A Night With The Ruthless Billionaire

The walk to the doctor's office feels endless. Each step is heavy, weighted down by fear and exhaustion. The nurse's hand on my shoulder is meant to be comforting, but her soft words barely register. Every thought in my head screams louder than her attempts to reassure me.

My mother's pale face flashes in my mind. The way her fingers twitched, the sound of her faint voice saying my name; it had given me hope, only to snatch it away moments later. What if that was the last time?

I don't want to think about it. But it's all I can think about.

The doctor's office is quiet, sterile, and stifling. Dr. Whitman greets me with a sober expression that sends my heart beating so fast. He gestures for me to sit, and I lower myself into the chair, my knees trembling.

"Miss Emma Parker," he begins, his voice soft but weighted with gravity. "Your mother's condition has taken a critical turn."

I clutch the arms of the chair, holding my breath. "Critical?"

He nods. "While it's encouraging that she briefly regained consciousness, I must warn you that this is not necessarily a sign of recovery. Often, moments of clarity can occur before the body begins to shut down further."

Shut down. The words hit me like a physical blow. My vision blurs with tears clouding my eyes, but I refuse to cry. Not yet.

"No," I whisper, shaking my head. "That's not what's happening. She's going to get better. She has to."

Dr. Whitman hesitates, his expression pained. "We'll do everything we can to keep her stable. But I would advise you to prepare yourself for all possibilities."

His words hang in the air, heavy and unbearable. All possibilities. He's asking me to prepare for the unthinkable, for a life without my mother.

"I understand," I lie, my voice hollow.

He leans back in his chair, sympathy in his eyes. "If you need support, please let us know. We have counselors who can help."

I nod reluctantly and rise to my feet, eager to escape the suffocating room.

While I'm about to stand, I missed my step. The nurse helped me to my feet, and advised me to wait a while in the doctor's office before leaving. But I decline abruptly because all I want at the moment is to go and be with my mom. I take a step towards the door, and immediately, the nurse helps me to turn the door knob. Then, I step outside, trying to close the door behind and the nurse followed me rubbing my shoulder

She walks me to a small courtyard just outside the hospital, urging me to take a moment to breathe. I settle onto a bench, the cool air brushing against my skin. The city lights twinkle in the distance, mocking the chaos in my heart.

I bury my face in my hands, the tears I've been holding back spilling over. My mother's fragile state, Alex's questions about the baby, Victoria's venomous words - they swirl in my mind like a storm, each thought cutting deeper than the last.

The weight of it all feels unbearable.

I move my hand to my stomach, tracing slow circles as I try to calm myself. The child growing inside me deserves peace, safety; a life free of the pain and uncertainty that surrounds me now. But how can I give that when I'm barely holding myself together?

"Emma."

The sound of Alex's voice startles me. I look up, and there he is, standing a few feet away. His expression is unreadable, but there's something raw in his eyes.

"I've been looking for you," he says, his voice softer than I expect.

"I can't do this right now," I reply, shaking my head. "Please, Alex. Just leave me alone."

But he doesn't leave. Instead, he steps closer, his hands shoved into his pockets. "I can't leave you like this. You're not okay."

I let out a bitter laugh, wiping at my tears. "Of course, I'm not okay. My mother is dying, Alex. My life is falling apart. And you…" I break off, my voice trembling. "You're only making things worse. Please, can you just stop showing your face?"

"Emma, that's not fair."

"Fair?" I snap, rising to my feet. "Do you think any of this is fair? Your world, Alex; it's toxic. It's tearing me apart, and I won't let it ruin me or my baby."

His gaze sharpens at the mention of the baby, his jaw tightening. "About the baby," he says, his tone measured. "I need to know the truth, Emma."

I freeze, my chest tightening. "What truth?"

"The baby isn't mine, is it?" He pulls something from his pocket—a folded piece of paper. The letter. My heart sinks.

"You told me it was mine," he continued, his voice low and strained. "If that's not true, then I deserve to know. Were you lying to me, or was it a mistake?"

I stare at the letter, my mind racing. He's holding on to this single piece of evidence like it's the only thing attracting him to me. I want to tell him the truth, but I'm not even sure what that truth is anymore.

"I don't think it's yours," I say finally, the words ripping from my chest like shards of glass.

For a moment, Alex doesn't move. Then, he lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You don't think?" His voice is cold, cutting. "What the hell does that mean, Emma?"

Before I can respond, a wave of nausea crashes over me. My stomach churns violently, and I double over, clutching my middle.

"Emma?" Alex's tone shifts immediately, concern overtaking his anger.

I try to wave him off, but the nausea is relentless. My body heaves, and I stumble toward a nearby trash can, retching uncontrollably.

A nurse rushes over, her face a mask of worry. "Miss Parker, are you alright?"

"I—" I try to speak, but another wave of sickness cuts me off. My knees buckle, and Alex is at my side in an instant, his arm steadying me.

"She's been under too much stress," the nurse says, kneeling beside me. "We need to get her inside."

"No," I protest weakly, clutching my stomach. "I need to stay with my mom."

"Emma, stop," Alex says firmly, his voice laced with worry. "You're going to make yourself worse."

He helps me to my feet, and the nurse leads us back inside. The fluorescent lights of the hallway blur as my vision swims, my body trembling from the exertion.

As we reach the nurses' station, I collapse into a chair, gripping the armrests as another wave of nausea hits. The nurse hands me a glass of water, but my hands are too unsteady to hold it.

"You need to rest," the nurse insists. "Your body is clearly overwhelmed."

"I can't," I whisper, tears streaming down my face. "My mom—she needs me."

"And your baby needs you," Alex says quietly.

His words cut through the haze of my panic. I glance at him, and for the first time, I see the raw fear in his eyes. He kneels in front of me, his hands resting gently on my knees.

"Emma," he says softly, "you can't do this alone. Let me help you."

I shake my head, too exhausted to argue. "I don't know if I can trust you, Alex. Your life it's too complicated, too dangerous."

"Then trust that I care about you," he pleads. "And that I'll do whatever it takes to keep you and the baby safe."

Before I can respond, the nurse interrupts. "Miss Parker, we'll need to run some tests to ensure everything is alright with the pregnancy. Can you come with me?"

I nod reluctantly, my body too weak to resist. Alex tries to follow, but the nurse stops him.

"She needs to do this alone," she says firmly.

I glance back at him as I'm led away, his worried gaze locked on mine. For a moment, I want to reach out, to let him in. But the walls I've built around myself are too high, too thick.

As I step into the examination room, a wave of unease washes over me. I place my hand on my stomach, whispering a silent prayer.

Please, let my baby be okay.

The nurse motions for me to lie down on the examination couch. Her expression is calm, but I can feel the tension radiating from her, as though she's holding something back. I gently rub my tummy, trying to soothe both myself and the child growing inside me.

"It's going to be alright," the nurse said softly, but there's something in her voice; a slight tremble that makes my chest tighten.

She adjusts the monitor beside me, the soft beeping filling the room. I focus on the sound, trying to ground myself, but my heart races uncontrollably. The cool gel on my skin feels like ice as she prepares the ultrasound machine.

I fix my gaze on her face, watching for any hint of reassurance, but her frown deepens as her eyes flick between the screen and the monitor. The longer the silence stretches, the harder it is to breathe