Chapter 1
"You think a child from some actress gets to walk through my door? Get rid of it." Andrew Grant wrapped his arm around the girl he could never forget and tossed a check at me.
He was the golden boy of this city, and I was no one. A no-name actress who somehow ended up pregnant with his baby. All I wanted was to keep the baby.
But I failed. After the surgery, he was gone, vacationing abroad with his beloved.
I was dead inside, so I turned around and married his disabled nemesis.
Later, he came crawling back and pleaded with me, his eyes red with desperation, "Come back. I'll give you my life. Just give me back my child."
*****
"Tiffany, are you pregnant?" Andrew's voice was flat on the phone.
I gripped the pregnancy test tighter, my knuckles turning white.
"Yes." I only said one word.
The silence on the other end dragged on, so long that my heartbeat sounded like a drum in my chest.
I'm Tiffany Carter, just another nobody in showbiz, barely scraping by at the bottom.
Andrew was the golden boy of this city—powerful and completely untouchable. To me, he was like the sky I could never reach.
What happened between us was nothing but an accident. But it wasn't by chance.
Someone put something in my wine that night. He ended up in the wrong room by mistake.
Afterward, he handed me a bank card and a decent acting role.
He said, "Don't read into this."
I nodded, took the money and the opportunity. I thought we were done.
But two months later, that flimsy pregnancy test pulled us back together.
"Andrew, I..." I wanted to tell him I could raise the baby myself and wouldn't cause him any trouble.
"Send me your address," Andrew cut in, his voice as cold as ice.
Then he hung up.
Half an hour later, a black Bentley pulled up outside my rundown apartment building.
I looked at my reflection in the car window. My face was pale, but there was a hint of hope in my eyes I didn't realize was there.
Maybe he did care about me, just a little.
The car door opened, and Andrew stepped out.
He wore a tailored suit. He looked polished, untouchable—completely wrong for this rundown street.
He didn't come upstairs. He just leaned against the car door, lighting up a cigarette.
"Come here," he said.
I walked down and stood in front of him, feeling like I was waiting for a verdict.
He exhaled a ring of smoke, the haze blurring his refined features.
"Take care of it," he ordered coldly.
Those words felt like ice going straight through me.
I shuddered, my blood running cold.
"No, this is my baby," I said.
"Tiffany, I'm giving you a chance. Don't throw it away," Andrew snapped.
He crushed his cigarette out against the wall. His patience was gone.
"You think a child from some actress gets to walk through my door?" he sneered.
Those words hurt more than any blade could.
I looked at him, tears welling up in my eyes, but I stubbornly refused to let them fall.
"I never wanted to be part of your family," I shot back.
"Good," he said coldly.
He pulled a check from his suit pocket and tossed it at my feet.
"Three million dollars. That should be enough to buy you peace for the rest of your life," he said.
The check drifted down onto the filthy ground, as light as a fallen leaf and as worthless as my pride.
I didn't pick it up.
I just stared at him, forcing out each word. "Andrew, you'll regret this."
He laughed, like I'd just cracked the biggest joke ever.
"Regret? For a kid that should've never been born?" he sneered.
He turned, opened the car door, and slid inside.
The car sped off, leaving me standing there, shattered and alone.
I had no idea that the regret I warned him about would hit him so hard—hard enough to break him.