Heartbeat Fast

While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her

Katie Oettgen

As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole. I begged him for help, my vision blurring. But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background. "Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again." He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm. I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube. Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry. Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled. "You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up." He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research. I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym. They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive. They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding. I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it. Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house. The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born.

Romance Crime Revenge Pregnancy Enemies to Lovers Pregnancy Personal Growth

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Ava Harper's sneakers pounded the wet pavement as rain drizzled from the gray, overcast sky. She pulled her sweater tighter around her face, shielding herself from the cold. The downtown streets of New York were unusually quiet this morning-the kind of eerie calm that only comes with a midweek rainstorm.

Ava clutched her worn leather portfolio under her arm as she made her way to The Art District Café, her favorite spot to sketch between freelance gigs. She was a struggling artist with big dreams and barely enough cash to get through the month. But none of that mattered when she had her sketchpad and a hot cup of coffee.

As she turned the corner, her path collided with a man in an impeccably tailored suit. The impact sent her portfolio flying and him stumbling back.

"Oh, no! I'm so sorry!"Ava exclaimed, dropping to her knees to gather her scattered sketches.

"It's fine," the man replied, his tone clipped yet calm. He crouched to help her, his hand brushing against one of her drawings. "Are these yours?"

Ava looked up to meet his gaze, her breath catching for a moment. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue, framed by sharp cheekbones and an air of authority. But it wasn't just his striking features that threw her off; it was the aura of power that surrounded him, the kind that spoke of someone used to getting what they wanted.

"Yes," she said, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear. "Just some sketches."

He studied one of the drawings-a vivid charcoal rendering of a city skyline, alive with detail and emotion. "You're talented," he said simply, handing it back to her.

"Thanks," she muttered, her cheeks flushing. She quickly stuffed the papers back into her portfolio. "I really didn't mean to bump into you."

"It's not every day someone dares to knock me off course," he said, a hint of amusement flickering across his otherwise stoic face.

Ava let out a nervous laugh, standing up and brushing off her jeans. "Well, I hope I didn't ruin your day."

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