Chapter 3 - THE HEIRESS’S FURY
"A high-society wedding is threatened when a billionaire’s secret family rises from the dead."
The VIP wing of St. Jude’s Private Hospital was locked down. Mark Sullivan had bought the entire floor for the night, ensuring absolute privacy for Anna and the triplets.
The girls had finally been fed, bathed, and dressed in warm, soft clothes. They were fast asleep in an adjoining room, exhausted from hours of freezing on the streets. Anna was hooked up to an IV drip, her breathing stabilized by a state-of-the-art oxygen machine. The doctors had diagnosed her with severe pneumonia and malnutrition, but they assured Mark she would make a full recovery.
Mark sat by her bedside, holding her pale hand. She was asleep, but her brow was furrowed, as if she were still fighting a battle in her dreams.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the VIP wing burst open.
The sharp click of high heels echoed down the silent corridor. Mark stood up, his expression hardening as he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.
Standing in the hallway was Victoria Vance, the wealthy heiress of Vance Petrochemicals and Mark’s fiancée. They were scheduled to be married in three weeks—a merger designed to create the largest conglomerate on the East Coast.
"Mark! What is the meaning of this?" Victoria demanded, her voice dripping with annoyance as she waved her diamond-encrusted hand. "The board is in a frenzy! You skipped the most important meeting of the fiscal year, and my father is furious. And what is this I hear about you bringing a homeless woman and three street urchins to the private wing?"
"Watch your mouth, Victoria," Mark said, his voice dangerously low. "Those 'urchins' are my daughters."
Victoria stopped dead in her tracks. Her perfect, manicured face twisted in shock, then rapidly smoothed out into a cold, calculating mask. "Your daughters? Mark, don't be ridiculous. You don't have children. You’re being scammed by some low-life gold digger."
"Their mother is Anna Pierce," Mark said, stepping closer, his presence towering over her. "The woman your family, and my mother, told me was dead."
Victoria’s eyes flickered. It was a split-second reaction, but Mark caught it. The guilt, the sudden panic.
Seven years ago, Mark's mother, Eleanor Sullivan, had been desperate to save their failing family legacy. She had insisted that Mark marry Victoria to secure the Vance fortune. But Mark had been madly in love with Anna, a simple art student.
"Mark, darling, you're exhausted," Victoria said, trying to reach for his arm, but he stepped back, avoiding her touch. "Anna Pierce left you because she wanted money. She took a payout from your mother. We all know this. She abandoned you when you were at your lowest. Now she’s back because you’re a billionaire."
"She didn't take a dime," Mark said, his voice vibrating with absolute certainty. "She was living in a freezing slum, dying, while my daughters sold a painting I painted for eighty dollars to buy her medicine. If she wanted my money, she would have come to my office years ago."
He leaned in, his eyes cold as ice. "I want a full DNA test on the girls. Not because I doubt they are mine—they have my face—but because I want the legal paperwork finalized. And then, Victoria, I am going to find out exactly what happened seven years ago. And if I find out your family had anything to do with Anna’s disappearance..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. The threat hung heavily in the sterile hospital air.
May you like
Victoria’s face paled. She took a step back, her clutch tightly gripped in her hands. "You’re ruining everything for a ghost, Mark. My father will ruin Sullivan Systems if you call off this wedding."
"Let him try," Mark whispered. "Now get out of my hospital."
