The Fair Lady with the Fairy voice

While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her

Katie Oettgen

As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole. I begged him for help, my vision blurring. But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background. "Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again." He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm. I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube. Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry. Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled. "You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up." He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research. I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym. They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive. They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding. I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it. Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house. The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born.

Romance Crime Revenge Pregnancy Enemies to Lovers Pregnancy Personal Growth

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Sunlight spilled over the marble driveway of Azzam as black cars name it limousine , g-wagon.....rowed in perfect formation. The scent of oud drifted faintly through the air - warm, regal, intoxicating.

And then, through the slow sweep of the palace gates, stepped Prince Kamil Azzam.

For a moment, it felt as if the world hesitated - like the air itself forgot how to move.

He wasn't just handsome. He was otherworldly. His presence seemed sculpted - tall, lean, and cut in the quiet precision of a prince who carried both grace and command. His skin held a soft bronze warmth that glowed under the sun, his dark hair slicked back just enough to

reveal lashes too long for a man. Even his silence spoke of a power that needed no announcement.

The cameras flashed in rhythm.

Somewhere, someone whispered, "He looks like his father." His Father- the late king died 10 years ago along side his mother -the late queen . kamil had just clocked 9 in a fatal accident that was too glaring it was a set up.

Liam whistled under his breath as he stepped out beside him. "Man, are you sure you're

human?" Abel chuckled, adjusting his blazer. "Half-angel, half–family money."

Kamil's lips curved, just barely. "Try to behave," he murmured, walking ahead, the faintest smirk trailing behind his words.

The massive glass doors of the palace glided open as if summoned by his presence. Everything about Azzam Palace screamed wealth .

"Behave?" Liam muttered under his breath as they entered. "Bro, I don't even know how to

walk in a place like this. Do I salute the walls or what?"

Abel gave him a side-eye. "Just don't trip over the carpet. It probably costs more than your

car."Kamil laughed softly - a low, clean sound that somehow made the maids look up and smile.

The Grand Hall looked like a dream dipped in diamonds.

White marble floors stretched endlessly beneath the glow of a chandelier that looked big enough to light a city. Soft music hummed from the far corner as maids in silk uniforms

moved gracefully, arranging gold trays and flower vases.

At the far end, upon the raised dais, sat Queen Ayisha (Kamil's stepmother) - her beauty soft and timeless, her eyes warm as she watched the entrance. Beside her stood Princess Mirian( her first daughter for her first late husband), poised and elegant in a champagne gown that caught the light like spun glass. Her smile was gentle.

And below them, almost bouncing with energy, was Princess Yaya(her second daughter for the king) barely able to stand still. Her white lace dress sparkled as she tugged impatiently at her maid's hand.

"Is he here yet?" she whispered. "He promised to call when he landed!"

Before the maid could answer, the guards' voices rang out:

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