As a woman sitting on a ten-billion-dollar empire, I don’t believe in luck. I believe in precision. And my current project required the ultimate precision: a perfect heir. Thomas Blackwell was particularly enthusiastic tonight. He went through three boxes of protection—or so he thought. In the heat of it, when his breath was ragged against my neck, he groaned another woman’s name. “Elva,” he whispered, promising her the world, promising her a future, promising her the children they’d never have. I played my part perfectly. I arched my back, made the right sounds, and kept my internal temperature as cool as a mid-winter Atlantic. My heart didn't even skip a beat. When he finally rolled off and fell into a heavy, self-satisfied sleep, I stayed awake for a moment, studying his profile in the moonlight. He was a specimen, truly. The next morning, Thomas stood by the window, the harsh New York sunlight catching the sharp, arrogant lines of his jaw. He looked at the rumpled sheets with a flicker of distaste and handed me a glass of water and a pill. “Take it,” he said, his voice clipped as he tightened his silk tie. “All of it. Don't go getting any ideas about 'accidental' pregnancies. I won't have you tainting the Blackwell bloodline with your schemes.” I nodded obediently. I took the pill—a high-end prenatal vitamin I’d meticulously disguised—and swallowed it right in front of him. In my head, I was already running the numbers. Ten more days and the embryo would be stable. His genetic markers—Ivy League intellect, peak physical health, that relentless drive—were exactly what I needed to build the perfect successor for my firm. … “Make sure it’s all gone,” Thomas muttered, watching my throat move. “Elva is the only woman I’ve ever loved. You’re just a convenient distraction while she’s away. A placeholder.” I took another sip of water, finishing the glass. “I understand, Mr. Blackwell.” “Good.” He huffed a cold laugh and turned back to the floor-to-ceiling window. I had to admit, setting aside his insufferable 'Master of the Universe' personality, Thomas was top-tier. In the high-stakes world of Manhattan private equity, he was the gold standard. That was why, out of a hundred candidates, I had scouted and selected him to be my unwitting donor. Suddenly, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. A specific, melodic ringtone. Thomas’s rigid posture melted instantly. He practically lunged for the device. “Elva?” From the receiver came the faint, tremulous sound of a woman sobbing. “Thomas… it’s so cold here in London. I… I miss Michael so much. I feel so alone.” Thomas’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone. Michael was his older brother. Elva was his widow—the "Sainted Widow," the one who got away, the ghost Thomas had been chasing for three years. “Don’t cry, Elva. Please. It kills me to hear you like this.” “But I’m all by myself. I have no one to talk to.” “I’ll send the private jet. No, I’ll come get you myself!” “No, Thomas, don't. I’ve already booked a flight home. It’s just… I’m afraid I’ll be an intrusion. For you and… that girl, Jade.” Thomas whipped around, his gaze cutting through me like a serrated blade. “Her? She’s nothing. She’s a shadow. She’s not even worth a thought in your head.” “Thomas, don't say that. She’s still a person.” “Elva, you’re far too kind for your own good. Just remember: the Blackwell estate is your home. Always. And I… I am your rock.” He hung up, breathing hard, his eyes shimmering with a mix of obsession and manic relief. Elva was coming back. For three years, I had followed Thomas’s scripts. I wore the muted, silk slip dresses Elva favored. I wore the specific, crisp citrus perfume she used. I even lowered my voice to that breathy, hesitant register that made men feel like protectors. “You heard?” Thomas said, his voice returning to its usual icy temperature. I nodded, setting the empty glass down. “I heard. Congratulations, Thomas.” He frowned, seemingly annoyed by my composure. “What’s with that attitude?” “What attitude would you prefer?” “Jade, don't forget yourself. Just because you’ve been in my bed for three years doesn't mean you have a seat at the table. You aren't my wife.” He walked over and grabbed my chin, his grip tight enough to bruise. “Elva is sensitive. When she gets back, I don't want a single whisper of your existence reaching her ears. Do you follow me?” I looked him dead in the eye and gave him a flawless, practiced smile. “Perfectly. I’ll stay in my lane. I won’t let her see me.” He let go and wiped his fingers with a wet wipe, as if he’d touched something soiled. “Smart girl.” “Stay in the house for the next few days. Don't go out until I’ve made arrangements.” He grabbed his blazer and headed for the door, stopping only at the threshold. “And about last night… forget it happened. If I find out you skipped that pill, or if you try to pull some 'secret pregnancy' stunt to trap me…” He looked back, his eyes dark with a sudden, sharp cruelty. “I will make your life a living hell.” The heavy oak door slammed shut. The penthouse fell into a beautiful, expensive silence. I walked over to the vanity and looked at my reflection—pale, refined, but tired of the masquerade. I rested a hand on my still-flat stomach. A living hell? No. As long as I had what I wanted. As long as I had this heir. I was willing to endure anything. The news of Elva’s return rippled through the city's social registers like a shockwave. Thomas didn't come back to the penthouse for days. Word was he’d met her at the gate with a fleet of cars. Word was he’d cleared out the master suite of the family mansion, redecorating it entirely in her favorite shades of cream and gold. I didn't mind. I spent my days taking folic acid and reading quarterly earnings reports on the sofa, enjoying the peace. Until the third night. Thomas’s personal assistant, a man who usually treated me like a piece of furniture, pushed open the door. “Ms. Jade, Mr. Blackwell wants you to change. You’re expected at The Onyx.” I looked up from a stack of merger filings. “The Onyx? That’s a private club. It hardly seems appropriate for me to be there right now.” The assistant remained expressionless. “Mr. Blackwell was very clear. You must attend.” I closed my laptop and stood up. “Fine.” Half an hour later, I arrived at the club wearing a white dress that was slightly too large for me—another one of Elva’s hand-me-downs that Thomas had insisted I keep. I pushed open the door to the VIP lounge. The air was thick with expensive bourbon and ego. Thomas was in the center of it all. Leaning against him was a woman in Chanel couture, looking as fragile as spun glass. Elva. “Well, well. Look who finally showed up. The Little Shadow,” sneered Tyler, Thomas’s younger cousin. He swirled his drink, eyeing me with open mockery. “Tommy, now that the real queen is back, why are you still dragging this knock-off around?” A ripple of laughter went through the room. Thomas didn't say a word. He was busy peeling a grape with agonizing care, offering it to Elva’s lips. Elva took the fruit, her eyes drifting to mine. There was a flicker of something there—not pity, but the quiet satisfaction of a victor. “Thomas, don't be mean. Jade is a sweetheart,” she said, her voice like honey and arsenic. “She took care of you while I was away. We should be grateful.” Thomas laughed, a dry, harsh sound. “Care? She was a paid service provider, Elva. She did what she was compensated for.” He finally looked at me. His eyes held the same warmth one might give a piece of trash destined for the incinerator. “Jade. Come here.” I walked over, stopping a respectful three feet away. “Yes, Thomas?” Tyler whistled. “Damn, Tommy. You really trained her well. She’s more obedient than a golden retriever.” Thomas ignored him and pointed to the bottle on the table. “Pour Elva a drink.” I picked up the bottle and stepped toward her. As I began to pour, Elva suddenly gasped, fluttering a hand near her nose. “Oh, that scent…” She recoiled into Thomas’s chest. “Thomas, her perfume. It’s so… aggressive. It’s giving me a migraine.” It was the citrus scent Thomas had demanded I wear for three years. Her scent. Apparently, the "Sainted Widow" had changed her brand. Thomas’s face darkened instantly. “Who told you to wear that cheap garbage?” My hand remained perfectly steady as I held the bottle. “You did, Thomas. You said it was her favorite.” “Shut up!” he barked. “Elva has exquisite taste. She would never touch something so common. You’re not just a fake; you’re a bad one.” He snatched the bottle from my hand, slamming it onto the marble table. “Get out. You’re polluting the air.” I turned to leave without a word. “Wait,” Tyler called out. He stepped into my path. “Tommy told you to get lost, but you haven't finished your job. You haven't apologized to the lady.” He picked up a glass of neat scotch and held it out to me. “Drink this as a penance, then you can crawl away.” I looked at the high-proof alcohol. I was five weeks pregnant. I wouldn't touch a drop. “I’m sorry, I’m allergic to alcohol.” Tyler’s face twisted. “You think you’re too good for us?” He raised the glass, ready to toss it in my face. “Enough,” Thomas said. He stood up and walked over to me, looming over me with all his inherited height. “Elva doesn't like scenes.” His voice dropped to a whisper, cold enough to draw blood. “Jade, Elva is moving into the penthouse tonight. Go back, pack your things. Every single scrap.” “Be gone before sunrise. And don't look back.” “Move faster. Don't linger,” Thomas said, leaning against the doorframe of the penthouse, flicking a gold lighter open and shut. “I thought I’d feel something after three years—hell, you have more sentiment for a dog. But looking at you now? I just feel cold.” He blew a plume of smoke toward the ceiling, his eyes filled with disdain. “A woman like you, who sells herself for a zip code… I don't even want your scent in the rooms where Elva will sleep.” I knelt on the floor, tucking an old sweater into a battered suitcase. Cold? I felt light. I felt like I was finally stepping out of a suffocating skin. I zipped the bag and stood up. “Don’t worry, Thomas. I’m done.” He glanced at my single, half-empty suitcase, his brow furrowing. “That’s it? Where are the Birkins? The jewelry? The furs I bought you?” “They were yours,” I said calmly. “I have no use for them.” “Oh, please,” he scoffed, kicking the side of my suitcase. “Don't play the martyr now. You’ve been a parasite for three years, and now you want to pretend you’re above the money? Take the damn bags. I don't want people thinking I’m a cheapskate.” That was Thomas. Even when throwing someone out, it had to be about his image. “I really don't want them, Thomas.” I gripped the handle of my bag and started for the door. He grabbed my wrist, his fingers digging into my bone. “Are you playing a game with me, Jade? Is this some long-con 'hard to get' strategy?” He searched my eyes, desperate to find a flicker of heartbreak, a tear, a shred of resentment. Something to feed his ego. “Do you think if you act like you don't care, I’ll come running back? Dream on. Elva is home. To me, you aren't even a memory anymore.” I sighed and met his gaze with total clarity. “Thomas, there is no game. Our contract is over. I’m just leaving cleanly. Let go. You have a penthouse to scrub.” His face turned a violent shade of purple. He shoved my arm away. “Get out! Don't expect another cent from me! You’ll be begging in the streets by next month!” I didn't look back. I dragged my suitcase into the crisp New York autumn air. Once I was in the back of an Uber, I gave the driver an address. Not a shelter, not a cheap motel. I gave him the address of the most exclusive private medical clinic in the city. The car was quiet. I pulled out my phone and dialed my best friend and personal physician, Dr. Natalie Chen. “Natalie? I’m out.” “Finally?” Natalie’s voice was triumphant. “You’re done with that arrogant prick?” “I’m done.” I watched the city lights blur past the window, a genuine smile finally touching my lips. “Everything is in place. I need a full blood panel tomorrow morning. I need to know for sure if the seed took root.” The results wouldn't be ready until the afternoon. I had just walked into the temporary luxury apartment I’d leased under a shell company when the buzzer rang. Three men in dark suits were at the door. “Ms. Jade. Ms. Elva would like a word.” I frowned. “Elva? What for?” “She said there are personal items belonging to Mr. Blackwell that need to be hand-delivered for a formal handover.” It was a power move. A victory lap. But I couldn't burn the bridge quite yet. Until I was through the first trimester and my legal team had finalized the separation of my public and private identities, I needed to keep a low profile. I changed into a simple dress and followed them to a high-end cafe in the West Village. The place had been cleared out. Elva sat by the window, gracefully stirring a latte. “Jade. Sit.” She pointed to the chair opposite her. I sat. “What do you want, Elva?” She chuckled and pulled a small velvet box from her bag, pushing it toward me. “Open it.” Inside was a cheap silver locket. I had lost it in the penthouse three years ago. It wasn't worth ten dollars, but it was the only thing I had left from my mother. “I found this under the dresser,” Elva said, taking a delicate sip of her coffee. “Thomas said I could throw it away. He said it was clutter. But I thought I should give it back in person. After all, trash belongs with trash, doesn't it?” She looked at me, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Just like you.” I looked at the locket, my fingers tightening. “Thank you for returning it.” As I reached for the box, Elva suddenly tilted her cup. Scalding hot coffee poured directly over the locket, soaking the velvet and the silver. “Oh! My hand slipped,” she whispered, faking a look of horror. “I’m so sorry, Jade. But honestly, for a piece of street-junk like that, a little wash won't hurt. Why don't you clean it up right now?” She pulled a single paper napkin from the dispenser and dropped it onto the floor. “Clean it.” It was a blatant humiliation. She wanted me on my knees, begging for my dignity. I looked at the napkin, then at Elva’s smug face. I took a deep breath. I leaned down. I picked up the coffee-soaked locket. I didn't use her napkin. I used my own silk handkerchief, wiping the silver clean with slow, deliberate motions. “Thank you for returning what is mine,” I said, standing up. “If that’s all, I have work to do.” Elva froze. She clearly hadn't expected me to take the hit so calmly. “You really are pathetic, aren't you? No pride at all.” I didn't answer. I walked out of the cafe. As soon as I hit the sidewalk, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Natalie. [HCG levels are perfect! Doubling exactly as they should. Congratulations, Jade. You got exactly what you wanted.] An image of the lab report was attached. I looked at the numbers and started to laugh. I laughed until my eyes watered. Pathetic? Elva, you have no idea. The man you’re so desperate to chain yourself to, the man you think is a prize… to me, he was nothing but a biological donor with a decent IQ.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "424253", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel