The True Heiress Leaves The Billionaire

The smell hit Calista before the cup even touched the mahogany table. It was a pungent, rotting stench of boiled fish and bitter herbs. Her stomach violently cramped. She pressed her thighs together under the table, trying to stop her knees from shaking. Miriam Holder pushed the dark green liquid across the polished wood. The heavy porcelain cup made a dull, scraping sound against the table. It was the only sound in the dead silence of the Long Island estate's dining room. "Drink it," Miriam commanded. Her voice was ice. Brenda, the head housekeeper, stood near the doorway. A blatant, mocking smirk twisted her lips. She didn't even try to hide her contempt. Calista stared at the murky liquid. Her throat closed up. She reached out with a trembling hand, her cold fingers wrapping around the warm porcelain. She brought it closer to her face. The foul odor rushed into her nostrils. Calista slapped her hand over her mouth. A harsh, uncontrollable gag ripped from her throat. Miriam's face darkened instantly. She slammed her palm flat against the table and stood up. Her heavy wooden chair screeched loudly against the expensive Persian rug. Before Calista could lower her hand, Miriam's arm swung through the air. The slap was blinding. The sharp crack echoed off the high ceilings of the empty dining room. Calista's head snapped to the side. A burning heat exploded across her left cheek. Her skin immediately flared red with the imprint of Miriam's fingers. "If you don't produce an heir by the end of this month, you are out of the Holder family," Miriam hissed. "Don't forget you were just Calista Beck before you married into this family. You will leave with nothing." Brenda stepped forward and handed Miriam a wet wipe. Miriam scrubbed her fingers slowly, as if touching Calista had infected her with a disease. Calista swallowed the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. She forced the tears back down her throat. She kept her head bowed. "I'm sorry," Calista whispered. Her voice was completely hollow. Miriam dropped the soiled wipe onto the table. She turned on her heel and walked out of the dining room, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Brenda followed closely behind. Calista was left alone with the cold air and the bitter potion. She stood up from the chair. Her legs felt like lead. She walked out of the dining room, crossed the massive marble hallway, and slowly climbed the grand spiral staircase. She pushed open the heavy double doors to the master bedroom. Calista collapsed onto the wide leather sofa at the foot of the bed. She pulled her phone from her pocket and opened her period tracking app. A bright red circle flashed on the screen. Today was the peak day of her ovulation window. She took a deep, shaky breath. The air burned her lungs. She walked into the walk-in closet and pulled out a black lace nightgown she had never worn before. The fabric felt cold and foreign against her skin. She moved to the bathroom vanity. She opened her concealer and carefully dabbed it over the red handprint on her cheek, blending it until the skin looked flawlessly pale again. She picked up a bottle of rose perfume. Jett had casually mentioned he liked it once, three years ago. She sprayed it on her wrists and neck. At eleven o'clock that night, heavy, steady footsteps sounded on the stairs. The bedroom door opened. Jett Holder walked in, bringing the biting chill of the New York winter with him. He reached up and loosened his silk tie with a sharp tug. His cold, dark eyes swept over Calista and the sheer black lace. His expression didn't change. There was no warmth. No surprise. Calista swallowed her pride. It felt like swallowing glass. She walked up to him and reached out to take his custom-tailored suit jacket. As she pulled the jacket from his shoulders, she let her fingertips brush intentionally against his broad chest. Jett's movements paused. He looked down at her. He saw the desperate, calculated look in her eyes. He didn't push her away. Instead, his large hand reached up and gripped her jaw. His fingers dug into her skin, the pressure hard enough to make her wince. He leaned down and captured her lips. It wasn't a kiss. It was a punishment. His teeth scraped against her bottom lip, taking what he wanted without giving anything back. Calista closed her eyes. Her hands gripped the edges of his crisp dress shirt tightly. She endured the cold, mechanical invasion. Jett reached out and slammed his hand against the bedside lamp. The light snapped off. The massive room was plunged into absolute darkness, filled only with the sound of heavy, loveless breathing.