My Husband’s Heir Cost Him His Own Daughter Chapter 04

My Husband’s Heir Cost Him His Own Daughter Chapter 04

Leaving the doctor’s office, I walked down the oak-paneled hall of the country club and saw Carter heading my way.

He had just finished a meeting and was stepping out of the director’s private lounge.

Our eyes met. We stood there for several seconds.

“Amelia… are you actually sick?” He started to snap, but the words caught in his throat when he saw the color of my skin.

“Yes,” I said calmly. “You knocked me down yesterday. Don’t you remember?”

The memory seemed to finally register. A flicker of discomfort crossed his face.

“I’m sorry. I was… distracted. Are you hurt?”

I didn’t answer. “How’s the cradle?” I asked instead.

“It’s fine. The restorer said it’s salvageable.”

He let out a breath, relieved. Then, in the next instant, he slipped back into his condescending tone, stepping closer and lowering his voice.

“Amelia, you can’t be so impulsive. Do you have any idea how unreasonable you were yesterday?”

I looked up at him, and the absurdity of it all made me want to laugh.

“Is that who I am to you?”

I held his gaze. “If I told you Savannah dropped the cradle on purpose and framed me, would you believe me?”

“Amelia!” Carter’s face darkened. “Stop slandering Savannah. It’s been three years. Why are you still like this?”

I wasn’t surprised.

Since that day three years ago, every incident ended the same way.

It was a pattern. The time at the equestrian club, when Savannah “accidentally” damaged the clasp on my riding habit, leaving me humiliated in front of everyone, only to cry later that she was just trying to help. Then the yacht party, where she slipped off the deck into the sea while I was the only one standing beside her, whispering after her rescue that I “didn’t mean it.” The time in his study was the most absurd—after an argument, she’d sliced her own arm with a letter opener, claiming I’d threatened her and her unborn child.

Including this latest performance, I had lost count.

And I was tired.

“Carter, my lawyer will be in touch.”

At the word “lawyer,” the anger on his face dissolved into panic.

His voice softened instantly. “Amelia, you’re eight months pregnant. Don’t be ridiculous. I was angry yesterday. I’m not going to divorce you.”

I looked at him. “Aren’t you afraid your son won’t be named in the family trust?”

Carter froze, then rushed to explain. “I just don’t want to divorce you. You’re the one I’ve always loved. As for Savannah… I’m cleaning up a mess for the family. I can’t just ignore her.”

I laughed out loud.

“Cleaning up a mess means sleeping with her? Having a child with her? Carter, you can’t possibly believe that excuse yourself.”

I knew exactly what “mess” he was talking about.

It was the leverage Savannah held—the files that could ruin the Beauchamp Group at any moment.

Back then, she used those documents to control him, forbidding him from being intimate with me, his actual wife. If he didn’t comply, she threatened to leak everything.

He grew closer and closer to her, even started spending nights in her room.

I was jealous. We fought. He would just sigh and say, “What else am I supposed to do? Can’t you try to understand?”

I endured it. For a long time.

Until I walked in on them. In our bed.

That was the first time I asked for a divorce.

I never thought that three years later, he’d be using the same pathetic excuse.

It was disgusting.

“After the baby’s born, I’ll never touch her again,” Carter promised, his words tumbling out in a rush. “If it makes you happy, he doesn’t even have to be in the primary trust—”

Just then, a figure in a white lace dress appeared at the end of the hall.

Savannah. Leaning against the doorframe, looking as if she might collapse.

“Carter, is that true?” she asked, tears already streaming down her face. “You don’t want me and our son anymore?”

Her performance was flawless. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried, ensuring everyone could hear.

“I understand. I’ll take the baby and disappear. I’ll never bother you again.”

With that, she turned and fled.

Carter frowned, an almost instinctive twitch to go after her.

I grabbed his arm.

My voice trembled. It was the last time I would ever beg him for anything.

“Carter, don’t go.”

He looked at me, his face a mask of hesitation.

“Amelia, I’m sorry. I’m afraid she’ll do something stupid.”

The next second, he pulled his arm from my grasp and ran after her.

I lowered my head and stared at my empty hand. A profound cold seeped into my heart.

Carter Beauchamp.

If you can’t let her go, then I will cut you out of my daughter’s life.