Mr. Rhodes, Your Dead Fiancée Is Pregnant

Chapter 10

Word Count: 919 | Released on: Today at 16:35

ed to her knees rig

anor to oversee Grandpa Rhodes's chelation therapy. Her bodyguard, Kit, had spent al

kit to do her morning rounds, Celeste and Diane

brought Grandpa Rhodes back from the brink in three days. Surely you can cure my congenital

n the parquet floor. "I treat dying men, M

und her toward

knees, grabbed the cuff of Stella's tr

a pitched backward. She instinctively crossed her ar

all figure strode through the open front

inst her ribs-less than an inch belo

e. Through the thin linen of her

Looking down at Celeste, who was still clutching her pant leg, Stella drew he

ed backward onto the rug, roll

down beside her. "Dr. Marlowe, how c

Diane. Her eyes narrowed on

Group. And she didn't know Dr. Leo Marlowe from Adam-there was no reason for her to put on a scene

s's bedroom w

toward the patio wind

loor balcony railing outside and sprint

ounded the east terrace outside Grandpa's bedroom window, Kit already had the groundskeeper

the open air-intake vent was a torn f

to the vent, boss," Kit said, spitti

recovered from her faint-stood beside Diane, her face drain

turned his head and looked at Celeste. He didn't say a single word. The

final round of intravenous chelat

t. As Stella pulled off her stethoscope, frai

odes whispered, his voice raspy an

tella said softly in her lowered ba

months ago, my grandson's fiancée died in a plane crash. Sweetest girl in the world. Never ate celery, always smiled

gave his hand one quick squeeze, picked up her medical bag,

ty, lit by recessed wall sconces th

, and she had skipped dinner to finish Grandpa's blood

and she threw a hand out against the wallpapered wainscoti

r hit th

against a broad wool-clad chest. The familiar scent o

e harsh corridor lights, Lucian was looking down at her face, his

his mouth brushed the shell of her ear, and

r. Ma

ell

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.”