I woke up in pain after severe complications during C-section. It was a massive blood loss and doctors were saying I was lucky to be alive.

“Joseph?” My voice came out weak, cracked. “I need you. Are you—are you going to leave me?”

He wasn’t beside my bed. He was at the foot of it, stuffing clothes into a leather bag with brisk, impatient movements. His back was to me.

“I’m just going to check on Danica,” he said.

“Danica?” My eyes widened, disbelief washing over the painkillers fogging my mind. “Your ex-wife? Why would you check on her when your wife almost died giving birth to your child?”

Joseph exhaled sharply, like I was exhausting him. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re alive, okay? That's what matters. And the baby is also alive.” He gestured vaguely toward the door. “My mother is here. Danica is alone. She’s sick.”

“I’m your wife,” I said, tears spilling down my temples. “She’s just your ex-wife.”

But he was already zipping the bag. He didn’t look back when he walked out. The door hadn’t even finished closing when his mother stepped forward.

Jana stood near the window, arms crossed, her lips curled in thin disgust. She hadn’t moved closer to me once. Hadn’t touched my hand. Hadn’t asked if I was in pain.

“Can you cut the crap?” she snapped. “You always want people to pity you. That’s how you got my son to marry you, isn’t it? Playing the victim. Seducing him.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re the reason he broke up with Danica.”

“That’s not true,” I cried. “I wasn’t—Danica cheated on him. That’s why they ended. Everyone knows that—”

The slap came out of nowhere. My head snapped to the side, pain exploding across my cheek. The monitors spiked, beeping wildly, but Jana didn’t even flinch.

“Don’t you dare badmouth Danica,” she hissed. “She may be the ex-wife, but she is also Joseph’s best friend. They knew each other even before you came into the picture! I don’t even know why he married you, of all people?”

She leaned closer, her voice dropping into something poisonous.

“You’re just some lowlife girl he picked up in a filthy bar.”

I sobbed, my body trembling, stitches screaming as I tried to curl in on myself.

“If you weren’t carrying an heir,” Jana continued coldly, “I would have killed you a long time ago.”

She grabbed the glass of water from the bedside table and shoved it into my face. Cold liquid splashed over my cheeks, my mouth, my gown.

Then she turned and walked out like I was nothing.

I hugged myself, shaking uncontrollably, the pain too much, the exhaustion heavier than the grief. My tears soaked into the pillow as my body finally gave in.

“My baby,” I whispered hoarsely. “I need to see my baby.”

I fumbled for the call button, my fingers weak but determined. When the nurse hurried in, concern flickering across her face, relief flooded me.

“I want to see my son,” I said, voice breaking. “Please. I need to see him.”

The nurse hesitated. “Mrs. Rivera… you’re not cleared yet. You lost a lot of blood. The doctor ordered rest.”

“I don’t care,” I cried. “Just one minute. I’m his mother.”

Before the nurse could answer, the door opened again.

Jana walked in. Her gaze flicked to the nurse first, then settled on me with open contempt.

“No,” she said flatly. “She will not see my grandson.”

The nurse stiffened. “Ma’am, she’s the mother—”

“She doesn’t deserve him,” Jana snapped. “After everything she’s done. Don’t confuse biology with worth. I will not let my grandson know her as his mother.”

I stared at her, disbelief crushing my chest. “Please,” I begged. “What do you mean by that? Just let me see him. I carried him. I almost died—”

The room began to spin.

Jana turned back to the nurse. “She’s exhausted. Sedate her if you have to.”

The nurse hesitated again, torn, but the buzzing in my ears grew louder, drowning everything out. The ceiling blurred. My limbs felt impossibly heavy.

The last thing I felt was the weight of my own sobs collapsing inward—

Then darkness took me whole.

When I woke up again, the room was dimmer. Evening light filtered through the blinds. My head throbbed. My throat burned.

I was alone.

I stared at the ceiling, trying to convince myself that what had happened wasn’t real. That I hadn’t imagined the cruelty. That Joseph would come back and apologize. That he would hold my hand and tell me I mattered.

Then I heard voices.

Faint. Outside the door.

I held my breath. Joseph’s voice came first.

“So how long will it take for her to die once you administer the pills in her drink?”

My heart stopped.

Another voice—hesitant, nervous. “Sir… you know this is illegal. You’d be killing your wife.”

“I don’t care,” Joseph replied casually. “That was the plan from the start. I just needed an heir.”

My fingers dug into the sheets.

“She gave me a son,” he continued. “Now she’s useless. Especially since Danica is back in my life and we’re fixing things already. Danica can’t have a child,” Joseph added lightly. “So this works out. That son will know Danica as his mother.”

Then Jana laughed softly.

“Good,” she said. “I never wanted that bitch in our lives forever. I’m glad you finally woke up from that nightmare.”

Joseph laughed with her.

“Come on, Mom,” he said. “Do you really think I’d want a bitch from that filthy bar to be my wife forever?”

My entire body went cold.

“She didn’t even know our marriage was fake,” he added. “She was just a placeholder… that will soon be buried ten feet underground.”

Four years ago, I met Joseph in a bar. I was a singer by night and a waitress by day, taking whatever shifts I could get after my parents died within months of each other—an accident and an illness that left me orphaned and drowning in debt before I even understood how cruel the world could be.

The bar was loud, expensive, and unforgiving in ways only money could afford. Crystal glasses clinked beneath low golden lights, and the music was just soft enough to invite secrets.

Men flirted without fear of rejection. Women judged with smiles sharpened by diamonds. Everyone wanted something.

It wasn’t a place meant for girls like me. But the owner was my godfather.

He’d taken me in after my parents died.

Joseph came in every night for weeks. He sat at the far end of the counter, nursing glass after glass, eyes hollow, grief clinging to him like a shadow. He didn’t flirt. Didn’t smile. Just drank.

Eventually, he talked. He told me his wife had left him. Danica. Said her name like it still burned. Said she’d betrayed him. Said he didn’t know how to breathe without her.

I listened.

I was still a virgin then—naive, careful, untouched in ways I didn’t even realize were rare. When Joseph started waiting for my shifts, walking me home, bringing me food because he said I looked too thin, I thought it was love.

When he held my hand, I shook.

When he kissed me, I believed.

A year later, when he asked me to marry him, I said yes because I thought I had finally been chosen.

He gave me everything—or so I thought.

A house. Clothes. Security. A name.

What I didn’t know was that I was a plan.

A placeholder. Someone to occupy the space until Danica came back.

The marriage was fake.

So now, lying in a hospital bed with my body stitched together and my son taken from me, I asked myself the only question that mattered.

Where would I go?

I had no family. No protection. No allies.

And they were going to kill me.

The thought didn’t make me cry.

It made something inside me snap.

They could take my dignity. My marriage. My body.

But they would not take my son.

My gaze drifted to the television mounted on the wall, the volume low. A familiar face filled the screen—sharp suit, cold eyes, a headline scrolling beneath.

MAXON BLACKWELL — HEIR TO BLACKWELL CORPORATION

My breath caught.

An acquaintance. A dangerous one.

Years ago, before Joseph, Maxon had offered me marriage—not out of love, but power. I’d been terrified. I’d said no.

Now, I realized something with terrifying clarity.

I needed him.

My hand shook as I grabbed my phone and dialed the number I’d never deleted.

He answered on the second ring.

“Paula?” His voice was amused. “You’re finally calling me back, huh? What—regretting marrying him instead of me?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “So how about you marry me in five days?”

Silence.

Then a soft chuckle. “That sounds nice. Only if you do something for me.”

My heart pounded. “What?”

“Steal Joseph’s proposal,” Maxon said calmly. “That multibillion-dollar pitch he’s been working on. Get me the details, and then we’ll talk.”

I swallowed. “Deal.”

I ended the call—and froze.

Joseph was standing in the doorway.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded. “What deal? Who were you talking to?”

I forced a shaky smile. “The bar manager. He asked if I could sing again.”

His face darkened instantly.

“No,” he snapped. “You will not sing.”

“I—”

“What would people say if they learned my wife was a singer in a bar?” he shouted. “Are you insane? Didn’t I tell you not to do it? What else do you need when I am giving you everything? Or is this about fucking other guys?”

Something broke in me.

“I only ever fucked you!” I screamed. “What about you? You’ve been fucking your ex-wife since she came back!”

The slap echoed.

I collapsed against the bed, sobbing.

The door opened again. Danica walked in holding flowers.

“Joseph?” she said softly. “Are you insane? Why would you slap your wife?”

She came closer, feigning concern. “I’m sorry,” she murmured sweetly. “I came to apologize. I didn’t mean for him to leave you when you were dying… but I just have no one else, so I called him.”

She thrust the bouquet into my arms.

The flowers were white like for a funeral.

“I don’t need your apology,” I said hoarsely, shoving them away.

Jana stormed in. “Enough! How rude can you be when she is apologizing?” She turned to Joseph. “Lock her in. Don’t let her see the child until she learns how to be nice.”

“No—please,” I begged. “My son—”

The door slammed.

Locked. I tried to get up. The pain was unbearable. I collapsed, crying until my throat burned.

Joseph returned later, soft again, his voice suddenly gentle enough to make my skin crawl.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stroking my hair as if he hadn’t shattered me hours earlier. “I didn’t mean it. I was just mad because you’re working again when you don’t need to.”

I stayed still. Silent. Watching.

He set a tray on my lap—food arranged too neatly, water poured and waiting.

“Eat,” he said calmly. “Then I’ll let you see the baby.”

My chest tightened. “My baby?”

“Finish this,” he replied, nudging the glass closer.

My fingers closed around it—and I noticed everything. The faint bitter smell beneath the antiseptic scent of the room. The way the water wasn’t cold, even though it should have been. The way Joseph didn’t drink from it first.

And the memory came back, sharp and undeniable.

So how long will it take for her to die once you administer the pills in her drink?

My pulse thundered. I lifted the glass halfway, my hand trembling, my breath shallow. I needed him to believe I would comply. I needed him close.

Then my grip loosened.

The glass slipped from my fingers and shattered against the floor.

Water splashed everywhere, soaking the sheets, the tray, my gown.

For a split second, Joseph just stared.

Then his face twisted—rage breaking through the mask.

“Damn it,” he snapped. “What is wrong with you?”

“I—I’m sorry,” I whispered, shrinking back, clutching my stomach like a reflex. “My hands—”

He stood abruptly, jaw clenched, eyes dark with frustration.

“You’re useless,” he spat.

Then before I could say a word, someone screamed Danica’s name outside, and then he left me again. Alone.

The first time they let me leave the room, my legs nearly gave out.

I clutched the wall as I stepped into the hallway, my body still weak, my abdomen aching with every movement. But none of that mattered.

Pain was irrelevant compared to the single thought burning through my mind.

My son.

I followed the sound of soft voices, of cooing and laughter, down the corridor toward the nursery. My heart pounded harder with every step. I imagined his face—tiny, fragile, mine. I imagined holding him, breathing him in, proving to myself that he was real and that I hadn’t suffered for nothing.

I rounded the corner. And my heart shattered.

Danica was standing by the glass, cradling a baby in her arms.

My baby.

She rocked him gently, her face glowing with a softness I had never once seen directed at me. She looked comfortable. Natural. Like she belonged there.

I stumbled forward. “No…”

Danica tilted her head, smiling down at him. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to name him?” she asked lightly, turning toward—Joseph.

He stood beside her, relaxed, one hand resting on the glass like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”

Something inside me snapped.

“Of course not.”

They both turned.

My voice came out louder than I intended, sharp with desperation. “He is my son. Mine. What are you trying to say?”

Danica’s eyes widened slightly, but it wasn’t fear—it was calculation.

“Paula,” she said gently, as if speaking to a child. “You’re misunderstanding—”

“I’m not,” I said, my chest heaving. “Give him to me.”

Joseph sighed. “You’re overreacting.”

“Let me hold my son,” I demanded, stepping closer. “Please.”

He stepped in front of Danica instinctively, blocking me.

“Not yet,” he said. “You’re not okay. You’re still recovering.”

“That’s my son,” I cried. “Don’t take him away from me!”

Danica tightened her grip around the baby, her expression hardening for just a second before smoothing again.

Jana appeared beside them, her face twisted with disdain. “If you keep acting like this,” she said coldly, “you will not have him back.”

I shook my head violently. “You can’t do this. I’m his mother.”

Joseph rubbed his temples. “This is probably stress,” he said to Jana. “Postpartum. She’s not thinking clearly.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “No—please—Joseph—”

“Maybe it’s better,” he continued calmly, “to keep her in the ward for a while.”

“No!” I screamed. “Please! Please don’t do this!”

But it was already happening. Two orderlies grabbed my arms. I thrashed weakly, sobbing, reaching for my son as Danica turned away, shielding him from my sight.

“Please,” I begged. “I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet. Just let me hold him once.”

No one listened. They dragged me down the hallway as my cries echoed off sterile walls. The door slammed shut behind me, locking me in.

Joseph stood outside for a moment.

“Just stay here for a while,” he said softly. “Okay?”

Then he walked away.

The days blurred together.

I begged the nurses. Pleaded. Promised anything.

One of them—young, nervous—finally took pity on me and let me borrow her phone.

My hands shook as I opened the news.

There it was.

RIVERA HEIR INTRODUCED TO THE WORLD

Photos filled the screen.

Joseph stood at the center, polished and composed, a proud smile fixed in place as cameras flashed around him. Beside him was Danica—elegant, calm, her hand resting possessively on the baby cradled against her chest.

My son. She held him like she had always been the one to carry him. Like the world had been waiting for her.

The headline called her the mother. She stood beside him like a wife. Like she had never left. Like she had always belonged there.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

I remembered every time I had asked Joseph why he never wanted to introduce me to the media. Why I was never allowed to attend public events, never photographed, never named.

It’s for your protection, he had said.

The media is cruel, he had warned. I want to keep you safe.

Lies.

Protection hadn’t been for me.

It had been for them.

There was no announcement of their divorce because, to the world, there had never been a marriage about me worth mentioning. No acknowledgment of me because I was never meant to exist beyond the shadows.

I was temporary. Disposable.

A womb with a pulse.

My vision blurred as the truth settled into my bones with terrifying clarity.

My legs gave out, and I slid down the wall, clutching the phone to my chest as my breath came in shallow, broken gasps.

That same day, they told me I was being discharged.

Joseph came to collect me like nothing had happened. He wore concern like a well-practiced costume, his hand warm against my elbow as he guided me toward the car.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on the road. “It was better for you to stay there. You were… unstable.”

I stared out the window, the city blurring past. “My son,” I whispered. “Can I see him now?”

He sighed, as if burdened by my question. “He’s with Danica for now. The doctors said you’re too stressed. Too volatile. It wouldn’t be good for the baby because you might hurt him. It must be the effect of C-section.”

It was a lie. But I didn’t argue.

I nodded.

At home, the house felt foreign. Empty. Every room echoed with absence. No crib. No toys. No proof that I had ever been a mother.

Joseph left me alone not long after, saying he had work to do.

The moment the door closed, I moved. I went to his study first.

Drawers. Files. Safes I’d watched him open enough times to memorize the codes. Contracts. Proposals. Financial projections stamped CONFIDENTIAL.

The proposal. The one Maxon wanted.

My hands shook as I scanned and photographed every page, every signature, every sealed agreement that could burn Joseph’s empire to the ground.

When I was done, I locked the study exactly as I found it.

Then I sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, and sent the files.

One message: Save me. Now.