LOGINCHAPTER 4 - THE PREGNANCY
Ava's Pov The beeping sounds from the machines made me groan as I felt a sharpening headache from the back of my head. "Argh! Someone turn that off!" I hissed in pain, struggling to keep my eyes closed. But I couldn't sleep anymore, and with great effort, I fluttered my eyes open to find myself staring at a white ceiling. "What happened?" I murmured to myself, my hand instinctively going to my throbbing head. I managed to sit up and looked around, taking in my surroundings. I was in a hospital room. The last thing I remembered was lying helplessly at the bottom of the stairs. As I took deep breaths, memories came flooding back like an ocean, reminding me of the betrayal and how I was pushed down the stairs by Autumn. I glanced at the IV drip connected to my hand and ripped it off without hesitation, wincing as I began bleeding. But I felt numb, and quietly, I picked up a tissue and gently wiped away the blood stain before forcing myself out of bed. I found a bandage and applied it to the tiny wound caused by the incision. I had been placed in a private ward, away from everyone, to avoid another scandal. I thought of ways to make a run for it when the door swung open, and the doctor walked in with a smile. "You're finally awake," he said calmly, approaching me. I cursed inwardly, knowing my plans to run had been foiled. "Can I please leave now?" I asked, ignoring his smiling face. "Unfortunately, you can't leave just yet," he replied. "You're still very much unwell and need to stay in bed for the sake of the baby." His words felt like a punch to the gut. "What did you say?" I asked, unsure of what I'd heard, blaming it on my headache. "You're three weeks pregnant, Mrs. Parker," he repeated, his smile unwavering. "I advise you to stay in bed for a while for the sake of your condition." I felt a chill run down my spine as I unconsciously placed my palm on my belly. "I...I'm pregnant?" I stuttered, my lips trembling as I looked down at my belly, which looked perfectly normal. The doctor's words of caution didn't register with me. All that mattered was the unexpected news. The timing was off; I wasn't supposed to get pregnant, not now, when things were complicated. "I need to be left alone," I muttered, trying to process everything. The doctor nodded and left. Once he was gone, I burst into tears. This wasn't happening. "Oh my God!" I whispered, completely lost and heartbroken. "Argh!" I screamed, throwing the pillow beside me away in frustration. My eyes fell on my purse, which was beside the bed. I suddenly remembered something and picked it up, taking out a custom-made necklace and clenching it tightly in my fist before throwing it away. My hands went to my abdomen unconsciously as I thought of a way out of this mess. I was still lost in thought when the door slid open, and Jerome walked in. "You're awake," he said nonchalantly, his expression unreadable. "What do you want?" I asked sternly, trying to keep my emotions in check. Jerome wouldn't budge. "What else? I'm here for my wife." He sat down on the single couch in the ward, his legs crossed. "I would like to be alone, please," I said, trying to keep my distance. Jerome's calm demeanor unnerved me. "I'm going to leave, but understand that you can't get rid of me that easily," he said, standing up unhurriedly. "Don't do anything stupid. You'll be surprised at what might happen if you don't stay put." His words sent a shiver down my spine. I knew what he was capable of. He turned around and left, and only then did I heave a sigh and think of my next move. "This is what you get for trying to fit in where you don't belong," I muttered in self-mockery as memories flooded my head. A year ago, I would have been thrilled to have a child with Jerome, but right now I was consumed by conflicted thoughts. While I was still murmuring, the door slid open, and Helen, my assistant, rushed in. "Ava, thank goodness you're okay!" she exclaimed, hugging me tightly. I forced a smile, still reeling from the news. "Hi, Helen." Helen looked concerned. "I was worried sick. I had to hide when I saw that man in the hallway." I needed to get out of the hospital, and fast. "How quickly can you get me out of here?" I asked, my voice laced with urgency. Helen hesitated, looking at me with concern. "You don't look good, Ava. I think you need to get better first." "I'm exhausted," I said, trying to reassure her. "What do you intend to do now?" Helen asked, handing me her tablet. "The situation is gaining unexpected attention right now." We were making headlines, with Autumn as the sole victim. It didn't look good. "I have to leave the country as soon as possible, Helen," I said, staring at the video of Autumn and Jerome standing together, holding hands. "Get everything ready and get me out of this hospital." "But Mr. Parker's—" Helen started to say. "Don't care, Helen," I interrupted. "I need to get as far away from him as possible before he finds me and my child. My lawyer will handle the divorce documents." Helen looked at me with a shocked expression. "Child? Wait, are you?" I nodded, running my fingers through my hair as a chill ran down my spine. Jerome was a dangerous man who wouldn't hesitate to hurt me to get what he wanted. "I'm 3 weeks pregnant, Helen, and Jerome has no idea about it," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "The doctors will talk, and Mr. Parker is going to kill you," Helen said, her eyes wide with worry. "You don't have to worry about the doctor," I reassured her. "I'll make sure he doesn't breathe a word about it." I picked up my phone and texted someone before putting it aside. "More reason why I need to leave before he finds out about it," I said, glancing at Helen. "You've seen what Jerome can do. I'm sure you wouldn't want him to hurt me too." I bit down on my bottom lip, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over me. "I'm booking the fastest flight to London right now," Helen said, standing up and typing on her tablet. I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. My phone wasn't spared either, as a bunch of texts kept coming in, including ones from my dad. I didn't know what to say to him right now, so I decided not to respond. Helen stepped out and returned shortly with a shopping bag. "I'm going to pull every single resource we have to get you the fastest flight out of the country and make arrangements for your stay," she said, handing me the bag. Inside, I found a black sweatpants and hoodie, along with a nose mask and hat to hide my face. Helen walked towards the exit, still on the phone, making calls to arrange my departure. I needed to get out of the hospital clothes, so I made my way to the bathroom. I didn't bother taking a shower; I just quickly changed into the new clothes. As I was tying my hair, Helen rushed back into the room. "We have to leave right now!"JEROME’S POV SIX MONTHS LATER The boardroom of Parker Enterprises was quiet. It wasn’t the terrified silence of the past, where men held their breath afraid to wake the beast. It was a respectful silence. A focused silence. I stood at the head of the mahogany table; the same table Thomas had caressed like a lover, the same table where the coup had taken place. I looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the Los Angeles skyline. The smog had cleared. The city looked clean, sharp, and full of potential. “The quarterly figures are in, Mr. Parker,” Adrian said, breaking the silence. He was standing to my right, looking sharper than ever in a new suit. No longer just a bodyguard, he was now the Chief of Operations. “We’ve recovered eighty percent of the liquidity lost during the… restructuring.” Restructuring. That was the polite word for the week I burned my father’s empire to the ground. “And the charitable trust?” I asked, turning to face the board. The new board. You
JEROME’S POV The distance between us was thirty feet. Thirty feet of snow-covered ground, stained with soot and ash. At one end stood Thomas Parker; the man who gave me life. At the other stood Ava; the woman who gave my life meaning and holding our newborn son. And in between them was the invisible line of a bullet’s trajectory. Thomas held the revolver steady. The barrel was black, a void against the white snow. It wasn’t pointed at me. It was pointed directly at the bundle in Ava’s arms. “Put it down, Jerome,” Thomas repeated, his voice pleasant, almost conversational. “Don’t make me damage the merchandise.” “He’s not merchandise,” I said, my voice vibrating in my chest. “He’s a child. He’s your grandson.” “He is a reset button,” Thomas corrected. He took a slow step forward, the snow crunching under his expensive Italian loafers. “You failed, Jerome. You let emotions corrupt the business. But him? He’s a blank slate. I can raise him. I can teach him the right way. No dist
AVA MAXWELL’S POV The flashlight from Jerome’s phone was propped up on a dusty shelf of canning jars, casting long, shivering shadows against the earthen walls of the storm cellar. Above us, the roar of the fire was a dull, constant thunder. I could hear the beams of the cabin groaning as they warped under the heat, the heavy thump of debris falling onto the trapdoor that sealed us in. It felt like we were in a grave. But inside the grave, life was fighting to get out. “Jerome,” I gasped, the pain tearing through my lower back like a serrated knife. “It’s coming again! I can’t stop it!” Jerome was kneeling between my legs. He had stripped off his t-shirt and rolled it into a pillow for my head. His bare chest was streaked with soot and sweat, the bruises on his ribs dark and angry in the harsh light. He looked terrified. The man who could face down a boardroom of sharks, the man who could disarm a mercenary with a knife looked utterly, helplessly terrified. But his
JEROME’S POV Ammo Count: 13 rounds. The math was simple. Three targets. Thirteen bullets. One pregnant wife. I was crouching behind the overturned oak table, the wood splintering as bullets thudded into it. The air in the cabin was thick with dust, smoke, and the sharp, metallic tang of gunpowder. Pop. Pop. Two more shots from the yard. They were suppressing me, keeping my head down so they could flank. I risked a glance. The first man I’d shot was crawling through the snow, leaving a black trail of blood. The other two were moving. One to the left, toward the kitchen window. One to the right, toward the bedroom. They were splitting my attention. And standing in the center of the clearing, just out of effective pistol range, was Thomas. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his long wool coat, watching the destruction of his son’s life like it was an opera. I felt a vibration in the floorboards. A scream. It wasn’t a scream of fear. I knew Ava’s fear. Thi
JEROME’S POV The fire crackled, spitting sparks against the iron grate. It was the only sound in the world. I stood in the center of the cabin’s main room, stripping off the orange jumpsuit. The fabric was stiff with sweat and grime, a second skin of shame I was desperate to shed. I kicked it into the corner, leaving me in just my boxers. The cold air hit my skin, biting at the bruises blooming across my ribs and the cuts on my knuckles. I didn't feel the cold. I felt the adrenaline vibrating in my marrow, a low-frequency hum that wouldn’t stop. “Jerome.” Ava’s voice was soft, coming from the doorway of the bedroom. I turned. She was holding a first aid kit we had found in the bathroom cabinet. In the firelight, she looked so beautiful. “Sit down,” she ordered gently. “Let me look at those ribs.” I wanted to argue. I wanted to patrol the perimeter again. I wanted to clean the gun. But looking at her eyes wide, dark, and filled with a terrifying amount of lov
AVA MAXWELL’S POV The city of Los Angeles blurred into a streak of neon lights and shadows outside the tinted windows of the SUV. We were moving fast—too fast for legal limits, but fast enough to outrun the sirens wailing in the distance behind us. I sat in the backseat, my body turned completely toward Jerome. My hands were roaming over him, frantic and possessive, checking for injuries. He was a mess. His orange jumpsuit was torn at the shoulder, stained with soot and sweat. His knuckles were split and bleeding. There was a darkening bruise on his cheekbone where the guard had slammed him, and he smelled of smoke and violence. But he was alive. He was here. “I’m okay, Ava,” he murmured, catching my hands to stop their frantic search. “I’m okay. Stop.” “You’re bleeding,” I whispered, staring at his hands. “It’s not my blood,” he said grimly. I shuddered, but I didn’t pull away. I gripped his hands tight, intertwining our fingers. The metal of his wedding band was co







