Chapter 3 - The Melted Empire
For three long seconds, nobody in the room moved. It was as if time itself had frozen, pinning the Hale family in a nightmare of their own making.
Brielle’s face turned the color of damp paper. The delicate, glowing mother-to-be vanished, replaced by a terrified young woman gasping for air as she frantically tried to wipe the gel off her stomach with a paper towel.
"That... that's impossible!" Brielle choked out, her voice rising to a panic-stricken shriek. "The machine is broken! Doctor, you’re lying! Preston, tell her she’s wrong! Tell her!"
Preston didn't move. His mind was spinning wildly, trying to process the numbers. Twenty-six weeks. Six and a half months.
Four months ago, he had met Brielle at a charity gala. She had flirted with him, stroked his ego, and told him within weeks that she was carrying his child—his long-awaited son. He had believed her without hesitation because he wanted to believe it. He had used her pregnancy as a battering ram to destroy his marriage, to humiliate Lena, and to prove his virility to his overbearing father.
And the vasectomy?
A horrifying memory suddenly hit Preston like a freight train. Two years ago, after Lena gave birth to their second daughter, Lily, Preston had secretly visited a private clinic to get a vasectomy because he was terrified of having another girl and wasting more money on child-raising. He had kept it a secret from Lena, planning to pretend he was infertile so he wouldn't look weak to his father. He had forgotten that the clinic was acquired by the St. Jude Health Network six months ago, merging all their digital records into one central database.
He was sterile.
The child on the screen was not twelve weeks old. It was twenty-six weeks old.
"You..." Preston’s voice was barely a whisper. He turned slowly toward Brielle, his eyes bloodshot, his hands trembling with a rage so violent it shook his entire frame. "You bitch."
"Preston, listen to me!" Brielle scrambled off the table, grabbing at his suit jacket. "It’s yours! I swear it’s yours! The doctor made a mistake! The dates are just off!"
"The ultrasound measurements do not lie by three months, Miss Foster," Dr. Vance said coldly, stepping back toward the door and gesturing for the technician to pack up. "We will leave you to sort out your personal affairs."
The moment the medical staff stepped outside and closed the door, the room exploded into violent chaos.
"You scheming, low-class harlot!" Evelyn screamed, lunging forward. Arthur caught his wife by the arms, but his own face was red with apoplectic fury.
"Who is the father?!" Arthur roared, his loud voice shaking the framed prints on the walls. "Whose bastard were you trying to pin on the Hale family?!"
"It was... it was..." Brielle sobbed, backing into the corner of the room, clutching her paper towel. "It was Marcus! But he didn't have any money! Preston, you had millions! You were complaining about your wife, you said you wanted a son—I just gave you what you wanted!"
"You trapped me!" Preston howled. He lunged at her, but Arthur grabbed his shoulder, yanking him back.
"Control yourself!" Arthur spat, his eyes bulging. "The lawyers! The media! If this gets out, the stock of Hale Enterprises will plummet! We just transferred twenty percent of the company’s real estate assets into a trust for this... for this fake child!"
Preston stood frozen in the middle of the room, his chest heaving, his breathing shallow.
Lena.
The name suddenly flashed in his mind like a blinding light.
Take the girls, Lena. I have a son coming now.
He had said those exact words to her. Just forty-five minutes ago. He had discarded her like trash. He had thrown away his eleven-year marriage, his beautiful home, and his two sweet, innocent daughters—Maya, who loved to paint, and Lily, who always hugged his neck when he came home—all for a scam. All for a child that wasn't even his.
"Lena," Preston choked out, frantically pulling his phone from his coat pocket.
His fingers shook violently as he found her contact name. Lena. He hit dial.
Ring... ring... ring...
"Pick up, Lena. Please, pick up..." he muttered, pressing the phone so hard against his ear that his knuckles turned white.
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service or has been disconnected.”
Preston’s heart stopped. "No. No, no, no!"
He dialed again. The same automated message played. She hadn't just blocked him; she had terminated her line completely.
"Where is she?!" Preston yelled, turning to his sister Chloe. "Where did Lena say she was going?!"
Chloe looked terrified, her phone still in her hand. "I... I don't know! She didn't say anything! She just signed the papers, packed her purse, and walked out of the building!"
Preston didn't wait another second. He shoved past his father, slammed open the door of the VIP suite, and sprinted down the hospital hallway like a madman, his tie flying over his shoulder.
He didn't care about Brielle. He didn't care about his parents screaming behind him. All he could see was the memory of Lena’s calm, quiet face as she folded up her divorce decree and placed it in her handbag.
May you like
By the time he realizes his day is not going as expected, we will already be gone.
He ran out of the hospital doors into the bright morning sunlight, throwing himself into his sports car, roaring the engine to life, and speeding toward their marital home in the wealthy suburbs of Greenwich.
