Chapter Eighty-Six: The Stolen Truth
The cold night air of the road was a fleeting blessing on my burning skin. The echoes of Lucas's fury and my father's chilling offer drove my legs faster. Sanctuary. The Royce mansion. Rowan. I just had to reach the main road, flag down a car, get back—
A sudden, sharp sting pierced the side of my neck. Not a blow. A needle's bite.
My legs buckled. I stumbled, catching myself on a lamppost, my vision swimming. I turned, my movements slow and thick, my body already betraying me.
It wasn't Lucas. It wasn't my father.
It was a man I recognized. Handsome, polished, always hovering at the edges of galas and business dinners. Dmitri Volkov. Rowan's biggest business rival. A man who smiled with perfect teeth while his eyes stayed cold as Siberian winter. I'd seen him at the charity event, glass in hand, watching Rowan with a hunger that had nothing to do with champagne.
"Sleep now, Mrs. Royce," he said, his voice smooth as silk as he caught me before I crumpled. "It's for the best."
The world dissolved into a deep, chemical black.
---
Consciousness returned in fragments.
The cold. First, the cold. It seeped through me, deep and invasive, raising goosebumps across my skin. I tried to move, to curl against it, but my body refused to obey. My limbs were lead, my thoughts cotton.
Bright light burned through my eyelids. Sterile. Harsh. The kind of light that belonged in operating rooms and morgues.
Voices. Distorted, swimming in and out.
"—vitals are stable. The sedative will wear off in approximately ten minutes, but she'll remain paralyzed for another thirty. Enough time."
"Good. Prepare the procedure."
Procedure.
The word sliced through the fog like a blade.
I forced my eyes open. The world above me swam—bright surgical lights, white ceiling tiles, the glint of stainless steel. I was strapped down. Wrist straps. Ankles straps. A cold metal table beneath my back.
My stomach.
My baby.
No. No, no, no.
I tried to scream, but only a thin, reedy moan escaped my throat. My body wouldn't cooperate. The drug held me in its chemical grip, a prisoner in my own flesh.
Dmitri Volkov leaned over me, his handsome face arranged in an expression of almost paternal concern. Behind him, a figure in surgical scrubs was preparing instruments, their back to me.
"Ah, you're with us," Dmitri said softly. "Good. I wanted you to understand. To know who did this, and why."
I tried to shake my head. Tried to beg. My lips moved, forming words that came out as broken, desperate whispers.
"Please... please don't... my baby..."
Dmitri's smile didn't waver. "Shh. Save your strength. You'll need it."
"Let us go," I gasped, tears streaming down my temples into my hair. "Please... I'm begging you... don't do this... don't hurt my baby..."
He tilted his head, considering me like a curious specimen. "You know, I've watched Rowan Royce for years. Watched him build his empire, crush his enemies, climb higher and higher while I stayed in his shadow. I've waited. Planned. Looked for the weakness I knew he must have."
His hand came to rest on the metal rail beside my head, leaning in close.
"And then I found it. You."
I sobbed, the sound barely a whisper.
"A beautiful, fragile little wife. A baby on the way. Rowan Royce, the untouchable king, suddenly had something to lose. Something precious. Something I could take."
He straightened, his expression hardening.
"The universe gave him everything. Everything! Wealth. Power. Respect. And now—" He gestured at me, at my belly, his voice rising with genuine fury. "A family? A heir? Why? WHY does he get to have it all while I scramble for scraps?"
The surgeon turned, and I saw the cold efficiency in their eyes. They were waiting. Ready.
Dmitri leaned down again, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper.
"You are his biggest weakness, Mrs. Royce. You and this child. When I take you both, his kingdom doesn't just crumble—it burns. He'll be too busy drowning in grief to protect what's left. And I'll be there, waiting, to pick up the pieces."
"No," I whimpered, straining against the straps with every ounce of strength I couldn't access. "Please... please don't... I'll do anything... just let my baby live..."
"You'll do nothing," he said calmly. "You'll lie there, and you'll feel it, and you'll know—this is because he loved you. This is because he couldn't protect what was his."
The surgeon approached, a syringe in hand.
"This will make it quick," Dmitri said almost kindly. "You won't feel much. And when you wake, it will be over. The heir will be gone. And Rowan... well. Rowan will blame himself. As he should."
The needle descended toward my IV line.
I squeezed my eyes shut, tears streaming, and prayed.
Rowan. Please. Please find us. Save us. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I left without you, without security, without thinking. I should have stayed. I should have protected our baby. I'm the worst mother. Please. Please.
No one came.
The drug hit my veins—cold, spreading, erasing.
The last thing I heard was Dmitri's satisfied sigh.
"She'll be disoriented when she wakes. Confused. We'll make sure she believes she consented. The paperwork will show it. Voluntary termination. Signed by her hand. Rowan will think she chose this. That she killed his heir."
Darkness closed in.
No. Please. No.
Rowan...
Our baby...
I'm sorry...
Nothing.
---
When I woke again, I was in a different room. Softer. A recovery room, maybe. The light was gentle. There were flowers on the nightstand.
My body felt wrong. Empty. Hollow in a way I couldn't explain.
A nurse smiled at me. "You're awake. Good. The procedure went well. No complications."
My hand drifted to my stomach.
It was flat.
Not the gentle swell I'd grown used to, the bump I'd cup protectively in sleep, the life I'd felt fluttering against my palm just yesterday.
Flat.
Empty.
Gone.
"No," I whispered. "No. NO."
The nurse's smile didn't waver. "It's normal to feel emotional. The hormones take time to regulate. Just rest."
I couldn't scream. Couldn't move. Could only lie there, staring at the ceiling, as the world collapsed into a single, unbearable truth.
My baby was gone.
And somewhere, in another part of the city, Rowan would soon receive the news—that his wife, the woman he loved, had voluntarily ended the life of his heir.
The trap was set.
The poison had been planted.
And there was nothing I could do to stop it.
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