The Billionaire's Secret Heir: Sign the Divorce

It was past midnight when Mrs. Higgins tapped on the door of the guest room Claudia had claimed.

"She's asking for you," she whispered.

Claudia wrapped her silk robe tight around her waist, double-knotting the belt to obscure her figure, and went to Granddame's room.

The room was dim, lit only by the monitors beeping softly. Granddame looked small in the massive bed, her skin grey against the white sheets.

She waved her hand feebly, dismissing the nurse.

"Come here, child," she rasped.

Claudia approached the bed and took her cold, paper-thin hand. "I'm here, Granddame."

She squeezed Claudia's fingers with surprising strength. Her eyes opened, clear and sharp.

"I know you lied," she whispered.

Claudia's breath hitched. "Granddame, I-"

"Hush." She cut her off. "I know you are not happy. I see the way you look when he is not in the room. You are fading, Claudia. You are sick with misery."

Tears pricked Claudia's eyes. She nodded, unable to speak. The old woman didn't know about the baby, but she saw the pain. That was enough.

"He is a fool," Granddame said softly. "Blinded by that woman. But you... you have strength. I saw you today. You saved me."

"I just did what I had to do."

"You did more than that." Granddame pulled her closer. "Listen to me. If it becomes too much... if you need to leave before I am gone... I will help you. I have accounts in France he doesn't know about."

"France?"

"Go there. Study. Live. Don't let him crush you."

"I can't leave yet," Claudia whispered. "Not while you're like this."

"Stubborn girl." A small smile touched Granddame's lips. "Just remember. You have options. You are not a prisoner."

The door handle turned.

They pulled apart instantly. Ezequiel walked in. He had changed into fresh clothes, but he looked haggard.

He saw Claudia sitting by the bed and frowned. "You should be resting, Grandmother."

"I wanted to talk to my granddaughter-in-law," she said, her voice weak again.

Ezequiel looked at their joined hands. A flicker of something-jealousy? exclusion?-crossed his face.

"I'll take you home," he said to Claudia. "Or... to your room."

"I'm staying at my father's house tonight," Claudia said quickly. "To pick up some things. And to check on the house."

He nodded stiffly. "I'll drive you."

The car ride was suffocating. Ezequiel drove fast, the sports car tearing down the highway.

Claudia clutched the door handle, her other hand over her stomach. "Slow down," she murmured.

He glanced at her. "What?"

"Slow down!" she shouted. "I get carsick."

He slammed on the brakes, slowing the car to a crawl. He looked at her, really looked at her, in the dim light of the dashboard.

"You've been sick a lot lately," he said slowly. "Carsick. Food poisoning. Gastritis."

"I have a weak stomach," she said, staring out the window. "And your driving doesn't help."

"The money will be in the account tomorrow," he said, changing the subject.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. It's a transaction."

He pulled up to the curb of the Valentine townhouse. She got out without looking back.

Inside the empty house, Claudia didn't sleep. She paced the floor, packing a small bag, checking her phone every ten minutes for updates on her father. The house felt like a mausoleum, filled with the ghosts of her family's former glory.

As dawn broke, she washed her face, drank a glass of water, and called a cab to take her back to the hospital. She couldn't face Ezequiel again yet. She needed to be where she was needed.

Inside his car, Ezequiel watched the house lights go on, then drove away. He dialed Sterling.

"Transfer the money," he said. "And Sterling? I want a full audit of the Valentine Group. And get me the security footage from the hospital. I want to know exactly where my wife went yesterday."