Chapter 2 - The Billionaire's AwakeningAt 7:30 AM, the master bedroom of the Astor Street mansion was bathed in pale winter sunlight.
Elias Kwon stepped out of the marble-tiled shower, a towel wrapped tightly around his waist, droplets of water glistening on his broad shoulders and the sharp, unforgiving line of his jaw. He didn't look like a man whose world was about to shatter. He looked like what he was: a apex predator of the Chicago financial district, a man who owned skyscrapers, bought judges, and dictated terms to politicians.
He walked over to his custom mahogany nightstand, reaching automatically for his luxury Patek Philippe watch.
His fingers brushed against cold metal instead.
Elias frowned, his dark eyes narrowing. Resting right where his watch should have been was a heavy, platinum diamond ring—the 10-carat rock he had slipped onto my finger three years ago at a ceremony broadcast across every major news network in Illinois.
"Chloe?" he called out, his baritone voice echoing off the high ceilings.
Silence answered him. No soft footsteps padding across the carpet. No quiet, submissive greeting.
Irritation flickered across his face. Elias hated disorder. He walked over to my dressing room and pulled open the double doors. The cavernous closet—usually overflowing with haute couture gowns, designer shoes, and meticulously organized seasonal wear—was starkly, hauntingly empty. Only wire hangers clinked together in the draft. The designer luggage he had gifted me for our anniversary sat untouched on the top shelf. My old, scuffed navy suitcase was gone.
A cold prickle of unease—foreign and sharp—pierced through his chest. Elias strode back to the bedroom and pressed the intercom button for the head housekeeper.
"Mrs. Gable. Where is my wife?"
"Sir?" Mrs. Gable’s voice crackled through the speaker, sounding genuinely confused. "Mrs. Kwon hasn't come down yet. I assumed she was sleeping in—"
"Check her room. Now."
Ten minutes later, Mrs. Gable stood trembling in the doorway of the master suite, holding a crisp white envelope she had found resting on my empty vanity.
Elias snatched the paper from her hands. Inside was the white clinic envelope. He pulled out the ultrasound printout, staring down at the grainy image of a developing heartbeat. His mind, normally a razor-sharp computer capable of calculating market fluctuations in seconds, flatlined.
Pregnancy confirmation. Estimated gestational age: 9 weeks.
"Sir?" Mrs. Gable whispered, stepping back from the dark, terrifying aura radiating from him. "Should I... should I call her cell phone?"
May you like
Elias didn't answer. He turned his wrist over to check his watch, only to realize the watch—and the ring—were sitting on the table. For the first time in his ruthless, unyielding life, Elias Kwon felt the floor drop out from under him. He reached for his phone, dialed my number, and heard the automated carrier voice deliver the most devastating blow of all:
“The subscriber you have dialed is no longer in service.”
