Earlier That Same Day
Amelia stepped into her room, the door clicking shut behind her. Her heart pounded in her chest, fast and hard. She fumbled for her phone, tapped the screen a few times, and then began dialing an unnamed number.
She paced the room as it rang—once, twice—until finally, someone picked up.
"We have a problem," she said without hesitation.
Silence stretched for a moment on the other end.
"And what is it this time?" the voice replied, calm but tinged with irritation. Then again, who wouldn't be?
Amelia stomped her foot. "Donald wants to take me to the hospital—to make sure the baby really belongs to Kieran."
Another pause.
"And... what's the problem with that? It's not like you're faking the pregnancy."
"Oh, how I wish I was," she muttered, glaring at her stomach. Then she lifted her head and stared blankly at the wall. "I can't go out looking like this. Like... like some fat pig. And I am not going to keep wearing those ridiculous clothes you gave me. They're hideous and totally not my style."
"I'm not paying you to be a brat, Amelia," the voice snapped. "The deal was simple: keep his baby, get close to them, tear them apart. In two months, you pop it out and come back to me."
Amelia frowned. "But I thought after the birth, I give the baby to them?"
A low chuckle. "There won't be a them left. Once you give birth, you hand the baby to me and get the hell out of the country. Now quit whining and go take the damn DNA test."
She moved to plop onto the bed but caught herself. She wasn't as light as she used to be. With a huff, she sat down slowly, rubbing her aching back.
"I don't think this money is worth it anymore," she said, voice low. "You could've taken that mute slut without dragging me into it. I would've had the abortion if you hadn't stopped me. And now? I can barely sleep. This baby feels like a demon inside me. I miss my body, my old life. I'm not sure I'll ever be the same."
Tears welled in her eyes as she looked down at her swollen chest and bulging stomach. "And how the hell am I supposed to push this thing out Keenan? I'm not even seven months and I look like I'm carrying twins—like I'm already overdue!"
A beat.
"I'll double it. Ten million," he said. "Just hold on. It's almost over. Hand the baby over, and with no baby and no wife around, I deal with Knight."
Amelia blinked. "Who's Knight?"
"Not your business," keenan snapped. "Just do your part and stop whining like a spoiled brat. And if you ruin this for me, Amelia... I'll kill you. Slowly."
The line went dead.
Amelia groaned and slammed her phone onto the bed, her lips curling in disgust as she caught her reflection in the mirror.
"Fat. Puffy. Disgusting," she hissed, yanking up her shirt and glaring at her belly. "God, I look like a stuffed sofa."
She grabbed a handful of her chest and let out a groan. "I used to be hot. Now I look like some sad housewife waddling around after crumbs."
Storming to the closet, she rifled through her maternity clothes with growing irritation. "These dresses are an insult to fashion. Who even designed this crap? Satan?"
Knock knock.
She froze. Not now.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Ughhh," she groaned theatrically, stomping to the door and yanking it open.
A tall, stone-faced guard stood there. He didn't even flinch despite the murderous look she gave him.
"Whatttt?" she dragged out the word like a petulant child.
"Miss, Mr. Blackwood is waiting for you downstairs."
She narrowed her eyes. "Tell Mr. Blackwood to wait. I'm not a dog. I'm getting dressed."
She slammed the door shut.
The guard didn't react. He simply turned and walked away.
Inside, Amelia collapsed back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.
"This is all such bullshit," she muttered, kicking her feet like a child in a tantrum. "Ten million dollars and I can't even get a decent outfit? I look like a walking laundry bag."
Still fuming, Amelia forced herself off the bed and stomped toward the closet. She rummaged through the hanging clothes, tossing aside hideous maternity dresses until she found something remotely wearable.
"Whatever," she muttered, yanking a loose black dress over her body. It clung in all the wrong places and still made her feel bloated and miserable. She turned sideways in the mirror, scowled, and tried to suck in her stomach.
"Ugh. This thing better be worth ten million," she muttered, snatching her purse and stomping toward the door. "Get the money, dump the spawn, and give myself a vacation. Somewhere warm. And silent."
She slipped on a pair of oversized sunglasses—because, even at a hospital, fashion mattered—and strutted out of her room like it was a red carpet.
Fake confidence. Real attitude.
Her steps were slow and calculated as she walked downstairs, hand lightly brushing the railing. Her stomach growled, and she was just about to detour into the kitchen when a sharp voice cut through the air.
"I do not like to be kept waiting."
She froze, rolled her eyes hard enough to see her brain, then turned to face Donald Blackwood, who stood there with a deep frown carved into his face.
"Sorry," she said with a smug little smirk. Her voice was syrupy sweet, but absolutely insincere. Of course she wasn't sorry.
Donald didn't respond. He just turned and marched out toward the courtyard where a sleek black car was already waiting, engine purring like a predator ready to pounce.
Amelia followed behind, muttering under her breath, "Withered old fuck."
In the security room...
The angels exchanged stunned glances at what they had just seen on the footage played out on the monitor.
Joy was the first to speak. "Well ain't this about a bitch… that chick is working for The Bishop."
Mia blinked, her voice low and stunned. "And she's actually pregnant…"