The Heiress' Secret: Ex-Husband, Meet The Real Me

"I tried everything I could," Deanna Carter said, her voice weighed down with fatigue.

Thirteen grueling hours in the operating room had passed, yet she still hadn't been able to save the baby in Gillian Dixon's womb.

Before her words even settled in the air, a wave of anguished sobs burst from the hallway outside.

"My great‑grandchild..." Susan Dixon wailed before collapsing on the spot.

Gillian was wheeled out on a gurney moments later, pale and unconscious. Relatives rushed forward, their cries and murmured attempts at comfort filling the corridor and brushing against Deanna like cold wind.

The sound hollowed her chest.

She lifted her head just enough to catch sight of her husband, Connor Dixon, leaning over Gillian. His hands clutched the sides of the gurney, and his expression was so full of worry it might as well have been for his own wife.

Everyone trailed after the gurney as it disappeared into a hospital room.

Deanna remained alone in the hallway, mask dangling from her fingers, shoulders heavy from the endless hours at the operating table. People hurried past her, but not a single person paused to ask if she needed some rest.

When she finally returned home, the servants parted like she carried a plague, their stares cold and accusing.

Kristina Dixon, Connor's younger sister, snatched a broom from a nearby butler and swung it sharply against Deanna's leg. "Get out of here, you murderer!"

Bristles scraped across Deanna's calf, carving a stinging red welt that made her flinch.

Kristina's sneer deepened. "What are you so proud of? You think marrying my brother makes you important? The only reason you're here is because Gillian's health is fragile and you happen to be the doctor with the right blood type. You're nothing but a tool. A walking blood bank. And now that Gillian's baby is gone because of you, let's see how you plan on facing Connor."

Kristina finished with a scornful spit, barely missing Deanna's shoes.

After three years married to Connor, Deanna knew her place in the Dixon family well enough. To them, she was nothing but a tool—good for blame, good for use, never for kindness.

There wasn't a soul in the house who felt the need to hide their contempt.

Arguing would only make things worse, and she was too tired to care. Quietly, she climbed the stairs, keeping her eyes low.

Thirteen hours in the operating room had left her body wrung out. Donating blood for Gillian during the worst of it left her shaky and burning up with fever.

She had barely settled onto the bed when rough hands jerked her upright.

Her head struck the headboard with a dull, jarring thud.

Pain flared and her vision blurred, but as her eyes opened, she saw Connor's face twisted above her. Tears stung her eyes. "Connor, you're home. I swear I really did my best to save Gillian's baby."

Connor leaned over her, his grip unrelenting, cold anger in his eyes. "You did your best? What about the last checkup? You told me nothing was wrong. Now look—just days later, the baby's dead. That's your idea of trying?"

Biting her lip, Deanna forced herself to meet his stare, eyes glassy with hurt. "I did all I could, Connor. I mean it."

Gillian had been born with a weak heart, barely able to walk without getting winded three years ago.

In all that time married to Connor, Deanna had done everything until Gillian was healthy enough to live like everyone else, even joining in activities she once couldn't dream of.

Everything had gone smoothly for Gillian, except for that one sudden heart attack during her honeymoon with Andrew Dixon, Connor's cousin.

Just a few days ago, Deanna had run a thorough check-up on Gillian—every result came back perfect. There was no sign that anything could go wrong.

Yet, the moment Deanna took a single day to rest, disaster struck. Gillian was rushed to the hospital with severe abdominal pain, and by the time Deanna arrived, the baby had already slipped away.

Even so, she had thrown herself into the surgery, fighting to save both mother and child, and even giving her own blood when Gillian's ran dangerously low.

She knew in her heart she had nothing to be ashamed of.

But Connor refused to believe a word of it. His glare was as cold as ice.

"That's what you want me to believe? Then how do you explain Gillian waking up in tears, claiming you gave her some kind of medication she never should have had?"

A frown creased Deanna's brow. "I never did anything like that. That's just not possible."

Connor's hand tightened, yanking her closer, eyes full of accusation. "Tell it to Gillian, not me!"

He shut down the conversation right there, unwilling to listen to another excuse.

Gillian's body had always been fragile, and carrying a child was already a risky gamble.

Now, with the baby gone and her health further weakened, the chances of ever having another were slim to none.

Andrew and Gillian had pinned all their dreams on that child, and now those dreams were dust. For Connor, there was only one person to blame—Deanna.

Susan had worked herself into such a rage that she fainted more than once, and every time she came to, her first command was for Connor to drag Deanna back to the hospital.

The moment Deanna stepped into the room, the Dixon family surrounded her like a pack closing in on prey.

Out of nowhere, a hard shove struck her from behind.

Her fever‑weakened body couldn't steady itself, and she crashed to her knees right in front of Gillian's bed.

She braced her hands on the floor, trying to push herself up, but a sharp kick landed against her back. Whipping around in anger, she found herself staring straight into Connor's icy gaze.

Her breath caught. "Connor..."

Tall and lean, Connor stood over her like a carved statue, the harsh overhead lights outlining every edge of his face and making his cold expression even more severe.

His mouth tightened into a flat line while he looked down at her, the kind of look one would give something disposable—something beneath notice.

In that stark moment, Deanna understood—three years of caring for Gillian, three years of hoping her devotion would soften him, had only turned her into a fool in their eyes.

"You murderer!" Gillian's mother, Judie Smith, screamed from the bedside, her voice shaking with hatred. "A cruel woman like you ought to pay for that child's life with your own!"

She punctuated the words by flinging the glass in her hand. It shattered across the floor, and razor‑sharp shards sliced into Deanna's palm.

On the bed, Gillian burst into a wail, collapsing into Judie's arms, sobbing so violently she looked ready to pass out.

Deanna caught something no one else noticed. Hidden against Judie's shoulder, Gillian's eyes gleamed with a victory so dark it made her stomach twist.

"Connor, I swear I did everything I could. I don't know why the baby's heartbeat stopped, but if you give me a little time, I'll find out exactly what happened." Still kneeling, Deanna steadied herself and tried to rise, her voice low but steady, desperate for someone—anyone—to listen.

However, Gillian's sobs swallowed every word. She buried her face in her hands, shaking uncontrollably, her voice trembling with perfect, deliberate fragility. "Deanna, what are you trying to say? That I would hurt my own child? It was my baby. My only chance at becoming a mother. You were the one who forced that strange herbal drink on me. I said it hurt... I begged you... but you made me drink it. You even said..."

She paused theatrically, brushing tears from her lashes before glancing at Susan, who sat like a judge.

Susan slammed her palm on the table, making the room jump. "What did she say?"

"Deanna also said if I didn't obey, she would cause me to miscarry," Gillian whispered, lifting her tear‑shimmering eyes in the most delicate display of innocence. "I drank what you gave me, Deanna. So why did you still go after my baby? Hurt me if you want, punish me if it makes you feel better, but why my child? I know you hate how much Connor cares for me, but he and I grew up side by side. That bond isn't something you can break."

Gillian's sobs rang through the room, raw and heartbreaking, yet her gaze kept flicking toward Susan, watching intently for her reaction.

Susan's grip tightened on her cane and rage twisted her features.

No one caught the tiny curl of Gillian's lip—no one except Deanna.

A moment later, Gillian sagged into Judie's arms, as if grief had drained the last of her strength.

Susan's cane came crashing down on Deanna's back.

Deanna never saw it coming. The force sent her stumbling forward with no one reaching out to steady her.

Her forehead smashed against the metal edge of the hospital bed, a sickening thud echoing through the room.

Deanna pressed her palm to her forehead, warm blood slipping between her fingers and clouding her vision.

"Starting today, you will resign from that hospital and devote yourself entirely to looking after Gillian. You owe her a lifetime of care after the chaos you caused!" Susan shouted.

The command hit Deanna like a heavy blow, leaving her dizzy and disoriented.

"That's not possible!" she exclaimed, gripping her head through the pain, her voice steady despite the tremor in her body. "Medicine has been my entire life. I won't throw away my career for anyone. And I did everything in my power to save the baby. I still don't know why the heartbeat stopped, but it wasn't because of anything I did. I never gave Gillian anything unsafe."

"Stubborn woman!" Susan snapped, bringing her cane down again—this time slamming it against Deanna's arm. "Connor, look at the woman you married! She talks back to me and has the nerve to harm Gillian!"

Deanna opened her mouth to defend herself, but Connor cut across her with an icy finality that froze her in place. "You have two choices. Quit the hospital and spend the rest of your life making up for what you've done to Gillian... or we end this marriage right now."