Carrying An Heir For The Wrong Billionaire

AMELIA

I staggered to the entrance door of my house and flung the door open. My breath hitched with every step I took and I leaned on the wall for support. I stared at my parents who were seated in the living room, watching TV.

I could barely walk and I continued to gasp for air, clutching my soaked clothes on my body.

“M-mom, Da-d,” I stammered, my voice barely audible. They turned to face me, their expressions plain.

“Why are you coming home by this time, Amelia,” my mum lashed out immediately.

The little strength I had, drained instantly. I collapsed to the floor, still clutching my clothes.

My dad stood up, tapping my mother's shoulder. “Calm down and talk to her, dear. She looks terrified.”

He strode to me and bent down, holding my shoulders. “Where have you been dear? Why are you soaked and why are your clothes torn?”

I glanced at my mum and she was looking at me, a mix of concern and annoyance on her face. She couldn't approach me nor look at me properly. She was hesitating to say something to me.

“When you're done with whatever you're doing, go and clean the kitchen up,” she said, scrunching her nose and retreating upstairs.

Since I was born, she had barely paid attention to me. It was like she never wanted to see my face. She always avoided me and I couldn't tell why.

“Come on dear, don't worry about how she's acting. Tell me what's wrong,” my dad said and helped me up from the floor.

My legs shook slightly as I walked till I reached the sofa and collapsed on it.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I'm listening.”

“It's w-work dad,” I began, my lips quivering. “It happened at work. I was…..”

But before I could start, tears slid down my cheeks. I couldn't stop it so I let it flow.

“No, don't cry dear,” my dad said, wiping my tears with his hands. “Don't cry. If you can't talk now, then don't bother.”

I heaved, my body weak. I was soaked, panting heavily and my clothes were slightly torn. Slowly, I stood up and walked upstairs, holding the handrail for support. My father called after me but I didn't respond.

When I got to my room, I locked the door and collapsed on the floor beside my bed. Tears continued to roll down my face as I recalled what had happened.

I worked in a famous classic bar for prominent people. It was supposed to be a normal evening, with just an hour left for my shift to end.

My boss had told me to go and serve an important guest in a private room and I did. But as I delivered his order and was about to leave, he pulled my arm back forcefully and I fell to the floor. The room was fixed with red lights and so I couldn't see his face clearly.

Just as I was about to stand up and leave, he pinned me to the floor and tried to take off my clothes. I struggled with him for a while, then he struck me hard twice on my face, causing me to stop struggling.

I tried to fight back and scream but it was to no avail. The music from the bar was loud enough for a scream to be silent. He exploited me without remorse and when he was done, he stood up to leave. In my weak state, I glanced at his face but could only see a long scar on his neck.

He left the room and I laid on the floor, feeling helpless. A knock on the door suddenly jolted me from my thoughts.

“Amelia, open the door right now,” my sister, Amy called. “What are you doing in there?”

I slowly stood up and strode to the door, my body slightly shaking from the soaked clothes I wore. I unlocked the door and it quickly flung open.

“Why did you have to lock the door? Did you forget we stay in the same room? And it's not like I enjoy the idea.”

I ignored her and turned to go into the bathroom to change from my soaked clothes.

“You look helpless, Amelia,” Amy said, scanning me. “What were you up to this time?”

I ignored her and went into the bathroom. “Bitch,” I muttered as I shut the bathroom door. She was always there to annoy me.

Four weeks later, I found out that I was pregnant. I took the pregnancy strip test three times to be sure of what I had discovered. My heart sank to my stomach at the realization of it. I was only 19 years old and I was about to take my nursing exams.

My clothes had begun to tight me, my jeans not sizing me again. My best friend had told me to go for a test when he realised I had gained weight unusually. I quickly put the strips into a plastic bag and tossed it in the bin in my bedroom.

“What's this, Amelia? Why is a pregnancy strip in the bin?” Amy asked later that day as I was in the living room with my parents.

I stood up, my eyes widened. How did she find it? My mind reeled at the implications of the discovery.

“What were you looking for in the waste bin?” I asked. She sneered at me, a faint smile appearing on her lips.

“That's not the question Amelia. Why is it in our bin and why is it positive?”

My mum walked to my sister and took the strip from her hand. “What is this Amelia? Are you pregnant? Is this yours?”

“Obviously, mum. Can't you see the shocked look on her face? Amelia is pregnant,” Amy said, looking at me, smirking wickedly while her eyes glistered.

I didn't know what to say. If I denied it, my mum would surely make me take another test in her presence. My sister didn't even give me a chance to explain. I stared at my mum, unable to utter a word.

**************************************

Three years had passed since that awful day but the memory of their judgement still hung.

My mother would have thrown me out of the house if my father hadn't intervened and changed her mind. And my sister, stood smirking and watching me beg my mum.

Her coldness towards me increased from that day onwards. She pretended like I didn't exist in the family. I could manage until I gave birth as I had agreed to keep the baby against my mother's wishes. It wasn't an easy decision, but I don't regret it. My son is my strength, my everything.

“Noah,” I called after my son who was running. “Please don't run or you'll fall. This is a hospital.”

He didn't listen. He was always running around, waiting for me to catch him. Just as he was about to run inside a patient’s room, the room door opened and he collided into a tall male figure and fell.

I rushed to him and picked him up, checking his body for scratches or injuries. “Are you alright, dear?” I asked, hugging him, my heart beating.

As I looked up to see the man, I froze. He had the same deep green eyes as my son and they had a striking resemblance.