The Exiled Heiress Returns For Her Son

Chloe POV:

Flash!

A blinding strike of lightning ripped through the darkness, followed by the deafening roar of thunder that shook the private clinic's delivery room.

"Push, Miss Parrish! Push!"

Agony tore through every nerve in my body. Cold sweat drenched my hair, plastering it to my forehead as I gripped the sterile metal rails of the hospital bed until my knuckles turned white.

"The first baby is out! It's a boy!"

A feeble, breathless wail echoed through the room.

"My baby..." I sobbed, lifting my head with the last shred of strength in my exhausted body. "Let me see him... please, just let me hold my son..."

"Take him to the incubator. Now," the doctor commanded coldly, ignoring my outstretched, trembling hands.

But as the nurse lifted my newborn son, the overhead light caught the side of his tiny head. For one fleeting second, I saw it-a small, crescent-shaped mark just beneath his right hairline, delicate as a moon sliver.

Through the blur of my tears, I watched latex-gloved hands wrap my newborn son in a white blanket and carry him straight out the heavy doors into the shadowy corridor. I didn't even get to see his face.

Before I could scream, another violent contraction ripped through my abdomen.

"There's a second one! It's a twin!"

More pain. More blood. When a tiny girl was pulled from my body, the monitors shrieked in a high-pitched frenzy. Red warning lights bathed the sterile ceiling.

"She's hemorrhaging! Blood pressure is bottoming out!"

Darkness rushed in from the edges of my vision. The cold smell of iron and antiseptic filled my throat. As the world faded to black, the doctor's robotic voice delivered my execution: The boy didn't make it, Miss Parrish. Only the girl survived.

"No... no!"

"Mommy, wake up!"

A pair of small, warm hands pressed firmly against my cheeks, gently shaking me.

I gasped, shooting upright in my seat. Cold sweat clung to my neck, my chest heaving as my lungs fought for air. I blinked against the morning sunlight streaming through the cabin window, rubbing my trembling wrists where the phantom memory of metal hospital restraints still burned.

Beside me sat my five-year-old daughter, Sophie. She was clutching her stuffed rabbit, her wide brown eyes filled with concern.

"Mommy had a bad dream again?" Sophie whispered softly, resting her small head against my arm.

I pulled her into my arms, burying my face in her soft curls, breathing in the scent of baby powder and strawberries. My heart ached with a hollow, crushing grief that five years had never managed to dull.

It had been a dream-a memory of the nightmare from five years ago.

Five years ago, right after my forced engagement to Declan Garrison was finalized, someone had spiked my drink at a celebratory banquet. I never found out who was behind it. I only remembered waking up in a pitch-black penthouse suite, tangled in silk sheets with a shadowy stranger whose face was completely hidden in the dark.

That mysterious, chaotic night left me pregnant with twins.

When the clinic declared my baby boy stillborn, my father Richard felt utterly disgraced by my illegitimate pregnancy. Looking to rid himself of a scandal, he hypocritically handed me the management of Alistair BioTech-a company he believed was already teetering on the brink of bankruptcy-and banished infant Sophie and me to Paris to fend for ourselves.

For five years, I mourned a dead child while pouring every ounce of my soul into rebuilding Alistair BioTech from the ground up.

Until three days ago.

Solo, my prodigy hacker and digital partner in Europe, breached the sealed archives of that Chicago clinic. My son had never died. His records were falsified, and he had been secretly transferred into an anonymous high-profile trust in Chicago.

My boy was alive.

And as for the shadowy man who fathered my twins in the dark? A surge of cold anger flared in my chest. If I ever found that reckless bastard, I wouldn't just demand answers-I would make him pay for every tear my children and I had shed.

"Mommy's okay, sweetheart," I whispered, kissing Sophie's forehead. "We're almost in Chicago. We're going to find your brother."

"And what about that bad uncle?" Sophie asked, tilting her head. "Grandpa said on the phone that he's waiting at the airport to make you sign papers."

My gaze hardened. Now that word had reached Chicago that I had turned Alistair BioTech into a thriving, highly profitable biomedical enterprise in Europe, Richard and Declan were shamelessly demanding that I hand over the company shares upon my return, claiming I owed Declan 'compensation' for having children out of wedlock.

"We have a plan for him," I said, tapping her nose. "What did we agree to do as soon as we land?"

Sophie giggled with bright mischief. "Fire the rude fiancé!"

I picked up my tablet to review Chicago's elite dossiers. On the sports sidebar, a breaking headline flashed with a photograph of Beckett Rhodes, the legendary captain of the Chicago Blackhawks.

The photo made my breath hitch.

He stood on the ice in a dark crimson jersey, helmet off, his black hair damp with sweat. His jaw was chiseled from slate, his shoulders impossibly broad, and his smoke-gray eyes held a lethal, predatory stillness.

A sudden, electric jolt struck my chest.

Those eyes... that jawline... the sheer breadth of his frame...

For a fleeting second, the shadowy figure from that dark hotel suite five years ago overlapped perfectly with the man on the screen. Could it be him?

I shook my head, quickly dismissing the thought. Impossible. An elite hockey superstar wouldn't be tangled in a cheap setup in a shady penthouse. I'm just projecting.

I closed the tab, uncapping a tube of vintage crimson lipstick. Looking at my reflection in the window, I painted a sharp, immaculate line across my lips.

Five years ago, I was a plain, timid girl who wore oversized sweaters and hid behind thick glasses.

Today, the hunter had returned.