THE HEIR IS BORN

The ticking of the antique grandfather clock filled the silence in Pedro Perez’s study.

He stood by the wide window, gaze fixed on the gardens beyond, but his mind was elsewhere — racing, replaying, waiting.

A knock interrupted the quiet.

“Sir,” came his assistant’s voice through the door, “The girl is in labor.”

Pedro didn’t move. Not yet. Not until the memory finished playing out in his mind.

His father’s voice still haunted him — gravelly and weak, but every word laced with steel.

“You think money alone makes you powerful?” Eduardo Perez had said from his hospital bed. The tubes and machines around him did little to soften his authority. “A name survives through blood, not balance sheets.”

Pedro had stood there, unmoved. “You already have an heir. Me.”

“You’re not enough.” Eduardo’s breathing was shallow. His eyes sharp. “This empire… this legacy… it goes to your son. My grandson. That’s the law I made. No boy, no empire.”

Pedro clenched his fists.

“You want to be me?” Eduardo had croaked. “Then you do what I couldn’t. Produce an heir. And I don’t want to die before I hold him. Do you hear me?”

Pedro had nodded once.

“Fix your problem with Mandy. Or fix it with someone else. I don’t care.” Eduardo’s lips curled with bitterness. “Just don’t fail me.”

Now, in the present, Pedro turned from the window and walked toward the door with calm resolve. “Have the car ready,” he told the assistant.

As he passed Mandy’s suite, he knocked once and let himself in.

She was in front of the mirror, draped in a silk robe, her face flawless even in the early hours of the morning.

She saw his reflection behind hers. “It’s time?”

Pedro nodded. “She’s in labor.”

Mandy stood slowly, adjusting her robe. “And you’re sure it’s a boy?”

“Yes.” He paused. “The doctor confirmed weeks ago.”

She looked at him, eyes gleaming. “Then let’s go meet our son.”

Pedro didn’t correct her.

The ride to the guesthouse was silent. Tension crackled in the air between them, though neither acknowledged it.

When they arrived, a maid met them at the door. Her eyes flickered with unease. “She’s almost given birth.”

Pedro moved past her without a word.

Aliyah’s screams still echoed faintly down the hall.

***

The pain came in waves, each one crueler than the last. Sweat poured down Aliyah’s face as she clutched the edge of the bed, teeth gritted, voice hoarse from screaming.

“Elena!” she gasped, voice trembling. “Please—he’s coming!”

The maid's hands were firm on her shoulder. “Breathe, Miss. Just breathe.”

But how could she breathe when her body was splitting open, when fear clawed at her throat louder than the contractions?

No doctor. Just an old nurse hired by Pedro, cold and indifferent. No one had held her hand. No one whispered that she was strong. She was seventeen, bleeding into silk sheets, and alone.

She screamed again.

One final push and then—

The world stilled.

A sharp cry pierced the air.

The nurse held up a tiny, writhing figure.

A boy.

Aliyah gasped, sobbing now. “Let me see him. Please. Please, let me—”

The nurse hesitated.

Elena, trembling, reached forward and bundled the newborn into a soft blanket, then handed him to Aliyah without a word.

He was so small. So perfect.

Tufts of dark hair, a button nose, fists balled in protest. His cries faded the moment he was against her chest.

Aliyah broke down completely.

“My baby,” she whispered, kissing his damp forehead. “Andre. I’ll call you Andre.”

He blinked up at her, as if he already knew her voice.

She held him tighter, memorizing his weight, the smell of his skin, the warmth that bloomed in her chest. Nothing else mattered. Not the cold mansion, not Pedro, not her family’s betrayal. This boy — this miracle — was hers.

Elena wiped her eyes silently from the corner.

Aliyah looked up. “He’s mine. Isn’t he perfect?”

Elena nodded, unable to speak.

The door creaked open.

Aliyah’s body tensed.

***

Pedro stood in the doorway. Immaculate in a dark suit, not a single hair out of place. His face was unreadable as he looked at the child in her arms.

She was on the bed, pale and damp with sweat, her arms wrapped protectively around a bundle. Her eyes met his — wild, terrified, pleading.

Aliyah’s joy soured.

“What do you want?” she asked, clutching Andre protectively.

He stepped closer.

“I came for the child.”

“Please don’t,” she whispered.

Pedro didn’t answer. He approached with slow, deliberate steps.

Aliyah tightened her hold on the baby. “He’s mine. He’s mine, Pedro.”

Mandy entered behind him, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. She moved straight toward the baby with the ease of someone claiming what had already been promised.

“No,” Aliyah gasped, trying to sit up. “Please, Mandy, don’t take him. Don’t… don’t touch him.”

Pedro reached for the child. “Aliyah—”

“Don’t you dare!” she screamed, trembling violently. “He’s all I have!”

Mandy stepped closer, arms outstretched. “You’ll be compensated, Aliyah.”

That single sentence made Aliyah freeze. Her heart shattered again.

“I’m not a surrogate,” she hissed. “He’s not yours. He’s mine!”

Pedro didn’t waver. “It’s done.”

When Aliyah clung tighter, he gently but firmly pried the baby from her arms.

Her cries turned guttural, animalistic. “No—Pedro—please—I’m begging you!”

The baby stirred, letting out a small cry.

Pedro handed him to Mandy.

Mandy’s face lit up. She cradled the infant like a trophy. “Hello, my little prince,” she cooed, brushing a finger over his cheek. “You’ll have everything.”

Aliyah was on her knees now, crawling after them. “Don’t take him! Don’t—please—I’ll do anything—Pedro!”

Pedro turned to her one last time.

Aliyah stared up at him, her eyes bloodshot and brimming with disbelief. “You’re a monster,” she whispered. “You said nothing. You let me believe—”

“I never made you promises,” Pedro said flatly.

“You stole my son.”

He held her gaze. “I secured my legacy.”

He turned and walked out with Mandy, who was already humming softly to the newborn in her arms.

Aliyah’s screams echoed down the hallway, but neither of them looked back.

Outside, the wind picked up, sharp and cold. Pedro inhaled deeply and looked at the sky. A storm was coming.

He welcomed it.