My Husband’s Heir Cost Him His Own Daughter Chapter 08

My Husband’s Heir Cost Him His Own Daughter Chapter 08

Carter sneered, pushing away Savannah’s hand with its pretense of concern.

“The only reason she dares to keep pulling these stunts is because she’s pregnant. Because I used to love her.”

He turned to the guards, his tone colder than a winter wind.

“Savannah, let’s go. It’s time to accept our guests’ congratulations. Leave her. If the child is really gone, she brought it on herself.”

He escorted Savannah away, his posture protective, as if she were a rare treasure.

And I, like a piece of discarded garbage, was lifted by two hulking guards and carried back to a side wing of the estate.

The door locked behind me.

I slid down the polished wood to the floor.

Through the floor-to-ceiling window, I could see the party on the main lawn in full swing.

Carter held a glass of champagne, laughing with the family elders. Savannah stood in a halo of light, her son in her arms, accepting congratulations as if she were already the lady of the manor.

I watched the scene and laughed.

A laugh that immediately turned into hot, stinging tears.

I remembered the day I found out I was pregnant.

Carter, a man nearly six-foot-three, had held the blurry ultrasound photo with eyes so red he looked like he was about to cry.

He’d held me close and whispered it over and over again, “Amelia, we’re finally having a child. You’ll never leave me now. I swear, I will never let you or our child suffer in this life.”

And now look at him.

For a woman made of lies and the son she bore, he had pushed his eight-month-pregnant wife to the ground, watched her bleed, and cursed their unborn child.

The last shred of feeling I had for him died in that moment.

The pain in my abdomen grew heavier, more insistent.

I curled up on the floor, cold sweat soaking through my dress.

James, the old butler who had always been loyal to me, was knocking frantically at the door, his voice tight with urgency.

“Madam! Are you all right? I’m calling the doctor!”

“Stop!” Another voice, one of the guards Carter had posted. “Sir’s orders. No one goes in, and she doesn’t come out!”

I listened to them argue until James’s voice faded away.

Time crawled by.

The bright afternoon sun mellowed into a dusky twilight.

Every contraction felt like I was being torn apart from the inside. The pain was so intense I nearly bit through my lip.

The blood on my dress dried and stiffened, cold against my skin.

Deep into the night, the party outside reached its crescendo. The faint sounds of music and laughter drifted into my prison.

But in this locked room, there was only the sound of my own ragged breathing and the sobs I could no longer suppress.

I don’t know how long I lay there.

Just as I felt myself about to pass out from the pain, the baby inside me began to kick. Violently.

It wasn’t the gentle, rolling movements I was used to.

This was panic. A frantic, desperate thrashing.

Once.

Twice.

Harder and harder.

Finally, the fierce struggle turned into a new, tearing agony.

It felt like something inside me had burst.

The next second, a gush of warm liquid soaked my dress and the carpet beneath me.

My water had broken.

With a crash, the door was rammed open.

Old James rushed in, his eyes wide with terror.

When he saw the pool of blood I was lying in, his face went white.

“Oh, dear God! Quick! Call an ambulance!”

His hands shaking, he pulled out his phone and dialed Carter directly.

The phone rang and rang before it was answered.

But it wasn’s Carter’s voice.

It was Savannah.

“James? Carter is speaking with the senator. What is it?”

“Miss Savannah!” James’s voice was a panicked rasp. “Madam is hemorrhaging! Her water broke! She’s going into labor! You have to get Sir here now!”

The other end of the line was silent for a few seconds.

Then I heard Savannah let out a soft laugh.

“Stop trying these tired old tricks, James. Carter won’t fall for them anymore. Today is the most important day of his son’s life. Don’t bother him with trivial matters.”

Then she hung up.

“That madwoman!” James was shaking with rage. He glanced at me, then made a decision. “To hell with it. Sir’s orders don’t matter now. Madam, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

He scooped me up and rushed out of the room.

Leaning weakly against him, I looked back at the brightly lit main house.

It looked so warm, so festive.

I knew, without a doubt, that Carter was in there with Savannah and her son, enjoying their perfect life.

While my child and I were dying.

By the time we reached the hospital, it was late.

The twisting pain in my abdomen made my vision swim in and out of focus. I was barely conscious.

“Hurry! The mother is hemorrhaging with signs of premature labor!”

Nurses and doctors took me from James’s arms, rushing the gurney down an emergency corridor.

With the last of my strength, I grabbed the sleeve of the doctor beside me.

“Save… save my child…”

“Don’t worry. We’ll do everything we can.” The doctor squeezed my hand, then turned to James. “Where is the patient’s family? We need them to sign the surgical consent forms immediately!”

James didn’t hesitate. He called Carter again.

The first call went unanswered.

The second went unanswered.

The third was declined.

Holding the phone, James’s face was ashen. “Doctor,” he said, his voice strained, “our sir… he’s not answering—”

An older doctor cut him off, her voice sharp with anger.

“His wife is in this condition, and what could he possibly be doing? He doesn’t answer, then he hangs up? Does he have any idea what could happen to the mother in surgery?”