I read the message and let out a cold laugh.

So his assistant had run straight back to him with every word.

Just then, Alfred Graves called.

"Miss Pruitt, when shall I come to pick you up?"

"No rush. I want to see what other stupid moves Fred makes next."

I smiled to myself.

Early the next morning, Fred's call dragged me out of sleep.

"Winifred! Where the hell have you been?"

He was screaming into the phone.

I held it away from my ear and waited for his tantrum to burn out before yawning. "Say what you came to say."

That only made him worse.

"Did you leak it to the bank? That our last project had a delayed repayment? Why did the bank suddenly notify us today that the loan won't be approved?"

Hearing the tremor in his voice, I felt nothing but pure satisfaction.

"Didn't I already tell you? I called my father."

"The bank cutting you off is just step one. Once the funding gets pulled across every channel, you won't be far from bankruptcy."

I clicked my tongue as I said it.

Fred went quiet for a beat, then spoke through gritted teeth. "Winifred! You think bribing a few bank managers and pulling some little stunt is going to make me bow to you?"

"You want to play? Fine. I'll play this to the end."

He hung up in a rage.

Clearly, he still didn't believe my call had reached the world's richest man.

That was fine. He'd believe it soon enough.

That afternoon, Fred sent me a photo.

The cramped thirty-square-meter apartment we'd rented when we first got married, seven years ago—shabby walls, peeling paint, barely enough room to turn around.

We'd had nothing back then, but we'd scraped together every cent we could and made that place feel like ours.

Now he'd taped a sign to the door: FOR IMMEDIATE SALE.

A voice message popped up.

"See that, Winifred? This old dump is just like you. Should've been cleared out a long time ago."

My fingertip hovered for a second, but I deleted him anyway.

If he could throw away seven years without looking back, what reason did I have to keep living in the past?

But right when I thought I could walk away clean, my stomach lurched hard and everything rushed upward.

After a bout of dry heaving, I instinctively counted the days.

My period was already half a month late.

Half an hour later, I was holding the form the doctor had handed me, and my mind had gone completely blank.

I was pregnant.

I stood there for what felt like forever, and still couldn't accept it.

I'd already made every plan to forget the past, to let go of Fred Delgado for good.

Why did it have to be now?

"Well, well. Isn't this dear Winifred?"

Bianca Whitmore's voice cut in from behind me.

Fred's bodyguards flanked her.

"OB-GYN, huh? Don't tell me you're here hoping you've got Fred's baby in you—thinking that'll keep him from signing the papers?"

Her eyes were full of contempt.

I glanced at her. My mood was already shot, and I had no interest in a fight.

"Oh, you're going to pretend I'm not here?"

But Bianca stepped into my path, her voice dropping low, her gaze venomous. "If you're smart, you'll get lost on your own."

"Because the second my baby is born, every last cent you squeezed out of Fred—I'm taking it all back."

I didn't bother wasting words on her and stepped around her to leave.

I'd never planned to accept Fred's terms anyway.

Everything he had—the wealth, the status—he'd built it on what I gave him, and I intended to reclaim every cent. A single villa and a little pocket money each month to make me disappear? What a joke.

"Don't you walk away from me!"

Bianca screamed it at the top of her lungs.

When I kept walking, she rushed up and grabbed for my arm.

I frowned and pulled away on instinct.

She rode the momentum—threw herself backward and hit the floor like she'd been shoved.

"Ah! My stomach!"

I was still marveling at the performance when Fred came running down the corridor.

"Winifred! What are you doing?"

He shoved me aside and crouched to help Bianca up, handling her like she was made of glass.

"Don't blame her, Fred. Poor thing's going through a divorce—she probably just couldn't help herself."

Bianca leaned into his arms, trembling.

His face darkened.

Without a word, he raised his hand and slapped me across the face. He put everything into it. My ear rang, a single high note that drowned out the corridor.

"You know Bianca is pregnant. When did you become this vicious?"

I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and stared at him.

I'd loved him for seven years, and not once—not once—had he ever been that gentle with me.

"Fred, the baby in your mistress's belly counts as a child, but the one in mine doesn't?"

I dug the pregnancy report out of my bag and threw it in his face.

He froze. Then the color drained from his expression.

He picked up the report, and as he read it, his face went completely cold.

"Who told you you could get pregnant?"

His voice dropped low. His eyes locked onto my abdomen.

"Bianca's due date comes first. My firstborn has to be legitimate. It has to come from her."

"Someone with your genes doesn't deserve to breed for the Delgado family."

"This baby cannot stay."

The words were so absurd they barely sounded real.

"Fred, I'm your wife!"

I couldn't stop the words from tearing out of me.

People in the corridor had stopped to stare. Bianca saw the audience forming and immediately clutched her stomach.

"Fred, it hurts…"

His jaw clenched. He pointed at me. "How can you be this selfish? You know Bianca's pregnant and can't be under stress, and you still have to start something?"

"I'm pregnant too! Do you have to side with her no matter what?"

I stared straight into his eyes.

He didn't answer. He didn't even look at me again.

"Drag her to the operating room. Now. I want that thing gone today."

His voice left no room for appeal.

I stared at him.

I had known for a long time that there was nothing left between us. But I never imagined, not even in my worst dreams, that he wouldn't care about the baby either.

"Let go of me!"

I fought with everything I had, but two bodyguards pinned me down.

In the struggle my lower back slammed hard against something solid.

Warmth flooded down my inner thigh, and the pain hit so fast my legs buckled under me.

"Fred… it hurts. Please."

I reached for him, begging.

Something flickered behind his eyes. Then Bianca screamed again.

"Fred, I'm bleeding too!"

She clutched her stomach.

His face changed in an instant. He scooped Bianca up into his arms.

"Get me a doctor. Now. Move!"

He carried her away without looking back.

The bodyguards seized me under the arms and dragged me toward the operating room.

I stopped fighting. I used the last of my strength to pull out my phone and dial Alfred.

"Uncle Alfred… help me…"

Light hit my eyes. I was lying in a private recovery suite, and I didn't know how I'd gotten there.

"Miss Pruitt!"

Alfred's voice reached me first—sharp, urgent, calling for the doctor.

I forced something like a smile, then turned my head.

My father sat on the sofa across the room. Roger Pruitt, tearing a newspaper to confetti with his bare hands.

"Fred Delgado, is it?"

"He dared do that to you. I'll make him pay with every last piece of the Delgado Group."

My father's jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his face stood out.

His eyes were rimmed red—the kind of red that comes from holding it together when you shouldn't have to.

"The baby..."

I was quiet for a long moment before I could bring myself to ask.

One look at Alfred, the way he couldn't meet my eyes, and I already knew. The baby was gone.

A bitter laugh escaped me, then another.

I hated Fred Delgado for taking my child from me. But part of me was grateful the baby would never have to call a man like him father.

"Dad, I'm sorry."

My father's eyes went redder. After a long silence, he let out a heavy breath, stepped forward, and took my hand.

"Silly girl. How could I ever blame you?"

"I just wish you'd come home sooner."

The tears fell before I could stop them.

I'd run away years ago, desperate to prove I didn't need anyone. Then I convinced myself I'd found real love—went so far as to forge a new identity, told everyone I was an orphan with no family at all.

When I was young, I'd made my father so angry he was bedridden for days. After that, no matter how hard life got, I couldn't face him again.

And all that time, the one person who actually loved me had been sitting right here, waiting.

"Dad, let me handle Fred Delgado myself."

I drew a deep breath and pressed the bitterness down.

My father gave a firm nod. "Fine. Whatever you want to do, I'm behind you. No conditions."

I nodded back, my gaze hardening.

Two weeks later.

Delgado Group's cash flow collapsed entirely. But just when it looked like the end, the company landed an unexpected round of foreign investment out of nowhere.

After that, Fred strutted around telling anyone who'd listen that fate itself had chosen him.

In barely three months, Delgado Group's share price tripled, and the company went public.

Riding high, Fred booked the entire top floor of the most exclusive hotel in Kingsport for a celebration gala doubling as his engagement gala with Bianca Whitmore.

And he sent me a special invitation.

"Winifred—tired of rotting in the slums yet? Come watch. I climbed to the top without you. And while you're at it, get a good look at what a real high-society woman is supposed to be."

I laughed, cold and quiet.

"Fred Delgado. You're the one who begged me to come."

The night of the gala, the ballroom blazed with light, packed wall to wall with the city's elite.

Fred stood dead center under the spotlight, radiating triumph, Bianca draped at his side.

"Everything Delgado Group has achieved—we built it clean. We built it right."

"Not like my ex-wife. A greedy little orphan who used every dirty trick she could think of to bleed me dry."

"But I was lucky. I found the person who changed everything for me—the one running Pruitt Capital."

Admiration rippled through the crowd.

Then the ballroom doors swung open and a wall of bodyguards cut through.

They parted, and I walked in between them, unhurried.

The moment Fred saw me, the smile dropped from his face.

"Winifred? Are you here to cause a scene?"

He stared at me, his expression ice-cold.

I barely glanced at him.

"Didn't you invite me yourself? Told me not to hide in the slums, remember? So here I am—getting a good look at your engagement gala."

His face darkened. He must have been certain I'd never actually show up to be humiliated.

Yet here I stood.

"Fine, you're here. But what's with hiring all these bodyguards?"

He frowned.

Just as I'd expected. He still didn't believe a word I'd told him before.

"Tell me something, Fred. You don't actually believe you're some kind of chosen one—do you?"

I couldn't be bothered with small talk. I was going to expose him right here.

Fred froze, staring at me in confusion.

"I heard you've been dying to meet the investor who saved your company and took it all the way to IPO."

His expression darkened further.

"What are you trying to say?"

His voice was low, his jaw tight.

I smirked, pulled out a folder, and flung it straight into his face.

"What I'm trying to say is simple."

"That investor was me."

"Winifred!"

Fred's face went rigid, then flushed with humiliation.

"You've lost your mind!"

His voice cracked on the words, then he snarled, "You forged a Pruitt Capital contract?! Do you have any idea that's a criminal offense?!"