The Security Guard Ex and My Billionaire Husband

"Help!" My voice tore out of me and vanished into the wind.

I dropped to my knees beside my suitcase. Blood soaked through my jeans, shockingly hot against skin already numb from the cold. Another cramp seized low in my abdomen, hard enough to fold me over.

"Stay with me," I whispered, both hands cupped around the small curve of my belly. "Please. Just stay with me."

My phone slipped from my glove and struck the pavement. I snatched it up, but the screen showed one red sliver of battery before going black.

Above me, light pulsed behind the blinds of apartment 4B. Liam's game flashed blue and violet across the glass. I shouted his name until my throat burned. The window never opened.

Snow gathered on my coat and lashes. I tried to crawl toward the street, dragging the suitcase behind me, but my arms weakened after a few feet. The world narrowed to the blood on the snow and the terrible understanding that the man upstairs would not come unless his computer stopped working.

Headlights cut through the whiteout.

A black sedan braked hard at the curb. The rear door opened before the car fully stopped, and a tall man in a dark overcoat ran toward me without an umbrella.

"Chloe?"

I knew the voice before I managed to raise my head. Julian Sterling, founder and CEO of Sterling Group, had been the largest client at the agency that fired me. In conference rooms, he had been controlled to the point of intimidation. Now his polished shoes sank into slush as he dropped beside me.

"I'm pregnant," I said. The words barely formed. "The baby—"

"I know." His gaze swept over the blood, and something fierce entered his expression. "Do not try to stand."

He took off his cashmere coat and wrapped it around me. Then he slid one arm beneath my knees and the other around my back.

"Call St. Jude Medical Center," he ordered his driver. "Tell the emergency department we are coming in with a pregnant patient, severe bleeding and hypothermia."

The driver was already on the phone.

Julian lifted me. I caught the front of his shirt with one frozen hand.

"My suitcase," I murmured.

"Leave it."

"It's everything I have."

His jaw flexed. He looked over his shoulder. "Bring the suitcase."

Inside the car, heat blasted from the vents. Julian kept me on the wide back seat with my head against his chest while the driver pushed through the storm. He held my wrist between two fingers, counting my pulse, and spoke in a steady rhythm whenever my eyes closed.

"Stay with me, Chloe. Tell me the name of the campaign you presented in October."

"Northstar launch."

"The conversion increase?"

"Forty-one percent."

"Good. Tell me why."

I tried to answer, but the pain surged and the ceiling lights of the passing tunnel dissolved into darkness.

When I woke, antiseptic replaced the smell of snow. A monitor beeped beside me. My body felt hollow and bruised, as if the storm had passed through me and taken everything warm with it.

A physician stood at the foot of the bed with a tablet in his hands. His expression told me the truth before he spoke.

"Ms. Evans, I am Dr. Patel. You experienced a miscarriage complicated by significant blood loss and hypothermia. We completed the procedure and stabilized you."

I stared at him. "Is there a heartbeat?"

He paused. "No. I'm sorry."

The room remained perfectly still.

"Was it the cold?" I asked.

"There is rarely one simple cause," he said carefully. "Your bloodwork shows severe iron-deficiency anemia and signs of prolonged nutritional stress. The exposure and physical strain may have worsened an already dangerous situation, but you did not cause this."

I turned my face toward the window. Snow pressed against the glass in wet streaks.

"Do you have someone we can call?" he asked. "A partner, relative, close friend?"

The image of Liam laughing into his headset rose with brutal clarity.

"No."

"Our social worker can help with discharge planning. You should not recover alone."

"Please leave," I said.

Dr. Patel hesitated, then nodded. "Press the call button if you feel dizzy or if the bleeding increases."

The door clicked shut. Only then did I cover my mouth with both hands. Grief did not arrive as a scream. It came as a silent pressure so deep I could barely draw breath.

The door opened again several minutes later.

Julian entered without his coat. His white shirt was wrinkled, and a dark stain from melted snow marked one cuff. He carried water and a folder from the billing office.

"You should be at work," I said.

"It is three in the morning."

"Then you should be home."

He set the water beside me. "Drink slowly."

I ignored the glass. "How did you find me?"

"You missed a strategy review on Tuesday." He sat in the chair beside the bed. "You had never missed a meeting with my team. Your agency said you were on medical leave. When your phone was disconnected, I asked my office to locate your last payroll address."

"They fired me eight weeks ago."

His expression changed by a degree, but the anger in it was unmistakable. "They told me you resigned."

"They needed someone to blame after a vice president stole my campaign and botched the rollout."

Julian opened the folder and signed the financial responsibility form.

I pushed myself higher against the pillows. "Do not pay that."

"It is already done."

"I am not a charity case."

"I know."

"Then stop treating me like one."

He placed the pen down. "You nearly died outside an apartment where no one came when you called. You have no coat, no working phone, and no safe discharge address. Accepting help tonight does not make you weak."

His calm made my anger collapse into exhaustion.

"Why do you care?" I asked.

Julian reached into his pocket and placed a heavy brass key on the blanket between us.

"Because I spent two days looking for the only person at your agency who ever told me the truth," he said. "And because when this hospital releases you, you are not going back to that apartment."