Chapter 3 - The Truth He Ignored
By the time we reached my estate in the Chicago suburbs, my phone was blowing up.
Thirty missed calls.
Fifteen voicemails.
All from Blake.
I turned the phone off and threw it onto the kitchen counter.
“Uncle Lucas, play soccer with us!” Finn yelled, dragging a ball toward the backyard.
“Give me five minutes, monster!” Lucas laughed, loosening his tie.
Once the boys were safely outside with the nanny, Lucas poured us both a glass of water.
He leaned against the marble counter, looking at me seriously.
“He saw them.”
“He saw them,” I confirmed, rubbing my temples.
“What now, Emma?”
“Nothing. My life doesn’t change. His life doesn’t change.”
Lucas scoffed. “You know that’s not true. He’s Blake Harrington. He will tear the city apart to get to you now.”
I closed my eyes, letting the exhaustion wash over me.
My mind drifted back to the terrible night it all ended.
The texts Blake had found.
“Meet me at the clinic at 3 PM. We need to discuss the complications privately.”
“Don’t tell your husband yet. The stress isn’t good for your heart condition.”
“I’ll be waiting for you. We will get through this.”
They weren’t from a lover.
They were from Dr. Evans, a renowned maternal-fetal medicine specialist.
I had just found out I was pregnant. With triplets.
But the scan had shown a severe anomaly, and my own heart was failing under the sudden strain.
I was given a twenty percent chance of carrying them to term without dying myself.
I had hidden it from Blake for exactly three days.
I wanted to gather all the medical facts, find a solution, and present it to him calmly so he wouldn’t panic.
Blake had lost his mother to heart disease. Any mention of medical issues sent him into a spiral.
But I never got the chance to tell him.
He hired a private investigator who saw me walking into an unmarked private clinic with a "mystery man" (who was actually my brother, Lucas, supporting me).
Blake hacked my phone. Read the out-of-context texts.
When I came home that night, prepared to tell him we were having a family but facing a fight for my life, he didn’t let me speak.
He threw the divorce papers at me.
He called me a liar. A cheat. A gold-digger.
When I tried to explain, he walked out of the penthouse and locked me out of his life.
His lawyers silenced me. The media painted me as the villain.
So, I left.
I moved to Chicago with Lucas. I risked my life to carry my sons.
I survived the surgery. I survived the birth. I survived the heartbreak.
And I swore my children would never know the sting of a father who didn’t trust their mother.
Suddenly, a loud knock echoed through the massive front doors of my house.
Not a polite knock.
A demanding, desperate pounding.
Lucas and I exchanged a look.
“He found us fast,” Lucas muttered, checking the security cameras on his tablet.
It was Blake.
He was standing on my porch, completely soaked from the sudden Chicago rain.
His expensive suit was ruined. His hair was plastered to his forehead.
He looked up at the security camera, his eyes wild and pleading.
May you like
“Emma!” his voice shouted through the intercom, thick with emotion.
“Emma, please! Open the door. I know the truth! I found Dr. Evans!”
