A Divorced Billionaire Heiress For The Mafia Don

I killed the engine in front of the hospital and briskly walked into the building. The strong smell of antiseptic hit me, and my vision grew blurry for a second.

"Good day, ma'am," one of the nurses greeted, but I only spared her a small wave before breezing past her.

"Do you have an appointment?" A lady I assumed to be the receptionist tailed behind me.

Halting to a stop, I curled my fingers into fists. "I am Heather Williams," I said through gritted teeth and then tossed a glare over my shoulder at her before adding, "I do not need an appointment to visit my family doctor."

"We're so sorry, ma'am. She is new here," said another nurse, who rushed up to us with an apologetic glint in her eyes.

With a grunt, I spun on my heels and pulled up short in front of his door, rapping on it.

"Come in," the doctor said, and I couldn't miss the hint of tiredness in his voice.

Pushing the door open, I felt a painful nudge in my stomach, but I ignored it, marching into his office with a molten gaze directed at his small statue behind a brown desk.

"Ah, Mrs. Eliot," he greeted, pulling off the blue, face mask over his nose and mouth.

Digging my hand into my bag, I paused and slammed the medication on his desk. "What the hell have you been prescribing to us?!"

He blinked rapidly, and lines of confusion furrowed his forehead.

"I don't understand," he said, peering at the medication I had slammed on his desk.

"Here, see for yourself," I stated, shoving the container towards him.

I tried not to explode from anger. I wanted to hear his explanation.

"What if Gibson had a hand in this?" I thought, but shook my head to dispell the thoughts away.

This morning I had noticed double labels on the container of my hormonal pills. I peeled off the first one and what I saw delivered a phantom blow to my gut. I had to rush to the hospital to confront our family doctor.

"Can you please bring down the volume of your voice?" He asked as he picked the medication to inspect it.

"After what you've done?" I asked, anger coursing through my veins. "I hope you can defend yourself in court after I sue you."

He sprang from his seat with fear flashing in his eyes. "Wait, I didn't do anything. I never prescribed these drugs to you or your husband."

All the air left my lungs, and I blinked rapidly, trying to process his words.

"What–what do you mean?" I stammered, ignoring the tingling feeling that came with the sheen of sweat that broke out on my forehead.

My husband, Gibson had gotten this prescription from our doctor. Dread twisted in my gut. Gibson couldn't have betrayed me in such a manner after knowing how much I wanted to have a child.

"I prescribed Clomiphine citrate to increase your egg production and stimulate ovulation, not this..." He trailed off, and I could see the sincerity in his eyes.

I rocked on the balls of my feet, feeling my chest constrict around my heart. "Tell me what I read on G****e was wrong," I begged, referring to the research I had made before driving to the hospital.

Silence ensued between us, wrapping us like a thick veil. My stomach churned, and I froze to a spot, searching his face for answers.

His shoulders fell, and so did his gaze. "I'm sorry, but G****e was right. These are abortion pills."

A lump grew in my throat, and I felt a warm liquid sliding down my legs. I ignored it. I couldn't move... The doctor's words had pierced my heart like a double-edged sword.

My head spun in circles. How could Gibson? My vision grew foggy, and my heart writhed in sheer pain.

"You're bleeding." The doctor's urgent voice echoed in a distance, snapping me out of my trance.

Glancing down, my eyes enlarged when I saw blood trickling down my thighs.

My lips trembled, and so did the rest of my body. "What's going on?" I lifted my eyes, letting them fall onto the doctor's face.

"Did you take those pills today?" He asked with horror in his eyes as he picked up the receiver on his desk and tapped on a button.

"Yes," my voice broke. I already knew what was going on. Waves of sadness lapped through me, and I gripped my stomach, hoping it would stop the pain.

"Send nurses into my office with a stretcher. We have an emergency," he said into the receiver before sitting it back on the desk and rushing to hold me.

****

The doctor had administered intravenous fluids to me after the abortion had taken place.

The hospital had tried to reach my husband, but it kept going to his voicemail. His secretary, on the other hand, said he was in a meeting.

Anger coursed through my veins, and I pressed my phone tighter against my ear.

Gibson murdered my baby. He had crushed my soul with his betrayal. I would never forgive him for this.

A tear slipped down my cheek. I couldn't drive myself home. I had to call a taxi to drive me to my best friend's house.

"Hey, Heather," my best friend, Gina, chriped from the other side of the phone after the second ring. I parted my lips to speak, but she interrupted me. "I'm sorry, but I can't talk right now."

I blinked rapidly, trying to hold in my tears. I stifled a gulp, ignoring the fact that she sounded like there was something stuffed in her throat.

"Heather?" She called with concern laced in her tone when she didn't hear my response. "Are you okay?"

Taking a deep breath, I faked a smile as if she could see me. "I'm fine. I just wanted to check up on you."

"Oh. I'm good. Celine's dad came over, so..." She trailed off, and I got the clue immediately. Her child's father had visited to probably make peace, and it led to them tangling her sheets.

"Alright, go have fun." I ended the call and met the driver's gaze through his rear view mirror, saying, "Change of plans. Take me to twenty-two Wilson Street."

The driver nodded and turned the car around.

Once we arrived at my husband's company. I paid the taxi and trudged into the building.

"Ma'am, you can't go in," his secretary announced. "He is in an important meet–"

Briskly, I walked past her, paying deaf ears to her protests. Did she know I was Gibson's wife?

"Excuse–" his secretary's voice died down the moment I flung his office door open.

My molten gaze fell on Gibson, who jerked behind his desk. His hair was dishevelled, and the buttons of his blue shirt were undone. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead.

His bathroom door creaked open, causing me to turn my head in its direction. What I saw delivered a phantom blow to my stomach.

"Gina?" My trembling voice came out like a whisper.

With a jolt, she met my gaze. A mixture of fear and guilt swam in her eyes.

My stomach knotted itself as thoughts ricocheted in my head. My chest heaved, while I raked my eyes down her body.

Why was my best friend naked in my husband's office?