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Mr. Rhodes, Your Dead Fiancée Is Pregnant

Chapter 7

Word Count: 974 | Released on: Today at 16:35

ouse, Rourke tossed a thick manila folder on

a Quinn," Rourke said, his comba

eighteenth birthday, wearing a bespoke ballgown and a diamond tiara. Beneath it wa

or five silent minutes. "Three years in my bed,

ourke said. "If I file an emergency flight plan right now, your

and threw it back onto the ta

ed for the foyer. "Suit yourself. I've got an

Lucian spoke, his voice low and

Elias Kane's private research lab in M

off his lab coat as if he had be

b her trail this week?

e first thing about hacking," Elias said, gesturing towar

locking onto Elias. "With who s

ng across from him. "I'm not her husband.

ened on his knee. "The

Crown Prince

degrees. Lucian's jaw set so ha

he Valmoran crown. At three years old, they took her from her mother and locked her in a replica palace to raise her off

ht Matteo walked into her bedroom and found her holding a razor blade to her own cheek, trying to ruin her fac

d, a suffocating weight p

e name Stella Quinn-she made that up for you. You should feel lucky, Mr. Rh

certain I never met her before she app

angers," Elias said firmly. "You met befor

tips, the way he used to trace the thin old scar on the insi

peak, his phone r

cleared," Rourke said. "Your crew

uttoning his coat. He looked down at Elias. "Di

dshot eyes, then shook his head with a faint

ach screeched to a halt on the Tete

. Just as he reached the top platform by the

Lucian said in

through, tight and strange. "Lucian, d

't hav

damn news!" R

Nate, who was climbing the steps behind him with his

d the phone fr

e Jet Tail Number AB-817 Goes Down Over the North Atlantic A

daughter, Seraphine, had been aboard the flight returning to Euro

een. A harsh, ragged lau

rmac. His eyes were blood-red, his lips curling into a twisted smile. "She's

, a vise clamped around his heart,

ver his sternum as a violent cough racked his frame

n as he pitched forward down the airstai

Rho

Chapter End

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Mr. Rhodes, Your Dead Fiancée Is Pregnant

Guo Er Billionaires

“The same hour I got my pregnancy results, someone sent me photos of my fiancé kissing his first love on the Spanish Steps. I gave him three chances anyway. At the airport, I asked him to go public. He said there was no need. At dinner, I asked him to marry me at City Hall the next morning. He said I was acting out. Then I told him I was carrying his baby. Lucian Rhodes, the richest man in New York, the man who had proposed to me on one knee a month earlier, looked at me like a stranger. "I had a vasectomy two years ago. Watching you pretend to love me is disgusting." He slammed the door. The candles went out. I sat on the marble floor in the dark and bled. A week later I came back. Red lips, a resignation letter, a miscarriage report, and two cases of cash. My half of everything he had ever spent on me. "Three years, split fifty-fifty." On my arm was my new husband. On my way out, I told Lucian the only true thing I had ever said to him. "I never faked loving you. You called that disgusting. That's the one thing I won't forgive." Then I boarded my family's private jet. An hour later, he learned who I really was: the runaway daughter of a European banking dynasty, promised from birth to a crown prince. He learned his vasectomy had failed. He was on the airstair of his own jet, about to chase me across the Atlantic, when the news broke. My plane had gone down at sea. No survivors. The world lit candles for me. He coughed up blood on the tarmac. And on a private island in the Caribbean, with his baby growing inside me, I turned off the news and finished my mango.”