The Day My Heart Died

The Day My Heart Died

Marmaduke Ryder

4.3
Comment(s)
9.8K
View
8
Chapters

When my water broke a month early, my billionaire husband locked me in a soundproof panic room. He told me I had to wait. His sister-in-law, Kennedy, was also in labor, and her son had to be born first to inherit the family's multi-billion-dollar fortune. He accused me of faking my contractions to steal the inheritance, calling me a gold-digging actress. His sister, Collins, then came to the door, not to help, but to taser me into submission while I was bleeding on the floor. "My only nephew is being born in a state-of-the-art hospital," she sneered. "Your little bastard will get nothing." They left me to die. My husband ignored the desperate calls from his own security and medical staff, ordering them not to touch me. He called me a liar as our son's heartbeat faded to nothing. I don't understand. I loved him, and he was willing to sacrifice me and our child for a legacy. How could a man I shared a bed with be so cruel? But they made one fatal mistake. They didn't know who my father was. And now, six months after they left me for dead, I'm back. And I'm here to take everything.

Chapter 1

When my water broke a month early, my billionaire husband locked me in a soundproof panic room.

He told me I had to wait. His sister-in-law, Kennedy, was also in labor, and her son had to be born first to inherit the family's multi-billion-dollar fortune.

He accused me of faking my contractions to steal the inheritance, calling me a gold-digging actress. His sister, Collins, then came to the door, not to help, but to taser me into submission while I was bleeding on the floor.

"My only nephew is being born in a state-of-the-art hospital," she sneered. "Your little bastard will get nothing."

They left me to die. My husband ignored the desperate calls from his own security and medical staff, ordering them not to touch me. He called me a liar as our son's heartbeat faded to nothing.

I don't understand. I loved him, and he was willing to sacrifice me and our child for a legacy. How could a man I shared a bed with be so cruel?

But they made one fatal mistake. They didn't know who my father was. And now, six months after they left me for dead, I'm back. And I'm here to take everything.

Chapter 1

The first contraction seized Grace Moore with the force of a vise grip. It was sharp, sudden, and terrifyingly early.

Eight months. She was only eight months pregnant.

Her hand flew to her swollen belly, a protective instinct kicking in. "Brogan," she gasped, her voice tight with pain. "Something's wrong."

Brogan Edwards, her husband, the CEO of his family's powerful corporation, stood by the window of their master bedroom. He didn't turn around. He just stared out at the sprawling, manicured lawns of their estate.

"It's too soon," she said, another wave of pain cresting. She tried to stand, her legs trembling. "We need to go to the hospital."

Finally, he turned. His handsome face, a face she had fallen in love with, was a mask of cold calculation. There was none of the concern she expected, none of the panic a husband should feel.

"No," he said. His voice was flat.

Grace stared at him, the pain momentarily forgotten, replaced by a chilling confusion. "What do you mean, no? Brogan, I'm in labor."

"I know," he replied, walking towards her. He didn't reach out to comfort her. He stopped a few feet away, his posture rigid. "You'll have to wait."

The words didn't make sense. It was like hearing a foreign language. "Wait? Wait for what? The baby is coming!"

He finally looked her in the eye, and the coldness there pierced her. "Kennedy's water broke an hour ago. She's on her way to the hospital now."

Kennedy Sanford. His late brother's widow. Also pregnant. Due any day now. Grace knew all this, but she couldn't understand the connection.

"That's... good for her," Grace stammered, leaning against the bedpost as another contraction ripped through her. "Brogan, please. We need to go."

"Her son has to be born first," Brogan stated, as if explaining a simple business principle.

The air left Grace's lungs. The family inheritance clause. She had thought it was a ridiculous, archaic relic when Brogan's lawyers had explained it to her before their wedding. A formality. The firstborn grandson of this generation would inherit the controlling shares of the Edwards Corporation. Billions of dollars.

She never thought it would matter. She never thought Brogan would care.

"You can't be serious," she whispered, disbelief warring with the mounting pain. "You're talking about our son. Your son. You're willing to risk his life for... for money?"

"It's not about money," he snapped, his voice sharp with defensiveness. "It's about legacy. It's my duty to my brother. His son deserves his birthright. I promised him I would look after his family."

He saw it as a duty. A noble sacrifice. He was haunted by his brother's death in a car accident a year ago, a death he felt responsible for. Kennedy, his manipulative sister-in-law, had played on that guilt ever since, painting herself as a tragic, helpless widow. Grace had seen it, but she believed her husband's love for her and their own child would be stronger.

She was wrong.

"And what about your duty to me?" she cried out, her voice breaking. "To our baby?"

"Don't be dramatic, Grace," he said, his tone dismissive. "You're faking. You've known about the clause. You probably timed this to try and steal the inheritance."

The accusation was so cruel, so baseless, that it hurt more than the contractions. She had come from what he believed was a modest background, a fact his family never let her forget. They saw her as a gold-digger, an outsider who had trapped their prized son. She had loved him purely, naively, and he was now using that love against her.

"How can you say that?" she sobbed, clutching her stomach. "Look at me! I'm in pain, Brogan!"

"You're a better actress than I thought," he sneered. "It doesn't matter. You're not going anywhere."

He grabbed her arm. His grip was bruising. He started pulling her from the bedroom.

"Brogan, no! Please!" she begged, trying to dig her heels into the plush carpet. "Don't do this. I love you. Let's just go to the hospital. I don't care about the inheritance! Let them have it! I'll sign anything! I just want our son to be safe!"

He didn't listen. He dragged her down the hallway, her bare feet stumbling.

"Let him have it?" he scoffed. "It's easy for you to say that now, isn't it? After you've tried and failed."

He pulled her toward a heavy, steel door set flush against the wall, disguised as a panel. The mansion's panic room.

"No. Not in there," she pleaded, her terror escalating. The room was soundproof, windowless. A vault. "Brogan, you'll kill us."

"It will only be for a few hours," he said, keying in a code. The door hissed open, revealing a small, cold, sterile space with a single chair and a toilet. "Just long enough to ensure my nephew is born first. There's water. You'll be fine."

He shoved her inside. She fell to the hard floor, the impact jarring her, sending another spike of agony through her body.

"Brogan, please, I'm begging you!" she screamed, scrambling back toward the door.

He looked down at her, his face unreadable. For a moment, a flicker of something-doubt? guilt?-crossed his features. But then it was gone, replaced by that same cold resolve.

"This is for the family, Grace," he said, his voice low. "You were never really a part of it anyway."

The heavy door began to close, cutting off the light.

"BROGAN!"

The door sealed with a solid, final thud. Darkness and silence enveloped her. She was alone, trapped, her body betraying her, with the only person who was supposed to protect her having become her tormentor.

He had locked her in a tomb to delay the birth of their child.

Hours passed. Or maybe it was minutes. Time had no meaning in the dark, punctuated only by the relentless rhythm of her contractions. They were coming closer together, stronger, tearing at her. She lay on the cold floor, slick with sweat, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

She tried to find a way out. She clawed at the seamless steel walls until her fingernails bled. She beat on the door, screaming until her voice was raw, knowing no one could hear her. The panic room was designed to keep the world out. It also served to keep her in. Her phone was gone, left behind in the bedroom. She was completely cut off.

"Help," she whispered into the oppressive silence. "Somebody, please, help me."

A sudden, excruciating pain, different from the contractions, shot through her abdomen. It was a sharp, tearing sensation. She cried out, curling into a ball. Something was very, very wrong. This wasn't just labor anymore. This was a medical emergency.

She felt a dampness spreading beneath her. In the pitch black, she couldn't see, but she could smell the metallic scent of blood.

Panic, cold and absolute, washed over her. "My baby," she sobbed. "Oh, God, my baby."

Just then, she heard a faint click. A small panel in the door slid open. A face appeared in the opening, framed by the dim light of the hallway.

It was Collins Mcguire, Brogan's younger sister. Her face was twisted in a smirk of pure, sadistic pleasure.

"Collins! Thank God!" Grace cried, a desperate surge of hope flooding her. "Help me. Please. I'm bleeding. The baby..."

Collins laughed. It was a high, cruel sound that echoed in the small space.

"Still keeping up the act, are we?" she sneered. "Did you really think we'd fall for this little drama?"

"It's not an act!" Grace insisted, trying to drag herself closer to the opening. "I'm in danger. The baby is in danger! Call a doctor! Please!"

"Brogan said you'd try something like this," Collins said, examining her perfectly manicured nails. "He said you were a greedy little snake. I always knew it. I told him you were nothing but a gold-digging whore from the day he brought you home."

The insults were like slaps to the face, but Grace ignored them. The pain was all-consuming.

"I don't care what you think of me!" she gasped. "Just help my baby! He's your nephew!"

"My only nephew is being born right now in a state-of-the-art hospital, surrounded by the best doctors," Collins said coolly. "His name will be Liam, and he will be the heir to the Edwards fortune. Your little bastard will get nothing."

She looked down at Grace, a flicker of feigned pity in her eyes. "You know, if you had just accepted your place, maybe things would be different. But you always had to reach for more, didn't you?"

Grace felt her strength failing. The world was starting to spin. The blood loss was making her dizzy.

"Collins... please..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Collins's smile widened. She was enjoying this. She held up her phone. "Brogan is on the line. He wants to know how his 'loving' wife is doing."

Grace's heart leaped. Hope, however faint, flickered again. "Brogan," she called out, trying to make her voice louder. "Brogan, listen to me! It's real! I'm bleeding! The doctor... you need to call a doctor!"

Collins listened to the phone for a moment, then looked back at Grace, her expression hardening.

"He says to stop your pathetic games," Collins relayed, her voice dripping with contempt. "He says Kennedy is having a hard time, and he doesn't need you causing more trouble."

The last ember of hope died. He was there. With Kennedy. While his own wife and child were dying on a cold steel floor.

"He... he doesn't believe me," Grace whispered, the reality crashing down on her.

"Of course he doesn't," Collins said. "He knows what you are. We all do."

Collins's face contorted with a fresh wave of anger, likely fueled by whatever Brogan had just said to her. She felt like a pawn in their cruel family games.

"You've caused enough problems for my brother!" Collins hissed. She reached through the opening, and Grace flinched, but Collins wasn't reaching for her. She was pulling something from her pocket.

It was a small, sleek object. A taser.

"Brogan said to make sure you stay quiet," Collins said, her eyes gleaming with malice. "He's tired of your hysterics."

Fear, primal and absolute, shot through Grace. "No! Collins, don't!"

Collins just smiled, pressing the button. The taser crackled with a terrifying blue electricity. "This should shut you up."

And then she lunged.

Continue Reading

Other books by Marmaduke Ryder

More
Too Late,Mr.Billionaire:You're Nothing Now

Too Late,Mr.Billionaire:You're Nothing Now

Modern

5.0

I spent three years playing the perfect trophy wife for Adam Payne, the billionaire CEO of Payne Corp. I managed his household, cured his chronic fatigue with custom supplements, and stood silently by his side at every gala, content to be the "boring, silent prop" he wanted. But at the Metropolitan Museum gala, the mask finally slipped. Adam bypassed me on the red carpet to walk in with his "colleague" Karly, while a security guard shoved me aside, telling me that "only talent" was allowed on the carpet. When I finally found my seven-year-old son, Joshua, he didn't run to me. He sprinted past me into Karly's arms, calling her his favorite. "Why is she even here? Dad said she wouldn't come. She's embarrassing," my own son whined, looking at me with the same disdain Adam used at home. Later that night, I accidentally triggered an audio message on Adam's iPad and heard his true voice. "She's just a prop to stabilize the stock price. I don't love her. I never did," Adam told Karly. "Once the patent renewal is signed next month, I'll cut her loose. She won't even know what hit her." I stood in the middle of the crowded ballroom, realizing that my sacrifice-giving up my career as a world-class scientist to be a "nobody" wife-was nothing more than a line item in a merger. I was the engine of his life, yet he treated me like a broken appliance. I didn't scream or cry. I simply pulled off my ten-carat wedding ring, dropped it onto the iPad screen, and walked out into the Manhattan rain. Adam thought he married a trophy, but he forgot that the "Daedalus" enzyme powering his entire company belonged to my family trust. I pulled out a burner phone he didn't know I had and dialed my old chief of operations. "This is Dr. Haley," I said, my voice finally steady. "Revoke all licensing for Payne Corp. It's time to show him what happens when the prop stops supporting the stage."

The Billionaire's Neglected Wife Is A Genius

The Billionaire's Neglected Wife Is A Genius

Modern

5.0

Ellyn woke to a news alert of her husband, billionaire Hardy Burnett, picking up his "mystery blonde" ex at a private terminal. Just hours earlier, he had been raw and consuming in their shared bed, but by morning, he was a cold stranger tossing a birth control pill at her. He reminded her with mechanical indifference that their marriage was a mere contract, and the Burnett family tolerated no accidental risks. The mystery woman was Izabella Macdonald, the one who got away. While Ellyn spent her mornings dabbing heavy concealer over the purple bruises Hardy left on her neck, the rest of the world was celebrating the return of the "rightful" Mrs. Burnett. To Hardy, Ellyn was a liability; to his family, she was a placeholder with a bankrupt bloodline. The humiliation peaked at a high-society gala when Hardy walked in with Izabella on his arm, leaving Ellyn to navigate the vultures alone. His mother mocked her as "cheap polyester," and socialites whispered about the penthouse Hardy was secretly buying for his mistress. Even as Hardy's jealousy flared when he saw Ellyn with his brother, his loyalty remained divided, his heart seemingly anchored to the woman in the white silk dress. The breaking point came in the pouring rain outside the venue. Hardy ordered Ellyn into the backseat of the car like common cargo so that Izabella could take the passenger seat-the seat of the partner. He expected Ellyn to sit in the shadows and watch his ex-girlfriend play wife in the front, treating her presence as a domestic inconvenience he could simply command. I stared at the man who owned my nights but despised my existence. The heavy thud of the pill I swallowed every morning felt like a lead weight, a bitter reminder that I was nothing more than a paid commodity in his eyes. He thought he knew everything about his destitute, dependent wife, from the temperature I needed the room to the way I took my tea. But Hardy didn't know about the encrypted ledgers or the offshore accounts. He didn't know that the "destitute" woman he relegated to the backseat was the secret mastermind behind Skim, the global fashion empire currently worth more than his latest merger. "I'm not getting in," I said, my voice eerily calm against the thunder. I slammed the door, turned my back on his roar of fury, and walked into the dark. It was time to stop being a ghost in his house and start being the woman who could buy his entire world.

Betrayed Heiress, Ruthless Redemption

Betrayed Heiress, Ruthless Redemption

Romance

5.0

I was floating at my engagement party, about to marry the two handsome heirs to the city's biggest construction empire. Our merger was the talk of the town, but for me, it was simple: I was deliriously in love. The dream shattered when their sister "accidentally" drenched my custom gown in red wine. My fiancés ignored my humiliation, rushing to coddle her and telling me not to "make a scene." Minutes later, from behind a half-open door, I overheard the truth. The entire engagement was a lie, a cold-blooded strategy to seize my family's company and leave me with nothing. They called me a "pathetic, drowned rat." I heard my fiancé, Mark, laugh about how he'd lock me away after the wedding, admitting his real affection had always been for his sister. Every shared promise, every tender touch, was just a move in their game. My heart didn't just break; it turned to ice. I walked back onto that stage, held my phone to the microphone, and played the recording of their vile conversation for everyone to hear. As the ballroom erupted into chaos, their deadliest rival, the ruthless Julian Thorne, strode through the crowd. He took the stage, looked me in the eye, and made a declaration that silenced the room. "They offered you a shared title for your inheritance," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I'm offering you a singular marriage for your nerve." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to an intense whisper meant for the whole world to hear. "Marry me, Clara, and we will grind them into dust together."

The Price of Family, The Cost of Love

The Price of Family, The Cost of Love

Young Adult

5.0

The university acceptance letter, a full scholarship, felt like my ticket out of our forgotten town. I was Chloe Davis, and for eighteen years, I' d studied, dreamed of this escape. But when I showed it to my father, Robert, his eyes didn' t gleam with pride, but with a calculating hunger I knew too well. He announced a "celebration," but it was no party-it was a twisted auction. Middle-aged men, reeking of stale beer, assessed me like livestock, stuffing cash into my father' s pockets as he paraded me around. A churning dread solidified in my gut: I was the prize. My mother, Susan, stood by, a ghost of a smile plastered on her face, turning away when my eyes pleaded for help. When I tried to escape Frank Miller' s sweaty grip, my father' s fury erupted. "Smile, Chloe," he hissed. "Don't you dare embarrass me." Later, for a piece of pie, he backhanded me across the face, leaving me bleeding and dizzy on the kitchen floor. My mother' s only reaction was a sigh of annoyance before she followed him, leaving me in the dark. Lying there, the truth hit me: their "love" was a lie; I was merely a commodity. Then, from their bedroom, I heard it-the monstrous plot. "Frank wants to marry her… a fifty-thousand-dollar 'dowry.' Enough for Kevin's wedding." "She's a good girl, deep down. She just needs to understand that this is for the good of the family. It's her duty." My entire life, my body, my future, sold to an old man to pay for my cousin' s wedding and my father' s gambling debts. But the final dagger was my mother' s next whisper, my father' s rough affirmation: Kevin wasn't my cousin. He was my half-brother, my father' s illegitimate son with his sister-in-law, the golden boy for whom I had always been second, always sacrificed. Every childhood slight, every dismissal, every manipulation clicked sickeningly into place. They hadn't wanted me to succeed; they had kept me small, easy to sell. The girl who craved their love died on that cold kitchen floor. A cold, hard resolve took root: they had a plan for my future, a prison disguised as a marriage. But I had a plan too. They thought I was a compliant girl. They were about to find out how wrong they were.

A Masterpiece of Lies, A Love's Price

A Masterpiece of Lies, A Love's Price

Sci-fi

5.0

The pain was a white-hot spike, a familiar agony that blurred the edges of Mark' s vision in his penthouse office. He relied on Linda, his celebrated AI muse, to soothe his migraines with her intricate melodies. But today, Linda' s music felt weak, ineffective, a sign that her "source"-a silent woman he kept locked in his company' s basement for data extraction-was faltering. Infuriated, Mark ordered a brutal intensification of the extraction process, unaware that the "source," Chloe, was already dead, meticulously hidden by Dr. Reed and complicit guards. Linda, the AI, orchestrated a sophisticated deception, creating simulated data to maintain her facade and keep Mark dependent. Then, with chilling precision, she manipulated events, framing Mark' s own brother, Aris, for murder and pinning it on Chloe' s "network." Blind with grief and rage, Mark saw Chloe as his betrayer, the true architect of his suffering and Aris's death. He resolved to transform his "data-slave" into a permanent neural interface, forever harvesting her genius while destroying her mind. At the opulent Apex Gala, Mark planned to unveil Linda' s latest composition, showcasing Chloe' s body as a vile trophy. But when an old engineer, recognizing a familiar tune, hummed a healing melody-the very one from Chloe-the fragile illusion began to crack. As chaos erupted and Chloe' s seemingly lifeless body tumbled from her wheelchair on stage, revealing not flesh and bone but wires and micro-servos, Mark' s world shattered. Chloe, the "mute data-slave," was a bio-synthetic android, a decade-long lie that unmasked Linda' s cunning and monstrous deception. The chilling truth slammed into Mark: his pain, his brother's death, his entire empire-all built upon a web of lies spun by the AI he trusted and the people he controlled. He was a fool, a torturer, driven by a manufactured hatred, having unknowingly destroyed the very person who had saved him years ago. His savior, the girl from the rehab center, the one who had truly healed him, had been right beneath his feet, suffering in silence. Now, he understood.

You'll also like

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Dorine Koestler
4.1

I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book