The Day My Heart Died

When my water broke a month early, my billionaire husband locked me in a soundproof panic room.

He told me I had to wait. His sister-in-law, Kennedy, was also in labor, and her son had to be born first to inherit the family's multi-billion-dollar fortune.

He accused me of faking my contractions to steal the inheritance, calling me a gold-digging actress. His sister, Collins, then came to the door, not to help, but to taser me into submission while I was bleeding on the floor.

"My only nephew is being born in a state-of-the-art hospital," she sneered. "Your little bastard will get nothing."

They left me to die. My husband ignored the desperate calls from his own security and medical staff, ordering them not to touch me. He called me a liar as our son's heartbeat faded to nothing.

I don't understand. I loved him, and he was willing to sacrifice me and our child for a legacy. How could a man I shared a bed with be so cruel?

But they made one fatal mistake. They didn't know who my father was. And now, six months after they left me for dead, I'm back. And I'm here to take everything.

Chapter 1

The first contraction seized Grace Moore with the force of a vise grip. It was sharp, sudden, and terrifyingly early.

Eight months. She was only eight months pregnant.

Her hand flew to her swollen belly, a protective instinct kicking in. "Brogan," she gasped, her voice tight with pain. "Something's wrong."

Brogan Edwards, her husband, the CEO of his family's powerful corporation, stood by the window of their master bedroom. He didn't turn around. He just stared out at the sprawling, manicured lawns of their estate.

"It's too soon," she said, another wave of pain cresting. She tried to stand, her legs trembling. "We need to go to the hospital."

Finally, he turned. His handsome face, a face she had fallen in love with, was a mask of cold calculation. There was none of the concern she expected, none of the panic a husband should feel.

"No," he said. His voice was flat.

Grace stared at him, the pain momentarily forgotten, replaced by a chilling confusion. "What do you mean, no? Brogan, I'm in labor."

"I know," he replied, walking towards her. He didn't reach out to comfort her. He stopped a few feet away, his posture rigid. "You'll have to wait."

The words didn't make sense. It was like hearing a foreign language. "Wait? Wait for what? The baby is coming!"

He finally looked her in the eye, and the coldness there pierced her. "Kennedy's water broke an hour ago. She's on her way to the hospital now."

Kennedy Sanford. His late brother's widow. Also pregnant. Due any day now. Grace knew all this, but she couldn't understand the connection.

"That's... good for her," Grace stammered, leaning against the bedpost as another contraction ripped through her. "Brogan, please. We need to go."

"Her son has to be born first," Brogan stated, as if explaining a simple business principle.

The air left Grace's lungs. The family inheritance clause. She had thought it was a ridiculous, archaic relic when Brogan's lawyers had explained it to her before their wedding. A formality. The firstborn grandson of this generation would inherit the controlling shares of the Edwards Corporation. Billions of dollars.

She never thought it would matter. She never thought Brogan would care.

"You can't be serious," she whispered, disbelief warring with the mounting pain. "You're talking about our son. Your son. You're willing to risk his life for... for money?"

"It's not about money," he snapped, his voice sharp with defensiveness. "It's about legacy. It's my duty to my brother. His son deserves his birthright. I promised him I would look after his family."

He saw it as a duty. A noble sacrifice. He was haunted by his brother's death in a car accident a year ago, a death he felt responsible for. Kennedy, his manipulative sister-in-law, had played on that guilt ever since, painting herself as a tragic, helpless widow. Grace had seen it, but she believed her husband's love for her and their own child would be stronger.

She was wrong.

"And what about your duty to me?" she cried out, her voice breaking. "To our baby?"

"Don't be dramatic, Grace," he said, his tone dismissive. "You're faking. You've known about the clause. You probably timed this to try and steal the inheritance."

The accusation was so cruel, so baseless, that it hurt more than the contractions. She had come from what he believed was a modest background, a fact his family never let her forget. They saw her as a gold-digger, an outsider who had trapped their prized son. She had loved him purely, naively, and he was now using that love against her.

"How can you say that?" she sobbed, clutching her stomach. "Look at me! I'm in pain, Brogan!"

"You're a better actress than I thought," he sneered. "It doesn't matter. You're not going anywhere."

He grabbed her arm. His grip was bruising. He started pulling her from the bedroom.

"Brogan, no! Please!" she begged, trying to dig her heels into the plush carpet. "Don't do this. I love you. Let's just go to the hospital. I don't care about the inheritance! Let them have it! I'll sign anything! I just want our son to be safe!"

He didn't listen. He dragged her down the hallway, her bare feet stumbling.

"Let him have it?" he scoffed. "It's easy for you to say that now, isn't it? After you've tried and failed."

He pulled her toward a heavy, steel door set flush against the wall, disguised as a panel. The mansion's panic room.

"No. Not in there," she pleaded, her terror escalating. The room was soundproof, windowless. A vault. "Brogan, you'll kill us."

"It will only be for a few hours," he said, keying in a code. The door hissed open, revealing a small, cold, sterile space with a single chair and a toilet. "Just long enough to ensure my nephew is born first. There's water. You'll be fine."

He shoved her inside. She fell to the hard floor, the impact jarring her, sending another spike of agony through her body.

"Brogan, please, I'm begging you!" she screamed, scrambling back toward the door.

He looked down at her, his face unreadable. For a moment, a flicker of something-doubt? guilt?-crossed his features. But then it was gone, replaced by that same cold resolve.

"This is for the family, Grace," he said, his voice low. "You were never really a part of it anyway."

The heavy door began to close, cutting off the light.

"BROGAN!"

The door sealed with a solid, final thud. Darkness and silence enveloped her. She was alone, trapped, her body betraying her, with the only person who was supposed to protect her having become her tormentor.

He had locked her in a tomb to delay the birth of their child.

Hours passed. Or maybe it was minutes. Time had no meaning in the dark, punctuated only by the relentless rhythm of her contractions. They were coming closer together, stronger, tearing at her. She lay on the cold floor, slick with sweat, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

She tried to find a way out. She clawed at the seamless steel walls until her fingernails bled. She beat on the door, screaming until her voice was raw, knowing no one could hear her. The panic room was designed to keep the world out. It also served to keep her in. Her phone was gone, left behind in the bedroom. She was completely cut off.

"Help," she whispered into the oppressive silence. "Somebody, please, help me."

A sudden, excruciating pain, different from the contractions, shot through her abdomen. It was a sharp, tearing sensation. She cried out, curling into a ball. Something was very, very wrong. This wasn't just labor anymore. This was a medical emergency.

She felt a dampness spreading beneath her. In the pitch black, she couldn't see, but she could smell the metallic scent of blood.

Panic, cold and absolute, washed over her. "My baby," she sobbed. "Oh, God, my baby."

Just then, she heard a faint click. A small panel in the door slid open. A face appeared in the opening, framed by the dim light of the hallway.

It was Collins Mcguire, Brogan's younger sister. Her face was twisted in a smirk of pure, sadistic pleasure.

"Collins! Thank God!" Grace cried, a desperate surge of hope flooding her. "Help me. Please. I'm bleeding. The baby..."

Collins laughed. It was a high, cruel sound that echoed in the small space.

"Still keeping up the act, are we?" she sneered. "Did you really think we'd fall for this little drama?"

"It's not an act!" Grace insisted, trying to drag herself closer to the opening. "I'm in danger. The baby is in danger! Call a doctor! Please!"

"Brogan said you'd try something like this," Collins said, examining her perfectly manicured nails. "He said you were a greedy little snake. I always knew it. I told him you were nothing but a gold-digging whore from the day he brought you home."

The insults were like slaps to the face, but Grace ignored them. The pain was all-consuming.

"I don't care what you think of me!" she gasped. "Just help my baby! He's your nephew!"

"My only nephew is being born right now in a state-of-the-art hospital, surrounded by the best doctors," Collins said coolly. "His name will be Liam, and he will be the heir to the Edwards fortune. Your little bastard will get nothing."

She looked down at Grace, a flicker of feigned pity in her eyes. "You know, if you had just accepted your place, maybe things would be different. But you always had to reach for more, didn't you?"

Grace felt her strength failing. The world was starting to spin. The blood loss was making her dizzy.

"Collins... please..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Collins's smile widened. She was enjoying this. She held up her phone. "Brogan is on the line. He wants to know how his 'loving' wife is doing."

Grace's heart leaped. Hope, however faint, flickered again. "Brogan," she called out, trying to make her voice louder. "Brogan, listen to me! It's real! I'm bleeding! The doctor... you need to call a doctor!"

Collins listened to the phone for a moment, then looked back at Grace, her expression hardening.

"He says to stop your pathetic games," Collins relayed, her voice dripping with contempt. "He says Kennedy is having a hard time, and he doesn't need you causing more trouble."

The last ember of hope died. He was there. With Kennedy. While his own wife and child were dying on a cold steel floor.

"He... he doesn't believe me," Grace whispered, the reality crashing down on her.

"Of course he doesn't," Collins said. "He knows what you are. We all do."

Collins's face contorted with a fresh wave of anger, likely fueled by whatever Brogan had just said to her. She felt like a pawn in their cruel family games.

"You've caused enough problems for my brother!" Collins hissed. She reached through the opening, and Grace flinched, but Collins wasn't reaching for her. She was pulling something from her pocket.

It was a small, sleek object. A taser.

"Brogan said to make sure you stay quiet," Collins said, her eyes gleaming with malice. "He's tired of your hysterics."

Fear, primal and absolute, shot through Grace. "No! Collins, don't!"

Collins just smiled, pressing the button. The taser crackled with a terrifying blue electricity. "This should shut you up."

And then she lunged.