The Jilted Wife's Spectacular Billionaire Return

Eleonora pushed open the heavy oak door of the penthouse.

The living room was dark. The only light came from the glowing tip of a cigarette. Butler sat on the edge of the leather sofa. The smoke curled around his face, hiding his expression.

Eleonora's chest felt tight. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She gripped the plastic pregnancy test in her right hand. Her palms were sweating. Two pink lines. She was pregnant.

She took a step forward. Her heels sank into the thick carpet.

"Butler?" she whispered.

He didn't move. He took another drag of his cigarette.

Eleonora forced her legs to walk toward him. She held out the pregnancy test. Her hand shook.

"I have something to tell you," she said. Her voice trembled with a fragile hope.

Butler slowly turned his head. His eyes locked onto hers. They were cold. Dead. Like looking at a stranger.

He snatched the plastic stick from her trembling fingers. He stared at the two pink lines.

A harsh, bitter laugh ripped from his throat.

He stood up. He was a full head taller than her. The air in the room suddenly felt too thin to breathe.

He backhanded the test out of her grip. It flew across the room, but his movement was so violent that his heavy signet ring caught her cheek. The metal scraped her skin, and a thin line of blood welled up on her cheekbone.

Eleonora gasped. She touched her face. Her fingers came away red.

"You cheating whore," Butler spat.

The words hit her like a physical blow to the stomach. She stumbled back.

"What?" she choked out. "No, Butler, you don't understand. That night at the hotel, I was drugged-"

He closed the distance between them in one stride. His large hand shot out and gripped her jaw. His fingers dug into her skin, pressing against the bone.

Pain shot through her face. Tears pricked her eyes.

"Whose bastard is it?" he growled. His jaw ticked. The muscles in his neck were pulled tight.

"It's yours!" she cried out. A tear spilled over her eyelashes and ran down her cheek, mixing with the blood.

Butler looked at her with pure disgust. He let go of her jaw like she was something rotting.

He turned to his leather briefcase on the coffee table. He pulled out two thick stacks of paper. He slammed them down on the glass surface. The sound echoed in the quiet room.

"Sign them," he ordered.

Eleonora looked down. Her stomach dropped. Bile rose in her throat.

The first document was a divorce agreement. The second was a medical consent form for an immediate termination of pregnancy.

Her lungs stopped working. She stared at the words termination of pregnancy.

"You want to kill our baby?" she whispered. Her vocal cords felt like sandpaper.

"It's not mine," he said. His voice was flat. Empty.

Eleonora looked at the man she loved. Her chest caved in. The hope inside her died, replaced by a cold, sharp terror.

She grabbed the heavy metal pen from the table. Her hand shook violently. She signed her name on the divorce papers. The ink dug into the page.

Then, she picked up the medical consent form. She gripped the edges and ripped it in half. Then again. And again.

She threw the shredded pieces into the air. They fell around them like dirty snow.

Butler's eyes darkened. A muscle jumped in his cheek.

"Get in here," he barked toward the hallway.

The heavy door opened. Two massive bodyguards in black suits stepped into the room.

"Take her to the hospital," Butler commanded. He turned his back to her and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. He didn't look back.

The bodyguards grabbed Eleonora's arms. Their grips were like iron vises.

"No! Butler, please!" she screamed. She dug her heels into the carpet.

They dragged her out of the penthouse. She fought, kicking and thrashing, but they were too strong.

They pulled her into the elevator. The doors slid shut, cutting off her view of the hallway.

Minutes later, they shoved her into the back seat of a black Lincoln SUV parked on the street.

The heavy car doors locked with a loud click. The engine roared to life.

Eleonora slammed her fists against the tinted window. She watched the penthouse building shrink in the distance.

Her breathing was ragged. Panic clawed at her throat. Crying wouldn't save her.

She forced herself to stop hitting the glass. She slumped against the leather seat. She slipped her trembling hand into the deep pocket of her wool coat.

Her fingers found her spare cell phone.

She kept her eyes on the back of the driver's head. She moved her fingers blindly over the screen. She typed a quick, desperate message to her best friend, Allyson, in Europe.

Hospital. Help me.

She pressed send.

The SUV took a sharp turn. Eleonora's body jerked sideways. The phone slipped from her sweaty fingers. It fell deep into the crack between the leather seats.

The bodyguard in the passenger seat turned his head. His eyes narrowed.

Eleonora immediately bent forward. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and let out a loud groan of pain.

The bodyguard turned back around.

She leaned her head against the cold glass of the window. The neon lights of Manhattan blurred as they drove. She placed a hand over her flat stomach. She silently promised the life growing inside her that she would protect it.

The SUV screeched to a halt in the underground parking garage of a private hospital.

The doors opened. The bodyguards pulled her out. The harsh smell of bleach and antiseptic hit her nose. Her stomach rolled.

They dragged her to a private elevator. The doors opened on the top floor. The VIP wing.

They pushed her into a sterile, freezing hospital room. The door slammed shut behind her. The lock clicked.

Eleonora spun around. She ran to the window. It was sealed shut. Thick reinforced glass. No handles. She checked the air vents. Screwed tight.

She was trapped.

The handle on the door rattled.

Eleonora backed away. Her heart hammered in her ears. She grabbed the heavy metal IV pole next to the bed. She held it up like a baseball bat.

The door swung open.

It wasn't a doctor.

Carli Ward stepped into the room. She wore a custom-tailored trench coat and red-bottomed heels. Her blonde hair was perfectly styled.

Carli looked at Eleonora's messy hair and bleeding face. A slow, wicked smile spread across her red lips.

She stepped inside, and the door clicked loudly behind her, the electronic lock engaging from the outside. Her bodyguard must have secured it.

"What are you doing here?" Eleonora demanded. Her grip on the IV pole tightened. Her knuckles turned white.

Carli walked forward. She didn't flinch. She reached out and yanked the IV pole from Eleonora's hands. She threw it across the room. It crashed against the wall.

Carli leaned in close. Her expensive perfume mixed with the smell of hospital bleach.

"You pathetic replacement," Carli whispered. "Did you really think he loved you? I arranged all of this."

Eleonora's blood boiled. She raised her hand to slap the smug smile off Carli's face.

Before her hand could connect, Carli's personal bodyguard stepped out from the bathroom. He grabbed Eleonora from behind. He pinned her arms to her sides.

Eleonora struggled, but she couldn't move an inch.