Divorced Heiress

The sterile smell of bleach and rubbing alcohol burned the back of Brooklyn's throat.

She lay flat on the stiff hospital mattress, her chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths.

Every muscle in her lower body throbbed with a dull, relentless ache. Her hospital gown clung to her skin, damp with cold sweat. She had just pushed a human being out of her body less than two hours ago.

Outside the heavy wooden door of the VIP delivery room, the sharp, heavy thud of leather dress shoes echoed down the hallway.

The footsteps did not slow down. They did not hesitate.

The door was shoved open with brutal force, hitting the rubber stopper on the wall with a loud smack.

A gust of cold California air swept into the warm room. Baron Lindsay strode in.

He wore a dark, perfectly tailored suit. His jaw was set in a hard line, and his dark eyes swept over the room with clinical detachment.

His chief assistant, M. Shaw, followed closely behind, clutching a black leather briefcase against his chest.

In the far corner of the room, inside a clear plastic incubator, the newborn baby let out a weak, high-pitched cry.

Baron stopped in his tracks. He turned his head toward the sound.

His thick eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown. A flash of pure impatience crossed his handsome face. He did not walk toward the incubator. He did not ask if it was a boy or a girl.

The infant's cry was a sharp, unwelcome reminder of the entanglement he was here to sever. He forced himself to ignore it, his focus solely on the finality of the document his assistant held. He turned his back on the crying infant and walked straight to the edge of Brooklyn's bed.

He stood tall, looking down at her pale, exhausted face.

Baron glanced impatiently at his assistant. Only then did M. Shaw step forward. He unzipped the briefcase, pulled out a thick stack of papers, and retrieved a custom Montblanc fountain pen. He respectfully handed them to his boss.

Baron took the documents. He did not say a word. He simply tossed the heavy stack of papers, a pre-written check clearly clipped to the front page, onto the white blanket covering Brooklyn's legs.

The papers slid down the slope of her knees and came to a stop right against her trembling fingers.

Brooklyn blinked, trying to clear the blurry exhaustion from her vision. She looked down.

The bold, black letters at the top of the page seemed to burn into her retinas.

DIVORCE SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT.

A sharp, physical ache ripped through the center of her chest, stealing the air from her lungs. Her stomach twisted into a violent knot.

She snapped her head up. She stared at the man she had loved for three years, her eyes wide with absolute disbelief.

"Agnes is back," Baron said. His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth. "I need to give her the title she deserves."

Brooklyn's pale lips parted. They trembled so hard she could barely form the words.

"I just... I just gave birth to your child," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Baron let out a short, ice-cold scoff.

"Don't play the victim, Brooklyn," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "You knew what this was. I needed a wife to satisfy my grandfather and secure my shares in Lindsay Dynamics. You needed a roof over your head. The transaction is over."

The words hit her like a physical blow to the stomach.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, painful rhythm. The blood drained completely from her face, leaving her fingertips numb and freezing.