The Dead Ex-Wife Returns With Twins

Katia gripped the edge of the mahogany dining table, her knuckles turning bone white. A sharp contraction tore through her abdomen, stealing her breath and making the crystal chandelier above her blur into a smear of light.

The smart home security panel near the foyer let out a soft beep. The front elevator, the one with a private keycard access, had been activated by an override code. But her husband Jarret wasn't due back from London for another two days.

She dragged her heavy, swollen feet across the soft Persian rug, moving from the dining area toward the foyer. Each step was an effort. She needed to check the monitor.

But before she could reach it, the heavy oak door swung open. A gust of freezing air and a flurry of snowflakes swirled into the warmth of the penthouse. Her stepsister, Janeen Foster, stepped out of the elevator, shaking snow from the shoulders of her pristine Chanel coat as if she owned the place.

"How did you get past security?" Katia demanded, her voice strained. Another wave of pain hit, sharper this time, forcing her to lean against the cool marble wall for support. Her hand instinctively went to her stomach.

Janeen smirked, a slow, deliberate smile that never reached her cold eyes. She tossed her Birkin bag onto the console table with a careless thud. "Jarret's security is impressive. But not infallible." She slowly unbuttoned her coat, revealing a perfect designer dress underneath, untouched by the blizzard raging outside.

From her bag, she pulled a sleek iPad, tapping the screen before sliding it across the marble counter. The soft chime of the device echoed in the tense silence.

Katia squinted, her vision swimming. She recognized the Sinclair family crest at the top of the digital document. Then she saw the biometric digital signature at the bottom. It was Jarret's verified seal, or a very convincing forgery. Her heart skipped a beat, a frantic, painful flutter in her chest.

"A Non-Disclosure Agreement," Janeen said, stepping closer, invading Katia's personal space. Her perfume, a cloying floral scent, was suffocating. "Jarret authorized the digital transfer this morning. The physical paperwork is already en route from London. Your access to the Sterling trust fund, the one your mother left you? It's gone. He signed away your rights."

"No," Katia whispered, shaking her head. It was a lie. A psychological game. Jarret wouldn't do this. He loved her. She tried to push past Janeen, her hand reaching for the landline phone mounted on the wall. She had to call him.

Janeen was faster. She snatched the phone cord, ripping it from the jack with a sharp tug. She threw the receiver across the room. It shattered a crystal vase on a side table, the sound of breaking glass like a gunshot.

Katia backed away, moving slowly from the foyer into the vast living room, trying to put distance between them. Her body was a battlefield, the contractions coming closer together now.

Janeen followed her, a predator stalking wounded prey. She pulled a small digital audio recorder from her pocket and pressed play, her grin malicious.

A man's voice, clinical and detached, filled the room. It was Dr. Albright, her mother's oncologist. "...the medication was swapped," the recorded voice confirmed. "The dosage was intentionally altered. It was never meant to be a cure."

Katia's eyes widened in absolute horror. Her brain struggled to process the words. The room started to spin. Her mother's death hadn't been a tragic decline. It had been orchestrated.

Janeen laughed, a low, cruel sound. She watched Katia's defenses crumble. "I paid the nursing staff. A few thousand dollars to alter some charts, swap a few IV bags. Your mother was so weak, no one even questioned it."

A sudden, unbearable spike of pain shot through Katia. It was a white-hot agony that eclipsed everything else. Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the hardwood floor.

Her trembling hands touched the floor and came away wet. Her water had broken. But it wasn't clear. It was mixed with a terrifying amount of blood, a dark crimson stain spreading on the polished wood.

"Please," Katia begged, her voice a raw whisper. She clutched her stomach, the agony pure and all-consuming. "Call an ambulance. For the babies."

Janeen stepped over Katia's prone body as if she were a piece of trash. She walked toward the panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows, admiring the blizzard as it blanketed Manhattan in white. She completely ignored the pleas.

Katia tried to crawl. She had to get to the elevator. She dragged her body across the floor, leaving a smeared trail of blood behind her. Every inch was a universe of pain.

Janeen turned back. She walked over and crouched down, her designer heels clicking on the floor. She forcefully grabbed Katia's chin, her manicured nails digging into Katia's skin, forcing eye contact.

"Only one of us gets to be the lady of the Sinclair estate," she whispered, her voice like ice. "And it won't be the dead girl on the floor."

With her last ounce of strength, Katia spat in Janeen's face. It was a small act of defiance in a world that was collapsing around her.

Janeen wiped her cheek with a look of pure disgust. She stood up and, with a vicious kick, sent Katia's dropped cell phone skittering under a heavy velvet sofa, far out of reach.

Katia's vision began to blur at the edges. The room was spinning violently now. Hemorrhagic shock was setting in.

Janeen glanced at her diamond watch, a cold calculation in her eyes. She was timing it. Timing how long it would take for an ambulance to be too late.

Katia's hand, which had been reaching for nothing, dropped limply to her side. Her breathing became shallow, a faint, erratic flutter in her chest. Her consciousness was fading, slipping away into a black, painless void.

Only then did Janeen pull out her own cell phone. She dialed a private number. "Dr. Reynolds," she said, her voice calm and steady. "There's been a medical emergency at the Sinclair penthouse."

She looked down at Katia's lifeless form, a triumphant smile finally spreading across her face.

"And Doctor? Prepare the incubator. For my new baby."