My Husband’s Heir Cost Him His Own Daughter Chapter 02

My Husband’s Heir Cost Him His Own Daughter Chapter 02

The moment Carter saw me, his expression froze.

He immediately passed the baby to the nanny and strode toward me. There was no guilt in his posture, only the annoyance of a man whose plans had been disrupted.

“Amelia, why are you here?”

The elders’ faces shifted, their eyes darting between each other like men caught in the act.

“Amelia, dear, don’t misunderstand.” The uncle in charge of the family trust was the first to recover, forcing a smile. “We just heard Savannah had given birth and thought we’d stop by to see the baby. We ran into Carter on our way in.”

“Yes, yes,” another elder added quickly. “We were just discussing the hospital’s charity fund.”

I listened to them, a bitter laugh rising in my throat.

Even now, they were trying to placate me with lies a child wouldn’t believe.

I looked up at Carter, my voice frighteningly calm.

“And what do you have to say, Carter?”

“Amelia, just calm down.” He reached for me, trying to pull me from the doorway as if I were a mess to be cleaned up. “It’s just like they said. It was a coincidence.”

“You’re still lying.”

I didn’t waste my breath arguing. I pulled out my phone and started recording the room.

The small red light of the camera ignited my fury. I raised a hand and shoved him back.

“That was a quick meeting in Atlanta, Carter. Not even a private jet gets you home in under an hour.”

Carter didn’t lose his temper. He lunged for my phone.

“Damn it, Amelia, calm down. You’re pregnant—”

“Please, Amelia, don’t blame Carter.”

Savannah’s voice cut through the tension. Holding the baby, she stood, swaying slightly as if the weight of the child was too much for her.

Beside her stood the antique cradle passed down through generations of Beauchamps. The family crest was carved into the dark cherrywood, a silent reminder of what the boy in her arms represented.

“He was only trying to help me,” she said. “I never intended to take your place.”

Every word was perfectly calibrated to sound like a surrender, while reminding everyone in the room that she was the one who had produced a son.

I stared at her. “Shut up,” I said, my voice cold. “You had a child with my husband. Don’t pretend you didn’t intend to replace me.”

I raised a hand to ward Carter off, but he caught my wrist.

His grip was tight enough to make my bones ache.

“Amelia, take it out on me. Don’t touch Savannah. She just gave birth. She’s weak.”

“Weak?” I laughed. “Weak enough to sleep with you and have your child? Was this your emergency meeting, Carter? Keeping her company? How can you be so shameless?”

I wrenched my hand free.

But in that moment, Savannah clutched the baby and lunged toward Carter, as if seeking refuge behind him.

She moved too fast. I instinctively raised my hand to block her.

“Ah—!”

She screamed.

It wasn’t the baby that fell.

It was the heavy, antique cradle.

A dull crash echoed as the cradle hit the floor, a crack splintering one corner.

The room went silent.

“Oh my God!” Savannah burst into tears. She didn’t check the baby; her first move was to point at me. “Amelia, how could you? My baby was almost hurt! And that cradle belongs to the Beauchamp family!”

The others rushed forward.

“Amelia, what is wrong with you? That cradle has been in this family for generations!”

“Are you insane?”

Carter’s gaze fell to the crack on the floor, and a surge of fury lit his eyes.

“Amelia, I know you hate me, but that is a symbol of our family! My great-grandmother used that cradle!”

His voice was so loud it made my ears ring.

I looked at him and asked softly, “Is that so? Then what is the child in my stomach?”

“The cradle is cracked! Carter, look!”

Savannah’s cry, choked with tears, snapped Carter’s attention back to her.

He practically dove for the cradle, carefully lifting the splintered wood as if it were the only fragile thing in the room.

“Quick, call the carpenter. No, get a restorer on the phone. Now!”

The study descended into chaos.

Everyone crowded around the broken antique, their voices a frantic buzz.

No one looked at me.

No one noticed the blood drain from my face, or wondered if the child in my womb had been frightened by the commotion.

I stood in the doorway, watching the absurd scene unfold. The last flicker of hope in my heart died.

I looked at the man at the center of it all.

“Fine, Carter.”

My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the noise.

He glanced up, his expression impatient.

I pulled the corner of my mouth into a smile.

“Have it your way,” I said, my voice ice. “Tell your lawyer to prepare the papers.”