Chapter 3 - The Billionaire’s WrathThe private VIP recovery suite on the top floor of New York General Hospital was usually reserved for senators, foreign dignitaries, and major shareholders. Tonight, it housed a sleeping woman with auburn hair and a four-year-old girl curled up in a sprawling leather armchair, clutching a worn-out brown bear until she finally drifted off to exhaustion.
Standing beside the bed, staring down at Rebecca, was James Carter.
The blood on his sleeve had dried into a dark, ugly stain, but he hadn't changed his clothes. He hadn't gone to the board meeting. He hadn't answered the dozen urgent calls vibrating silently in his pocket from his vice president.
His phone buzzed again. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen caller ID—Father—and pressed accept.
“James,” Arthur Carter’s smooth, commanding voice boomed through the speaker, devoid of any warmth. “The board room has been waiting for forty-five minutes. The Korean acquisition is stalling because you walked out. Where the hell are you?”
“You sent them,” James said. His voice wasn’t loud. It was terrifyingly quiet, carrying a cold, dead weight that made the phone line go dead silent for three seconds.
“What are you talking about?” Arthur asked sharply.
“Don't play games with me, Father,” James whispered, his eyes locked on Rebecca’s pale face. “Rebecca Morgan. Five years ago, you told me she took a cash payoff to leave. You showed me bank statements. You showed me a signed resignation letter.”
A heavy sigh echoed from the other end of the line. “Ah. So you found her. I assumed as much when the trauma alerts crossed my desk. James, be reasonable. That girl was a distraction. She came from nothing—an orphan raised in state care with no pedigree, no standing, and no business carrying the Carter name. I simply helped her realize that her presence was holding back your career. I gave her fifty thousand dollars to start a new life across the country. It was a fair transaction.”
“A transaction,” James repeated, his grip on the phone tightening until the metal casing creaked. “She didn't take your money, did she? You threatened her. You told her if she didn't disappear, you’d destroy her.”
“I protected our legacy,” Arthur replied coldly, his tone hardening. “And it seems I need to remind you of your responsibilities. She’s back in New York? Fine. We’ll draft a new nondisclosure agreement, offer her a settlement, and make sure she and that child vanish permanently. I’ve already filed the paperwork for the custody injunction regarding the girl—she has no legal foundation to—"
“Listen to me very carefully,” James interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, dripping with absolute venom. “If you ever—ever—mention that child, or Rebecca, or try to send a single lawyer, fixer, or goon near them again... I will personally liquidate every asset Carter Meridian owns, resign as CEO, and spend every single dollar I inherited from you to dismantle our family empire piece by piece until you are living in a cardboard box. Do you understand me?”
“James! Have you lost your mind over a penniless—?”
Click.
James hung up, tossed the phone onto the side table, and turned his gaze back to the bed.
Slowly, painfully, Rebecca’s eyelids fluttered.
Her lips parted, dry and cracked. Her brow furrowed in pain as she tried to shift her weight, her hand blindly reaching out across the white sheets.
“Lily...?” she whispered, her voice a raspy scratch. “Where... where is my baby?”
James moved instantly, stepping to the side of the bed. He reached out, his large, warm hand gently enveloping her cold, trembling fingers.
“She’s right here, Becca,” James said, his voice cracking slightly. “She’s safe. She’s sleeping right over there in the chair.”
Rebecca froze. Her eyes snapped open, flying upward. When they landed on James's face—older, harder, scarred by years of fury, yet filled with a desperate, devastating devotion—the breath hitched in her throat.
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“James...?” she breathed, tears instantly spilling over her lashes. “No... no, this is a dream. I’m dreaming... Please, don’t let him find us...”
“He won't,” James vowed, squeezing her hand so tightly it was almost painful. He leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against her knuckles. “He will never touch you again. I’m back, Becca. Tell me everything.”
