His Secretary Took My Room — I Left Him with the Baby

On our wedding anniversary, seven months pregnant, I rushed to the meeting place my husband, Daniel Reed, had texted me—bringing along our three-year-old daughter, Emma Reed—only to be kidnapped.

The kidnappers forced me to call Daniel 99 times, but every call went unanswered. Because of that delay, Emma was thrown into a pit of snakes and fatally bitten, while I nearly suffered a miscarriage from the trauma.

Fighting for our lives, I finally got her to the hospital, only to have the road blocked by Daniel’s secretary, Sophie Lane, who was hosting her own birthday banquet. By the time I made it to the emergency room, Emma’s little face was already pale and lifeless.

The doctors shook their heads.

“Ma’am, we’re sorry. She died from the venom. If you had arrived ten minutes earlier, she could have been saved.”

Before I could even grieve, Daniel’s impatient voice came over the phone:

“Claire Whitmore, can’t you be more understanding? Sophie is the daughter of a billionaire—without her, I could never close this deal.”

And before I could process when my father had supposedly gained another daughter, my mother-in-law called, her voice dripping with venom:

“Where have you and that useless brat gone? My son should’ve married Sophie Lane long ago!”

A video popped up from Sophie: Daniel peeling shrimp for her at the couple’s restaurant I had always dreamed of visiting.

Then came a voice message: “So, how does it feel to be bitten by a snake? Do you like the anniversary gift I sent you?”

Attached was her prenatal report—under “Father’s Name” was Daniel Reed.

I called the billionaire:

“Dad, I’ve changed my mind. Book me a hospital to protect the baby. I’m filing for divorce, raising my child without its father, and once this pregnancy is stable, I’ll return home—just in time to deliver a little surprise at their signing ceremony next week.”

——

A string of blows had left my pregnancy unstable, so my billionaire father booked me the top-tier VIP delivery suite to ensure the safety of my baby.

When I arrived at the maternity ward, I saw from a distance that the light in the VIP suite was on. That suite—equipped with the most advanced monitoring equipment and a temperature-controlled sterile system—was reserved exclusively for special patients at this private hospital. My father had personally instructed the director to make sure I stayed in the safest environment possible.

But just as I reached the door, a woman in a Chanel suit blocked my way. She was wearing ten-centimeter heels despite her slightly rounded belly—and she was none other than my fiancé Daniel Reed’s secretary, Sophie Lane.

“I’m taking this room. You can switch to a standard one,” Sophie drawled, leaning against the doorframe. Her manicured red nails lazily traced over the room plaque. “A pregnant nobody like you is just wasting space in a place like this.”

Supporting my lower back, I spoke through the waves of pain gripping my abdomen. “This room was booked in advance by my family. The reservation slip is at the nurses’ station.”

“So what if it’s booked?” she suddenly raised her voice, drawing stares from other expectant mothers in the hallway. “The Reed Corporation is about to close a deal with the Whitmore family. From now on, in Bayshore City, Daniel’s name is as good as a pass to anything. Forget just one room—if I want the whole maternity ward switched, it’ll be done.”

With that, she deliberately bumped into me. I stumbled, catching myself against the wall as a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my stomach.

“What are you doing?!” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.

“What am I doing? Helping you realize your place,” Sophie sneered. “Daniel says a penny-pinching woman who can’t even afford a nurse for her prenatal checkups doesn’t deserve VIP treatment. Unlike me—carrying the Reed family’s first grandson—living here is only natural.”

I steadied myself and dialed Daniel’s number. His impatient voice came through the receiver: “I’m in the middle of an important meeting. What is it?”

“Sophie took my VIP suite. Can you—”

“It’s not a big deal,” he cut me off. “You can give birth in a standard room. Stop being so dramatic. Sophie’s from the Whitmore family, she’s of high status. Why can’t you let her have it?”

“But my dad arranged this room for me—”

“Your dad? That guy who runs a corner shop? What could he possibly pull off?” Daniel’s voice dripped with contempt. “Stop embarrassing me. Change rooms.”

The call ended, and Sophie smirked.

“Heard that? Daniel says this room is mine.”

She stepped aside just as Daniel—who’d claimed to be in an “important meeting”—hurried over carrying bags of supplements for Sophie.

“Daniel, you really believe her?” I looked at him, feeling my heart sink deeper and deeper.

He frowned, avoiding my gaze. “Emma, don’t make a scene. Sophie’s delicate and needs a good environment to protect the baby. You… just bear with it.”

“Bear with it?” I laughed, tears sliding down my cheeks. “Since I got pregnant, have you accompanied me to a single prenatal checkup? And now even the suite I booked is being taken by your secretary, and you tell me to bear with it?”

Sophie suddenly clutched her stomach with a dramatic gasp and leaned into Daniel. “Daniel, my belly hurts… maybe she upset me just now…”

“See what you’ve done?” Daniel’s glare cut to me. “I told you not to provoke her. If something happens to the baby, can you take responsibility?” He guided Sophie into the suite, tossing over his shoulder, “Go to a standard room and stop being an eyesore.”

Down the hall, nurses whispered to each other.

“Is that Daniel’s wife? Can’t even keep a suite from the secretary?”

“She’s got no background. Men like Daniel will always choose what helps their career.”

“Look at Sophie’s bag—it’s a limited edition. The other one’s maternity dress looks like it’s from a street stall.”

“I heard that VIP suite is reserved for the Whitmore family. Sophie’s last name is Lane—maybe she’s one of them?”