Husband Tries to Kill His Heiress Wife

The baby kicked inside me as I turned the key in the ignition, my hand instinctively moving to my swollen belly.

"Almost there, little one," I whispered, smiling as another gentle nudge pressed against my palm. "Just a few more minutes and we'll meet the doctor."

Today was my due date. After months of anticipation, the moment had finally arrived. I'd packed everything—the tiny clothes, the softest blankets, the journal I'd kept throughout my pregnancy filled with letters to my unborn child.

"We're going to have a perfect day," I promised, pulling away from our apartment building. The morning sun cast golden light across the street, and I felt a surge of happiness so intense it almost hurt.

I stopped at a red light, humming softly to the baby. My fingers traced the outline of my wedding ring—a habit I'd developed whenever anxiety threatened to overwhelm me. But today, there was no anxiety. Only joy.

"Mommy and Daddy are so excited to meet you," I said, feeling the baby shift inside me. "Daddy should be meeting us at the hospital soon. He's probably just running late from work."

The light turned green. I pressed the accelerator gently, eager to reach our destination.

That's when I saw it in my rearview mirror—a heavy truck approaching from behind, accelerating despite the red light. Something about its speed sent ice through my veins.

"No," I breathed, instinctively trying to swerve. "No, no, no!"

Metal screamed against metal as the truck slammed into the driver's side of my car. Glass shattered in an explosion of sparkling shards. My body jerked violently, seatbelt cutting into my shoulder as the world spun around me.

Pain exploded through my abdomen—sharp, tearing agony that stole my breath. I screamed, hands clutching my stomach protectively.

"Baby!" I cried out, hot wetness spreading between my thighs. "Please, no, baby!"

The car came to rest against a lamppost, metal groaning as steam rose from the crumpled hood. I tried to move but couldn't. The steering wheel had pushed into my ribs, and something warm trickled down my forehead.

"My baby," I whispered as darkness crept into the edges of my vision. "Someone help my baby."

---

Beeping machines. Harsh fluorescent lights. Voices shouting medical terms I couldn't understand.

"Gemma! Gemma, stay with us!" Someone squeezed my hand.

I forced my eyes open, wincing at the brightness. White ceiling tiles swam above me. A mask covered my face, oxygen flowing into my lungs.

"BP dropping! She's hemorrhaging!"

"Fetal distress! Heart rate's plummeting!"

"Get O-negative in here now!"

Panic surged through me as understanding dawned. I tried to speak but could only manage a weak moan.

"Where's Brady?" I managed to ask, my voice barely audible.

A nurse exchanged glances with the doctor. "Someone's calling him now."

I closed my eyes briefly, fighting the darkness that threatened to pull me under. When I opened them again, I saw him through the glass partition of the emergency room.

Brady stood in the hallway, phone pressed to his ear, his face tight with annoyance rather than fear. No—not annoyance. Anger.

"He should be here," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. "He should be with me."

Before anyone could respond, the doors burst open. A woman rushed in, her face streaked with tears, clutching a bundle wrapped in a blue blanket.

"Brady!" she screamed. "Help! It's Snowball! She's dying!"

I blinked in confusion as Dalia Ross—Brady's coworker, his "friend"—thrust the bundle toward him. He took it immediately, cradling what appeared to be a small white cat.

"What happened?" Brady demanded, his voice tender in a way it hadn't been with me.

"I got so upset when I heard about the accident," Dalia sobbed. "I dropped her and she got cut on something. She's bleeding, Brady! She needs help!"

A doctor approached them. "Sir, this is an emergency room. Pets aren't—"

"She's not just a pet!" Dalia wailed. "She's Brady's lifesaver! Don't you understand?"

I watched in disbelief as Brady nodded solemnly. "This cat saved my life once. She's more important than..."

He trailed off, but his eyes met mine across the room. In that moment, I saw something that chilled me to the bone.

"Doctor," Brady said, turning to Dr. Sarah Chen who had been overseeing my care. "How much blood does Gemma need?"

Dr. Chen looked confused. "She needs a transfusion immediately, but we're waiting for blood from the bank. Why?"

Brady stepped closer, still cradling the cat. "How much?"

"About 500 milliliters to stabilize her," Dr. Chen replied cautiously.

"Perfect," Brady said coldly. "Take it from her. Now."

The room went silent except for the steady beep of monitors.

"Mr. Hoffman, I don't understand," Dr. Chen finally said. "Your wife needs that blood."

"She doesn't need all of it," Brady insisted, his voice hardening. "Snowball has the same rare blood type. AB-negative. It's a match."

I tried to speak but couldn't find my voice. This couldn't be happening.

"Sir, I can't do that," Dr. Chen protested. "This could kill her—or the baby."

Brady stepped between them, his expression terrifying in its calmness. "I'm her husband. I make the decisions."

As darkness closed in around me, I watched through blurred vision as Dr. Chen reluctantly prepared a needle. The last thing I saw before consciousness slipped away was Brady holding out his arms while my blood—my baby's lifeline—flowed into tubes meant for an animal.

The heart monitor beside me flatlined, its steady tone cutting through the chaos like a death knell.