His Discarded Wife Is A Zillionaire Heiress

r a moment longer than necessary, her fingers pressing against the stiff cardboard as if saying goodbye to

m inside her handbag. The default ringtone sounded unnatural

me: Ethan. She swiped to answer, p

error. "Listen to me carefully. You can't go home. You can't go to the offi

e. "What? Ethan, what

s up, Chloe. I don't know who yet, but this wasn't random. You need to leave Manhattan. Tonight. Go to t

don

o you und

throat tight. "But where a

anyone. Don't trust anyone." The line crackled with

her question, the line we

e stood there on the windy sidewalk, the envelope already gone, her brother's desperate words echoing in her ears. Someone set

walked toward the curb, her heels clicking against the

es screamed in protest against the wet asphalt. It swerved and slammed into the fire hydrant at the e

, before she could even process what was happening, a piece of metal shrapnel, torn from the hydrant's c

ed. The world t

r of a ski mask before the world went dark. The last thing she registered was the smell of damp wool and gasoline

ht, too shocked to screa

the SUV sped away, disappea

came. She tried to break free, but there was nothing to hold onto-just concrete walls and a locked door that never

le morning. The air in the abandoned, subterranean clinic tasted of antiseptic and damp concrete. Chloe was strapped to a cold, metal bed, her belly swollen

hands gripped the iron bedrails, her knuckles white, her nails scraping against the rusted meta

ifference, checking monitors and ignoring her pleas for help

of her pain. The underground doctor roughly pulled

ry. A girl. She was plac

ust before the darkness claimed her, she felt it. A third, unmistakable spasm deep w

en again, the digital clock on the w

t babies slept peacefully inside. She counted them. Two. She blinked and counted again. St

concrete floor echoed from the hallway. It wa

w of the locked iron door. Her eyes, usually feigning i

abdomen sent her gasping back against the thin ma

e dripping with mockery, easily carrying through the doo

true. You can't do this." Her fist pounded against the thin mattress, weak but

he turned and walked away. The sound of her heels fad

f metal on metal. It was the sound of a tomb being sealed. Heavier than the enve

ve so fierce it almost hurt more than the physical pain. She loved them. God, she loved them.

ep her from losing consciousness. The copper taste of blood filled her

ceiling, at the walls, at the two sleeping babies who would never know how

d and fire. She would get her son b