Chapter 2: The Shattered Heartbeat

Rain drummed violently against the tinted glass of St. Jude Private Clinic.

I sat on the cold vinyl bench on the third floor, my fingers clutching the paper slip: Elective Procedure Room 4.

My palm involuntarily drifted to my lower abdomen. Two months. For five agonizing years, Julian and I had tracked every calendar day, spent thousands on consultations, and cried together over negative tests. I had swallowed bitter herbal brews that made me vomit in secret, praying for the miracle growing inside me right now.

And Julian was currently playing house with his brother’s widow, boasting about his noble seed.

"Patient 42, Evelyn Sterling," a nurse called out from the double doors. "Please step inside for the ultrasound check before we prep the theater."

I stood up, pulling my oversized beige coat tightly around my frame.

Just as my trembling fingers touched the brass door handle, the VIP elevator at the end of the wing chimed.

"Julian, slow down... my lower back aches so much," a soft, breathy voice floated down the sterile corridor.

"I’ve got you, sweetheart. Lean all your weight on me," Julian’s reply was so thick with tender anxiety it felt like a knife twisting into my ribs. "The head of obstetrics is waiting in Suite A. We’ll see the heartbeat today."

I froze.

Julian was walking backward, holding both of Chloe’s hands with desperate care. He wore the charcoal wool coat I had saved three months of design royalties to buy him. Chloe was wrapped in a creamy white cashmere dress, her petite shoulders draped in Julian’s favorite scarf.

Her stomach wasn't even rounded yet, but her hands rested proudly over her belly, her chin tilted in smug triumph.

Then, Julian’s eyes flicked forward.

The protective warmth vanished instantly from his face, replaced by pure disgust. His jaw hardened.

"Evelyn?"

Chloe gasped, shrinking behind Julian’s shoulder like a frightened doe. "Julian... she followed us. Is she going to hurt the baby?"

"Are you completely psychotic?!" Julian roared, storming toward me. The sound echoed off the pristine tiles, drawing the startled stares of passing doctors. "You tracked my car to the hospital?! Chloe’s blood pressure is already dangerously elevated because of your vile jealousy, and you corner her outside her prenatal appointment?!"

I looked at him, feeling an almost chilling calm settle over my bones. "The world doesn't revolve around you, Julian. I have my own appointment."

"Don't lie to me!" Julian snarled, his hand darting forward to violently snatch the clinic paperwork from my coat pocket. He glanced at the department heading before balling it up and slamming it against the wall. "Obstetrics! You think I'm blind?! You came here specifically to ambush us!"

"Evelyn, please..." Chloe stepped out, fat tears rolling down her porcelain cheeks. She clasped her hands together in front of her chest, trembling theatrically. "Blame me if you must! Hate me! But Julian only did this because Ethan died saving him! Ethan wanted a child so badly... If you want to punish someone, strike me! Don't curse an unborn orphan!"

She stumbled, her knees giving out just enough to appear helpless.

"Chloe!" Julian panicked.

Lunging forward to catch her, his broad shoulder slammed violently into my chest.

The force threw me backward. My hip struck the steel edge of a medication cart with a sickening crack, and my boot slipped on the damp floor. A sharp, white-hot spasm tore through my lower stomach as I crashed against the tiled wall, barely catching myself before hitting the floor.

Julian didn't spare me a single glance. He had Chloe scooped tightly in his arms, his voice cracked with frantic terror. "Chloe! Are you okay?! Did the baby get jarred?!"

"My stomach... Julian, it hurts..." Chloe buried her face in his neck, whimpering softly.

Over his shoulder, her eyes found mine.

The tears were gone. Her lips curved into a sharp, victorious smirk.

Julian turned his head toward me, his hazel eyes flushed red with volcanic hatred. "You jealous, venomous bitch! If a single hair falls from Chloe's head, I swear to God I will make you pay with your life! Get on your knees and apologize to her! Right now!"

I leaned heavily against the wall, one hand pressed against my throbbing hip, the dull ache inside my womb deepening into an icy void.

"Apologize?" My voice was barely a whisper, hollowed of all warmth. "For being shoved by you?"

"She is carrying life!" Julian spat, his face contorting into an ugly sneer. "What have you done for five years except sit at home, wasting money on quack herbs while your useless womb stays dead as a desert?! Chloe accomplished in two weeks what you failed to do in five years!"

He turned to carry Chloe down the hall, tossing cold fury over his shoulder.

"Get out of here. Go home and clean the grease off the floor. Until you write a three-page letter begging Chloe for forgiveness, don't ever call me your husband."

"Julian."

My voice cut through the corridor like a razor.

Julian paused, irritation dripping from his posture. "What more lies do you have to spew?!"

I looked at the man I had given five years of my youth, my design royalties, and my quiet devotion to. I pulled the crumpled termination slip from my pocket, hiding it in my closed fist.

"If I told you that I am eight weeks pregnant right now," I said evenly, staring directly into his soul, "and that I'm standing outside this door to have an abortion... would you let go of her and stay?"

Julian stared at me for two seconds. Then, a harsh, mocking bark of laughter tore from his throat.

"You? Pregnant?" He sneered, shaking his head with profound pity and disgust. "Evelyn, you've been barren for five years. Inventing a fake pregnancy to guilt me into abandoning a grieving widow? You are the most pathetic creature I have ever laid eyes on."

He took Chloe’s hand and began walking away.

"Even if by some sick joke you were carrying my child, you wouldn't dare abort it. Stop embarrassing yourself with cheap theatrics."

The double doors of the VIP suite swung shut behind them.

"Patient 42?" The head surgeon stepped out, looking at me with gentle concern. "The anesthesia is ready. Are you prepared?"

I looked at the closed VIP doors one last time, my eyes completely dry, cold as Siberian ice.

"Yes," I answered quietly, stepping into the blinding white light of the operating room. "Take it out. I don't want a single trace of his blood in my life."

Forty minutes later, the heavy glass doors of St. Jude parted.

I stepped into the pouring rain, pale, empty, and free.

A sleek, midnight-black Maybach pulled up to the curb, flanked by two armored SUVs. An elderly butler stepped out, holding a large silver umbrella over my head, bowing ninety degrees.

"Welcome home, Miss Kensington."

I slid into the heated leather seat. Sitting across from me was my father, Marcus Kensington, his obsidian cane resting between his knees, his piercing grey eyes burning with lethal fury.

"Did you take care of it, sweetheart?" he asked softly.

"It's done, Dad," I replied, staring out the tinted window as Julian’s beat-up sedan pulled out of the underground garage in the distance.

A cold, razor-sharp smile touched my lips.

"Now... let's invite Mr. Sterling to the Grand Bay gala. It's time to teach a stray dog what happens when he bites his master.”