Mr. Rhodes, Your Dead Fiancée Is Pregnant

Chapter 9

Word Count: 881 | Released on: Today at 16:35

after landing at JFK was sprint in

nst the tile wall while her stomach heaved. Nine hours of turbulence

sober grey suit as Dr. Marlowe's assistant-

ed her mouth, stepped out to the sink, an

o cool, narrow monolids over dark brown contact lenses. A silicone prosthetic sharpened her brow ridge and jawline, shaded with the faint blue-grey stipple

throat, cleared her vocal cords, and spoke from

f the internation

black Rolls-Royce wasn't a ch

r, though her pulse gave a

ailored black overcoat hung looser on his broad shoulders, an

face. His dark eyes locked onto hers for one second, two, thr

voice rougher than she remembe

her flat, gravelly baritone. "Do you alway

a cough, his shoulders twitching as he tried not

Rolls-Royce. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. My friend Dr.

om her in the cabin. "The hundred-million-dollar retainer has already been wire

ly filing the sum away as her b

Hudson Valley, two women were waiting on the front step

e dress like she already owned the house. Grandpa was barely ou

th of them without breaking st

n bed. His ground-floor bedroom smelled of antiseptic. Stella sent the nurses a

his fingernails ran distinct, milky-white transverse lines. She gently parted his lips to check the dark, bluish-grey stippling a

Down on the terrace directly beneath Grandpa's bedroom vent, a groundskeeper in cov

hree seconds, then pulled her gloves

d Celeste were wa

Lucian aske

ice, her gaze sweeping briefly over Diane's tense smile and

and turned to her. "Speak freely, Dr. Marlowe. The specialists

walking to the desk. "They were lookin

eyes under the desk lamp, his gaze flickered again wi

being poisoned. Slowly. Through compound dietary interactions a

the study t

from Lucian's face, replaced by the

esk and lowered his vo

Chapter End

Claim Your Bonus at the APP

Open

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.”