Chapter 3: Freedom

CHLOE

The airport terminal was freezing. Or maybe it was just me.

I sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair at the departure gate, hugging my thin trench coat tightly to my chest. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed with a harsh, grating sound that made my head throb. I had bought a one-way ticket to the farthest city I could afford. A place where no one knew Damian Sterling. A place where I could disappear and start over.

But my body was violently rebelling.

A sharp, twisting pain suddenly knifed through my lower abdomen. I gasped, dropping my purse as my hand flew to my stomach. The pain was intense, radiating down my legs and stealing the breath from my lungs. I looked down and felt my blood run cold. A terrifying spot of red was seeping through my pale blue jeans.

No. Not now. Please, not now.

Dr. Evans's warning echoed in my ears, loud and unforgiving. A thin uterine lining increases the risk of miscarriage. Any severe stress could cause you to lose the baby.

I had tried so hard to stay calm. I had forced myself to breathe evenly as Thomas drove me to the airport. I had smiled and told him I was fine. But the betrayal, the absolute coldness in Damian’s eyes when he said he wanted a divorce, the sheer terror of being alone... it was all too much. The stress was tearing me apart from the inside out.

"Help!" I choked out, panic rising in my throat and choking my voice. "Someone, please help me!"

A security guard rushed over, his face blurring as tears of pain and fear flooded my vision.

"What's wrong, ma'am? Are you okay?" he asked, his voice sounding miles away.

"The baby... I'm pregnant... please, I need a doctor," I gasped, the room spinning around me.

Everything after that happened in a chaotic blur. I remembered shouting voices, the screech of an ambulance siren, and the blinding, sterile white lights of an emergency room ceiling. I remembered the cold sting of an IV needle being shoved into my arm, and the frantic beeping of machines.

Hours later, I woke up in a private hospital room. The curtains were drawn, casting the room in a dim, gray shadow. I was completely alone. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound, a constant reminder of how close I had come to losing everything.

The door clicked open, and a doctor walked in. She looked stern, holding a clipboard tightly to her chest.

"Miss Vance, you are incredibly lucky," she said, her tone firm. "You suffered a threatened miscarriage. The bleeding was severe. If you had boarded that plane and subjected your body to that kind of pressure, you likely would have lost the baby."

I closed my eyes, hot tears spilling down my cheeks and soaking into the thin hospital pillow.

"I am putting you on strict bed rest for the foreseeable future," the doctor continued. "No traveling. No stress. Absolutely no physical exertion. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," I whispered, my voice hoarse.

She left, and I was alone again. I had escaped one prison, only to be trapped in another. I was alone in a hospital in a city I didn't know, with no home, no job, and barely any money in my bank account. I had walked away from the Sterling fortune without a second glance, but now I was faced with the terrifying reality of survival.

And the man who had promised to love and protect me was probably sleeping soundly next to his first love, completely oblivious to the fact that I was fighting for our child's life.

I reached for my purse with a trembling hand. I pulled out my phone. It was still turned off.

I held the power button down, staring at the dark screen as it booted up. I don't know what I was hoping for. A missed call? A text asking where I was? A sudden realization from him that he had made a terrible mistake?

The screen lit up.

There was only one text message from Damian. I opened it, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

"I saw the signed papers. I assume you took your things. The lawyers will handle the rest."

That was it. No question of where I went. No concern for my safety. No acknowledgment that his wife had disappeared in the middle of the night. Just cold, ruthless efficiency. He was probably relieved that I had made the process so easy for him.

A hollow, broken laugh escaped my lips, echoing in the silent hospital room. The last tiny fragment of hope I had been clinging to shattered into a million pieces. There was no going back.

I stared at the screen for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I could scream at him. I could tell him about the baby, the hospital, the blood. But what would that change? He had already said the baby did not matter to him.

With a surge of strength I didn't know I had, I deleted his message. I opened my contacts, found his name, and hit block. I blocked the home phone. I blocked his assistant. I blocked the entire Sterling family.

I set the phone down on the bedside table and placed both of my hands protectively over my stomach. The baby was still there. The tiny heartbeat was still fluttering beneath my palms.

"Damian Sterling," I whispered into the dark room, my voice hard as steel. "From this moment on, we owe each other nothing."

I had no idea how I was going to survive. I had no idea how I was going to pay for the hospital bills or find a place to live. But as I lay there in the darkness, a fierce, burning determination ignited in my chest.

I would not let him win. I would not let him break me.

I would raise this child alone. And I would make something of myself. If it was the last thing I ever did.