“You and these runts are on your own.” I didn’t beg. I quietly signed the papers, picked up my phone, and called my grandfather—the ruthless billionaire who owned the very hospital network they were standing in. They thought I was a broke orphan. Ten minutes later, the hospital security dragged them out.
PART 1
The first sound my premature twins heard outside their incubators was the slap of divorce papers against my knees. The second was my husband telling me they were too weak to be worth ruining his life.
I stared through the glass at Liam and Chloe, each barely larger than my forearm, their tiny chests fluttering beneath wires and translucent tape. Behind me, Dominic stood in an expensive charcoal suit, one hand resting possessively on the swollen belly of his mistress, Natalie.
She was wearing my coat.
It was a custom ivory maternity coat I had ordered before the emergency delivery, embroidered inside with the initials of my babies. Natalie stroked the cashmere sleeve and smiled.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said. “Dominic said you wouldn’t need it anymore.”
Dominic dropped a pen onto the folder. “Sign.”
My incision burned as I shifted in the hospital chair. I had delivered at twenty-nine weeks, hemorrhaged, and spent two days unconscious. Dominic had visited once. Apparently, he had used the remaining time efficiently.
“I emptied the joint accounts,” he whispered coldly. “Canceled your cards too. The apartment lease is in my name. You and these runts are on your own.”
A nurse near the doorway stiffened, but I raised one finger, asking her not to interfere.
Dominic mistook restraint for surrender.
“You always pretended you were special,” he continued. “But you’re nobody, Audrey. No parents. No family. No career since you got pregnant. I’m offering you a clean break.”
Natalie leaned closer, perfume flooding the sterile room. “Don’t make this embarrassing. Stress is bad for fragile babies.”
I looked at her hand on my coat, then at Dominic’s smug face. Three years earlier, he had proposed after hearing I had inherited “a little trust” from distant relatives. I had let him believe it was modest. My grandfather had insisted.
“People reveal themselves when they think you have nothing,” he had warned me.
I opened the folder.
Dominic’s smile widened.
The agreement gave him the apartment, the vehicles, the furniture, and full ownership of his medical-supply company. In exchange, he waived responsibility for my debts and offered no support beyond the legal minimum.
He had even misspelled Chloe’s name. I signed every marked page.
Natalie let out a soft, mocking laugh. “That was easier than expected.”
I closed the folder, handed it back, and picked up my phone.
Dominic turned toward the door. “Call a shelter.”
“I’m calling my grandfather.”
He paused.
I pressed the private number only four people possessed.
A voice answered immediately. “Audrey?”
I watched Dominic’s confidence flicker.
“Grandfather,” I said calmly, “I need you at Saint Aurelia’s neonatal unit. And bring hospital security.”
I paused, looking at my former husband. “Someone has mistaken my silence for permission to destroy your great-grandchildren and me.”
PART 2: Dominic barked a laugh. “Your grandfather? The dead one?”
Natalie covered her mouth, delighted. “Maybe the medication is making her confused.”
I said nothing. Grandfather had erased himself from society after my parents died in a plane crash when I was twelve. Reporters knew billionaire Arthur Crestwood had one surviving heir, but no photograph of me had appeared since childhood. I attended ordinary schools under my mother’s surname, worked as an accountant, and rejected the bodyguards and penthouses he offered.
