Chapter 3

The next afternoon, I knew I couldn't sit back any longer. I needed to know the full financial truth behind their lie.

At 2:00 PM, Joshua announced he had an urgent executive Zoom call in his private study.

"Don't disturb me, Erica," he said smoothly, adjusting his tie. "It's critical for the firm."

Twenty minutes later, Layla glided upstairs carrying a silver tea tray. She didn't knock. She turned the bronze handle and stepped right inside.

I stood up from my lounge chair, holding my black leather pregnancy journal tightly against my side, and followed her silently down the carpeted corridor.

The heavy oak study door was pulled shut, leaving a narrow two-inch crack.

"Joshua, stop..." Layla's soft giggle drifted through the opening. "What if she walks in?"

"She's resting upstairs like a good little patient," Joshua whispered.

Through the gap, the sight tore through my chest.

Joshua was sitting in his executive leather chair. Layla was sitting on his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck. Joshua's hand was slid beneath her cardigan, gently rubbing her waist.

He leaned in and kissed her deeply -- a slow, passionate kiss he hadn't given me in years.

"When are you telling her?" Layla murmured against his lips. "My bump will start showing in a few weeks."

"Soon," Joshua breathed. "Just until her baby is delivered safely. That's when her family trust releases the fund to the living heir. The second that it hits my account, I'm serving her the divorce papers."

The world turned completely silent.

It wasn't just a betrayal. My pregnancy was his cash key.

Before I could step back, a sharp, violent spasm ripped through my lower abdomen.

It felt like a hot blade slicing through my body. I gasped in horror, my hand slipping off the wall as warm, thick blood rushed down my inner thighs.

My weight slammed against the oak door, throwing it wide open.

Joshua spun around. Every drop of blood drained from his face instantly. "Erica?!"

Agony folded me in two. I crashed onto the hardwood floor, clutching my stomach with one hand and holding my black leather pregnancy journal to my chest.

"Call 911! Layla, call an ambulance now!" Joshua screamed, leaping from his desk.

Ten minutes later, the ER bay was a blur of blaring sirens, red flashing lights, and cold leather gurneys.

As paramedics wheeled me through the trauma center doors, Ivan -- the senior family trust attorney -- stepped forward from the waiting area, having been alerted by the family office of my emergency admission.

Joshua rushed up behind my gurney, pale and trembling. "Ivan?! What are you doing here?!"

Ivan ignored Joshua completely. His eyes locked onto mine with grim intensity.

With trembling, blood-stained fingers, I lifted my black leather pregnancy journal and pressed it into Ivan's hands.

"Protect Page 210," I gasped through my oxygen mask.

Ivan gripped the journal firmly and stepped back as the surgical doors slammed shut, locking Joshua outside in the waiting room.

Inside the operating room, the surgeon's gloves were covered in crimson.

The doctor announced, his voice heavy with tension. "We're losing the baby's heartbeat! We're doing everything we can!"