Camilla.
My hands trembled as I stared at the white sheet of paper in front of me. I’ve always heard this saying, that life is not a bed of roses, but now I understand exactly what it means. Until recently, my life was a bed of roses, but now all those roses have withered away, leaving me with only thorns.
Dr. Mark’s voice echoed in my ears, confirming what I was scared to admit. “Camilla, I am so happy to announce that you’re going to be a mother. Congratulations dear.”
Instantly I felt my entire body go numb, my heart was racing. This isn’t real. It can’t be. I am sure there’s a mistake somewhere.
“What are you talking about?” I said, almost laughing at his statement. I just wanted to believe this was a prank and he was trying to pull my legs. I threw the paper onto his desk immediately, waiting for him to correct his mistake. “This cannot be my result. I would give you a few minutes to go back in there and bring my result.”
Dr. Mike looked at me patiently, like he had seen this reaction a million times before. He brought his arms to his chest and folded them together. “Camilla, I’ve been your family doctor for years and I have never given you a bad report. I guarantee you, there’s no mistake with these results. I double-checked it before presenting it to you.”
I shook my head violently. My chest tightened, making it hard for me to breathe. I knew he was telling the truth, but I would be damned if I believed it. “Maybe you’re wrong this time!” My voice was very soft as I sat down properly on my seat. “I’m not pregnant!”
Dr. Mark didn’t flinch or even stutter. “I understand this is a lot to process, but—”
I didn’t let him finish. “Process what exactly? You’re telling me I’m pregnant, but you’re not telling me what’s actually wrong with me! What’s the real problem? Is it anemia? Malaria? Something else? Tell me what medicine to take and how much is the fucking bill!”
“Camilla,” he said gently, “you are healthy. But you are two weeks pregnant.”
I stood up abruptly, my chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Oh my goodness,” I whispered. My throat felt so tight, like it was closing and soon I’d suffocate to death. “No. No. No.”
The air suddenly felt too heavy, too thick. I grabbed the test result off his desk and stormed out of the office, ignoring his calls behind me.
Two weeks. Two weeks was all it took for my life to crumble to the ground.
I still can’t believe it! It was like waking up one morning and finding out your entire life has been a lie. You found out your loving fiancé was having an affair with your beloved sister, and everything suddenly felt like it was a nightmare. You begged and prayed to wake up, but you didn’t and then you realized it was your reality. And then you made the worst decision of your life.
I wanted to forget everything.
I wanted the pain to go away.
So I went to a strip club. Alone.
It was all a blur now. The music, the alcohol, the flashing lights. And him.
The stranger with piercing blue eyes and that smile that melted everything inside me.
Till today, I didn’t even know his name.
All I could remember was that I drank too much, danced too much, and ended up in his arms. No, in his bed.
I lost my virginity that night.
And now I’m pregnant with the baby of a stranger.
I clutched my stomach without thinking, as if the truth is something I could physically grab and rip out of myself.
What am I supposed to do now? How did my life spiral so far out of control?
Tears sting my eyes, but I forced them back. I didn’t want to cry. Crying wouldn’t fix anything.
I took a deep breath and waved down a cab. When it pulled up, I climbed inside, without even hesitating.
The cab smelled faintly of air freshener and cigarette smoke, and then instantly nausea kicked in and I felt like throwing up. I slumped back against the seat, and closed my eyes.
“Where are you going?” the driver asked.
“Just drive,” I said. I didn’t want to go home, not to those people I once called family. I didn’t want to go anywhere either.
The moment the cab started moving, I opened my eyes and glanced around. And then my gaze dropped on a magazine lying on the seat next to me.
Curious, I picked it up.
The cover showed a man in a sharp suit, his dark hair perfectly styled, his piercing blue eyes stared straight into mine.
I froze.
It was him. I could recognize him anywhere.
My heart skipped a beat. I stared at his photo, my mind racing.
The headline reads: “ALEXANDER GREY: The Billionaire You Can’t Ignore.”
A billionaire?
I felt like I'd been slapped right on the cheek.
The man I had a one-night stand with… is a billionaire?
I read through the article quickly, scanning for details. Alexander Grey, CEO of LEEDS and some other massive companies, known for his wealth, charm, and mysterious personal life.
My stomach churned.
How did I not recognize him that night?
Then again, I wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind to notice.
I glanced at the tallest skyscraper in the city and tears fell to my cheeks. It was that one building in the city that you cannot ignore, and it has been my company’s biggest competitor, we didn’t even come close. And it was owned by Alexander Grey.
The cab driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “You okay, miss?”
I nodded quickly, even though I felt far from okay. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and broke me out of my thoughts. I pulled it out and saw a text from my mom.
‘Come to the hospital now. Your sister just fainted.’
Grey.There was something different about Camilla.At first, I thought it was just me being paranoid. A late night at work here, a tired sigh there, but then it became undeniable. The way she avoided eye contact, the way she slipped out of rooms like she couldn’t bear being around me. Conversations between us had shortened into awkward one-liners. Her smiles no longer reached her eyes. Her kisses felt like obligations.And that morning, I couldn’t take it anymore.I sat up in bed, staring at her as she moved around the room like a ghost. She avoided looking at me as she pulled a sweater over her head, her hair falling in front of her face like a shield.“Camilla,” I said, voice still rough with sleep.She paused at the mirror but didn’t turn around. “Hmm?”I sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to keep pretending nothing’s wrong?”She froze. Just for a moment. It was subtle, but I caught it, the way he
Camilla.Six months. I was six months pregnant, and I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around the fact that two tiny lives were growing inside of me. Grey had been away for a few days — business, again. And while I usually found comfort in the stillness of the estate when he was gone, today felt different. My heart was racing as the car pulled up to the private clinic. I was finally going to find out the gender of our babies.The scan room smelled sterile, like alcohol wipes and floor polish. The technician was polite, maybe a little too quiet, and she squirted the cold gel on my belly before pressing the probe down gently.“There we go,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the screen. I couldn’t make sense of the swirling shapes. They were just blobs and shadows to me. But then she turned the monitor a little, giving me a better view. “Here’s Baby A... and Baby B. Both strong heartbeats.”“And the gender?” I asked, barely breathing.She smiled faintly. “Congratulations, Mrs. Grey. You’
Julia.I woke up feeling like a stranger in my own skin. My body was heavy, not from sleep, but from the burden of every choice that led me here. One month. That’s how long I’d lived in this godforsaken mansion with Santos, and already it felt like I’d aged ten years.The ceiling above me seemed to lean in like a threat. I stared at it, my thoughts spiraling. Why did I sign that contract? What had I truly expected—that Santos would honor his promise, help me get my companies and properties back from Benjamin? That he’d be decent, just this once?I was a fool. A blind, desperate fool.The silk sheets clung to my legs like shackles. I sat up, running a hand through my tangled hair. I used to wear designer gowns and run boardrooms. Now I was caged, humiliated, forgotten.The door slammed open so hard it cracked against the wall.“Get the fuck out of my room!” I shouted before I even registered who it was.Santos strolled in, laughing, his arm around a bleached-blonde woman wearing little
Grey.People still talked about Muhammad Ali lighting the Olympic torch in Atlanta — a moment etched in memory. There hadn’t been a dry eye anywhere.Why were we so emotional? Because one of the world’s greatest athletes stood there, shaking and barely able to speak — a far cry from the man who once moved with the grace of a dancer. The man who used to float around the ring now trembled uncontrollably.We always held onto images of athletes at their peak. When a brilliant mind like Stephen Hawking’s was confined by a failing body, we accepted he could still thrive in thought. But when a body failed an athlete, it felt tragic — like clipping the wings of a soaring bird. The higher they flew, the more painful the crash.It was a Friday, and I found myself once again in Michael’s office. His official name was Dr. Robert Owens — a curious blend of Scottish and Welsh — but I’d never called him anything but Michael.He was a compact, muscular man, built like a fighter, not a neurosurgeon. T
Grey.As far back as I can remember, I haven't allowed myself to get drunk since I heard that Camilla was pregnant, I wanted to be the best father for my baby. Apparently, that’s what thoughtful, responsible, well-adjusted dads do when they welcome a child into the world — drown themselves in alcohol. But then, Camilla had made it quite difficult for me to bond with the unborn child.You get a new car? You steer clear of drinking. A new house? You can't afford to drink. But a new baby? No, then you have to “wet the baby's head.” For me, that meant throwing up in the back of a cab looping endlessly around Marble Arch.Even when Grey told me about Catherine's death, I didn’t drink. I didn’t need to. I just went out and cleared. And no, the hangover didn’t linger, but the guilt’s a different story. That part never left.Then came today. Lunchtime. Two double vodkas. The first time I’ve ever done that. I didn’t even want the buzz so much as I wanted to numb my brain. To erase the image th
Chapter 77Camilla."I want to see the photographs," I said after few minutes of silence.Raphael slid a couple of ring-bound folders across the desk in my direction. “I need to make a call,” he added. “We might be onto something. A woman’s gone missing in Los Angeles—an X-ray tech. Her flatmate hasn’t heard from her in two weeks. Age, height, hair match our Jane Doe. And here’s the kicker, she’s a nurse.”After he stepped out, I opened the first folder and started flipping through the images at a quick pace. Earlier, when I had seen the body, her arms had been placed along her sides. Her wrists and inner thighs had been obscured from view. A self-harmer, maybe? Covered in stab wounds, ones inflicted by her own hand? It sounded implausible. But the timing, the history... it was probably nothing. Just a cruel coincidence.The first images captured the wider scene, bare ground scattered with rusty oil drums, coils of wire, scaffolding poles. The Grand Union Canal curved along the backgr