A sharp, agonizing band of pain shot across my lower abdomen, wrapping around my spine like a vice.
I gasped, dropping the stylus on the desk, my hands flying to my swollen belly as the stress and trauma had finally pushed my body to the absolute breaking point.
Another wave of pain hit, harder this time, stealing the oxygen from the room.
I wasn’t due for three weeks, but as I looked down at the puddle of water seeping into the expensive Persian rug beneath my chair, a jolt of primal panic hit me.
I was going into labor, right as Jacob was scheduled to sign the documents.
Chapter 4: The Empire Strikes
“You need to be in the medical wing immediately,” Dr. Aris, the lead obstetrician on the payroll, urged, her voice tight with concern as she checked my vitals in the estate’s foyer.
“Your contractions are five minutes apart, Alice, and the baby is coming,” she warned.
“I have an hour,” I gasped out, gripping the edge of an antique marble console table as another contraction ripped through my torso, making my vision blur.
“Alice, this is madness,” Harrison growled, pacing the marble floor, his cane clicking furiously.
“I will send my lawyers to execute the contract, and you are going to the hospital,” he insisted.
“No!” I snapped, my voice echoing sharply.
“He took my dignity in person, so I am taking his life in person,” I told him, forcing myself to stand upright and taking deep, shuddering breaths.
“Get the car ready,” I ordered.
Forty-five minutes later, I stood in the hallway of Jacob’s sleek, ultra-modern corporate headquarters downtown.
I was wearing a striking, tailored crimson maternity suit, my hair pulled back into a severe knot.
The pain was blinding, a constant, low-level agony radiating from my pelvis, but adrenaline and pure, unadulterated rage held my spine perfectly straight.
Through the glass walls of the primary conference room, I could see Jacob.
He had just popped the cork on a bottle of vintage champagne, the foam spilling over the neck as he poured it into crystal flutes for his sycophantic board of directors.
He was arrogant, celebratory, and radiated the toxic, untouchable confidence of a man who believed he was a kingmaker.
“To the tech acquisition,” Jacob toasted loudly, his eyes gleaming with insatiable greed.
“And to the next billion,” he added.
I didn’t knock, I simply pushed the heavy glass doors open, flanked by four of the most ruthless corporate litigators and two towering security contractors.
The laughter and applause died instantly, and the room fell into a stunned, breathless silence.
I stepped into the room, breathing slowly through my nose to mask the peak of a contraction, my grip tightening imperceptibly on the handle of my leather briefcase.
“Alice?” Jacob gasped, the color draining from his face as the crystal champagne flute slipped from his fingers, shattering into fragments on the polished hardwood floor.
“What are you doing here, and the press said you were on bed rest at the estate?” he asked, stumbling over his words.
He quickly looked at his board members, attempting to rapidly construct his concerned husband narrative.
He took a step toward me, his hands raised in a placating gesture.
“Honey, you shouldn’t be out here, and the baby…” he started.
“Do not take another step toward me,” I commanded, my voice slicing through the air with lethal finality.
Jacob froze, looking at my face and realizing instantly that the timid, terrified girl he had starved in a courtroom was entirely, permanently gone.
I walked to the head of the massive mahogany table, and the board members scrambled to pull their chairs back, making room for me.
I placed the leather briefcase on the polished wood, popped the latches, and tossed a thick stack of heavily redacted, legally binding documents onto the table.
“I am not here for a family reunion, Mr. Gray,” I said, my voice carved from ice.
“I am here to finalize the audit of your assets as the newly appointed Vice President of Acquisitions for the syndicate,” I declared.
