The True Heiress Returns After Divorce

A jagged blade of agony twisted deep inside Emmie's lower abdomen.

Her fingers dug into the cold edge of the marble island in the penthouse kitchen. The pristine white stone offered no comfort.

The pain ripped through her again, sharper this time. Her knees buckled.

She hit the hard ceramic tile floor with a heavy thud. The impact sent a shockwave up her spine, but it was nothing compared to the tearing sensation in her gut.

Her vision blurred into a mess of gray shadows. Cold sweat instantly soaked through the thin silk of her nightgown, clinging to her spine like a layer of ice.

Her hand trembled violently as she reached out. Her fingers brushed against the cold screen of her phone lying on the floor.

She pressed the speed dial button for Daxton. Her chest heaved as she waited.

"Please," she gasped to the empty room.

A cold, automated female voice filled the silence. Please leave your message after the tone.

Her fingers went completely numb. The phone slipped from her weak grasp.

It hit the tile with a sharp crack.

The edges of her vision turned black. The darkness rushed in, swallowing the pain, the cold floor, and the suffocating silence of the penthouse. Emmie closed her eyes and let it take her.

The sharp, chemical stench of bleach burned Emmie's nostrils.

She forced her heavy eyelids open.

The blinding white ceiling lights of a hospital room pierced her eyes. The steady, rhythmic beep... beep... beep of a heart monitor echoed in the sterile space.

She slowly turned her head.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stood by the floor-to-ceiling window. The bespoke charcoal suit fit him perfectly. Daxton Ellis. Her husband.

Emmie's dry, cracked lips parted. She tried to push his name out of her throat, but no sound came.

Daxton turned around. His deep, dark eyes locked onto hers. There was no warmth in them. No relief. He looked at her the way a mechanic looks at a broken machine.

The heavy wooden door pushed open. Dr. Evans walked in, a metal clipboard in his hand, breaking the suffocating silence.

"Mr. Ellis," Dr. Evans said, his voice professional and tight. "Mrs. Ellis suffered a severe shock induced by acute stomach cramps. Her body is under immense stress."

Daxton's brow furrowed slightly. He didn't look at Emmie.

"Will this affect the bone marrow transplant next month?" Daxton's voice was a flat, emotionless line. He cut the doctor off completely.

Emmie's heart violently contracted in her chest. The tiny spark of hope that had just ignited in her chest instantly turned to ash.

Dr. Evans flipped a page on his clipboard, clearing his throat. "As long as she rests and follows the nutritional plan, the hematopoietic stem cell activity will not be compromised."

The tight line of Daxton's jaw visibly relaxed. He gave a short, cold nod. "Understood."

Dr. Evans turned and walked out, pulling the heavy door shut behind him with a soft click.

The room fell dead