Return for the ruthless billionaire

Rosette's pov 

I did not know it was the night I would die.

If I had known, I would have screamed louder. I would have fought harder. I would have clawed at the truth instead of believing the lies whispered into my ear by the man I loved.

The house was quiet in the way only expensive homes ever were. Thick walls. Soft carpets. Silence padded with wealth. The kind of silence that swallowed pain whole and never gave it back.

I lay on the bed, my body still weak from childbirth, my skin clammy and aching as if my bones had been rearranged without my permission. Every breath burned. Every movement reminded me that life had torn through me and left something precious behind.

My child.

Or so I thought.

Blake stood near the window, his back to me, his reflection faint against the glass. He was still beautiful. That was the cruelest part. His dark hair was perfectly combed, his tailored suit unwrinkled, as if the last forty eight hours had not included me screaming in agony while bringing his child into the world.

He did not look like a man who had just become a father.

He looked like a man who had just won.

“How is she,” he asked calmly, not turning around.

The word landed wrong. She. Not our baby. Not your daughter. Just she. As if the child were an inconvenience, a problem he hoped would resolve itself.

“I want to see her,” I whispered. My throat was raw, my voice barely there. “They said she was taken to the nursery. I need to see her.”

Blake sighed softly, the sound tinged with irritation rather than concern. He finally turned, his expression carefully arranged into something almost gentle.

“You need rest, Rosette.”

Something twisted in my chest. I tried to push myself upright and failed, a sharp pain slicing through my abdomen.

“No,” I said, panic rising. “I need my baby. Blake, please. I have not even held her.”

He walked toward me then, slow and unhurried, his shoes silent against the floor. When he reached the bed, he sat beside me and placed a hand over mine. His touch was cool.

“You are emotional,” he said. “The doctors warned me about this. Hormones. Confusion.”

Confusion.

The word made my heart pound harder. I searched his face, looking for warmth, for love, for reassurance. I found none. His eyes were distant, calculating, watching me the way one watched a problem that required a solution.

“Blake,” I whispered. “What are you not telling me.”

For a moment, something flickered in his gaze. Not guilt. Not regret. Annoyance.

He stood.

“I will be honest with you,” he said. “Because I am generous.”

The room felt colder.

“The baby was never meant to stay.”

The words did not make sense. They floated above me, meaningless and absurd.

“What,” I asked. “What do you mean.”

“You were always too sentimental,” he continued, adjusting his cufflinks. “Too attached to things that complicate power.”

Power.

I struggled to breathe. “Where is my child.”

“She has been taken somewhere safe,” he replied. “You will not see her again.”

The world tilted.

I screamed his name, pain tearing from my chest as I tried to sit up. The IV line tugged painfully at my arm.

“You cannot do this,” I cried. “She is mine. She is ours.”

Blake’s expression hardened.

“She is a liability.”

Something broke inside me.

“You loved me,” I said, my voice cracking. “You promised me a future. You promised to protect us.”

“I promised you what you needed to hear,” he replied coolly. “And you gave me everything I wanted.”

I stared at him, my mind scrambling, reaching for understanding like a drowning woman reaching for air.

“What are you saying,” I whispered.

He smiled then. Not the smile he used in public. Not the charming one that had once made my heart race. This smile was sharp.

“Your inheritance,” he said. “The Jenner estate. Your signature gave me full control. You signed it willingly. You trusted me.”

The memory hit me like a blade. Papers. Legal documents. I had been pregnant, exhausted, in love. He had said it was to protect our family. To merge our future.

I had signed.

“You cannot,” I said weakly. “My family built that empire. It was mine.”

“It was,” he agreed. “Past tense.”

Tears streamed down my face. My body felt heavy, useless, betraying me at every turn.

“You are cruel,” I sobbed. “How can you do this to me.”

Blake leaned closer, his voice dropping.

“Because you were never meant to survive this.”

The words slammed into me with horrifying clarity.

I shook my head violently. “No. No. You would not.”

His gaze flicked toward the door, then back to me.

“You are fragile,” he said. “The doctors will say complications. Blood loss. A tragedy.”

My heart thundered. I tried to reach the call button, but he was faster. His hand closed around my wrist, tightening painfully.

“You should have known better than to love me,” he said softly.

I screamed.

Pain exploded through my veins as something cold entered the IV line. My vision blurred instantly. Panic clawed at my chest.

“You cannot,” I gasped. “Please. My baby. Let me see her.”

Blake released my wrist and stood, straightening his jacket.

“You should be grateful,” he said. “Your death will be quiet. Clean.”

My body betrayed me, growing heavier, my limbs numb, my tongue thick.

I stared at him, memorizing his face, engraving his betrayal into my soul.

“You will burn for this,” I whispered.

He paused at the door, glancing back.

“No,” he said. “You will.”

The door closed.

The room faded.

My last thought was not of Blake.

It was of the baby I never held. The child stolen from my arms before I even knew what love could look like in her eyes.

Then everything went dark.

And somewhere in that darkness, something ancient and furious awakened.

Because death was not the end of me.

It was the beginning.