I don't care about air traffic control. File whatever emergency code you need to. This is life or death." As the jet banked sharply toward New York, I pressed my face to the porthole window and stared out at the dark ocean below. The water looked like black silk, deceptively calm on the surface while hiding deadly currents underneath. Just like the Blackwood family. Somewhere in that glittering city ahead, Eleanor Blackwood sat in her fortress, unaware that her favorite game piece was racing home to save her life. The irony wasn't lost on me. The woman who'd made my marriage a living hell might be the only person standing between my child and a future as twisted as my past. My phone buzzed against my thigh. A text from an unknown number, the words appearing in stark white text against the black screen. "The eagle's wings are clipped. The nest burns at midnight. - Anonymous." I showed the message to Elena. Her face went white. "That's tonight," she whispered. I looked at my watch. 10:47 PM. We had exactly one hour and thirteen minutes to save the woman I'd learned to hate. And somehow, I was the only one who could do it.