They Paid Me $20 Million to Disappear—But My Return Shocked Everyone

They Paid Me $20 Million to Disappear—But My Return Shocked Everyone

The first morning of Lunar New Year should have been filled with the smell of incense and dumplings, with neighbors greeting one another in cheerful blessings. Instead, my doorbell rang with a sharp insistence that shattered the fragile peace of the holiday.

When I opened the door, a tall woman stood there. She was striking, not because of any particular beauty, but because arrogance was written across her face. Her chin was lifted as though the air around me was unworthy of her breath.

“So,” she said, her eyes glinting as they swept over me. “You’re Maya Young.”

My brows furrowed. The boldness in her tone made my spine stiffen.

“I’m Maya. And you are?”

Her lips curved into a smirk that was not quite a smile.

“Fiona Grant. Lucas Parker’s girlfriend. His fiancée, actually. We’re getting married soon.”

For a moment, I only blinked at her. The name stung, a name I had tried hard to bury.

“I see,” I said evenly, willing my voice not to betray the lurch in my chest. “Well, then congratulations. Lucas and I broke up quite a while ago.”

I had already started to swing the door closed, my politeness exhausted, when she thrust her arm out and stopped it with surprising force.

“Maya Young,” she said coldly, her gaze hardening. “I know you’re pregnant.”

My breath caught. Heat crawled up my neck. I had only learned about the pregnancy 3 days earlier. How could a stranger know?

I swallowed and forced myself into control.

“My child isn’t Lucas Parker’s,” I lied smoothly.

Fiona laughed, a sharp, humorless sound.

“Oh, please. No matter whose child it is, as long as you give birth and hand the baby over to me, I’ll give you $5 million.”

For a second, I was too stunned to speak. Then fury exploded in my chest.

“Are you out of your mind? I will never sell this child, and I certainly don’t want your dirty money. Get the hell out of here.”

With that, I slammed the door in her face.

My hand trembled on the knob, but my pride burned hotter than my fear. Behind the wood, I could still hear the faint shuffle of her heels retreating, and my anger boiled over into muttered curses.

What the hell was that?

Had Lucas really climbed into the bed of some rich heiress? That would explain the clean cut, the way he discarded me without hesitation. Fiona Grant casually tossed out $5 million like it was pocket change. No wonder he had dumped me so thoroughly.

I pressed my back to the door, chest heaving.

What era were we living in? People still trying to buy babies door-to-door?

My anger shifted to Lucas.

I remembered the time before the breakup. He had been like a clingy burr, sticking to me with a lazy charm. He had no job, no real ambition, and spent his days eating, sleeping, and messing around. We had always been careful, always used protection.

And yet, here I was.

I clutched my stomach.

How could it be such rotten coincidence?

Suddenly, a violent wave of nausea rolled through me. I sprinted to the bathroom, gripping the porcelain as I heaved until my throat burned.

Three days earlier, the test had shown 2 pink lines. I had scheduled an abortion almost immediately. After Lucas left me, after I cut him off, there was no space in my life for a child. Not his. Not anyone’s.

But after I hung up on Fiona, my phone rang again. This time, it was the hospital.

“Miss Young,” the doctor said calmly. “Your test results are back. You have a thin uterine lining and polycystic ovarian syndrome. If you proceed with termination, it may be very difficult for you to conceive in the future.”

The words froze me where I stood. I pressed a hand against the bathroom counter, staring at my reflection. Pale, disheveled, eyes rimmed red.

I did not know whether to laugh or cry.

God really had a twisted sense of humor.

After a long silence, I checked my bank balance. Then, with cold fingers, I dialed my general manager.

“Manager,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice. “I’ll take the Parker heir assignment.”

On the other end, he burst out laughing.

“Maya, you’re serious? My God, we’ve had people camping outside that family’s compound for weeks without a scrap of success. I was ready to give up. But if you’re on it, it’s in the bag.”

“I’m serious,” I said, cutting him off. “But I want double the salary.”

He hesitated only a second.

“Done.”

As soon as the call ended, I leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling.

The Parker heir was a ghost of the tabloids, a mystery the entire city was desperate to unmask. A few months earlier, rumors had swirled that he had been in a horrific accident, leaving him infertile. The Parker-Grant alliance was headline candy. If I could dig up a scoop, especially live coverage of the wedding, it would guarantee sky-high ratings.

But as Fiona’s face flickered through my mind, something twisted in my gut.

A grand family. Five million dollars for a baby. Lucas Parker.

My instincts screamed.

There was a bigger story buried beneath all of it.

I typed Fiona Grant into my database and pulled her file. Her photo appeared on my laptop screen, and my world tilted.

Fiona Grant, the arrogant woman who had stood at my door, was Lucas’s fiancée.

And Lucas Parker, the man who used to wear grandpa shirts in summer and padded jackets in winter, the man who spilled noodle broth on my sofa and lived off cheap takeout, was the mysterious heir of the Parker Group.

“Damn it,” I muttered aloud, slamming the laptop shut.

It was him.

My loser ex-boyfriend was the golden prince of New York’s elite.

I had never been 1 to sit back and be toyed with. If Fiona Grant wanted to test me, I would give her a show she would not forget.

That afternoon, I orchestrated a little performance.

A dingy clinic on the edge of Chinatown. Flickering neon casting sickly light. I powdered my face until it looked ghostly pale, drew dark shadows under my eyes, and stood at the doorway as if I had just crawled out of hell.

It did not take long.

Fiona arrived, her stilettos clicking like gunshots against the sidewalk. When she spotted me, her face twisted.

“Maya, are you insane? Did you really get rid of it?”

Her voice trembled with fury.

I smirked, letting the expression drip with scorn.

“What else would I do? You think I’d keep a scumbag’s child? Would you give up your fiancé for me?”

“Wishful thinking,” she spat.

“I really don’t know what you see in him,” I said softly, almost kindly. “Aside from being a little handsome, he’s worthless. Don’t be fooled by his innocent face, Fiona. Otherwise, you’ll end up like me. Cheated out of money, cheated out of feelings, then discarded like trash.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering.

“You really don’t know his true identity, do you? No wonder. Otherwise, you’d never be so stupid as to throw this away.”

She laughed coldly, then swept inside the clinic without another glance.

A few minutes later, my burner phone buzzed.

“Miss Young,” the clinic doctor whispered. “We told her everything exactly as you instructed. She suspects nothing.”

“Good. Thank you.”

I slipped him a generous digital red envelope and promised not to expose his side hustle.

Almost immediately, another message popped up on my secure line.

Fiona’s pulled her people back. But heads up, there’s another group tailing you. Two sets, Maya. Be careful.

Two sets.

My pulse quickened.

Who else was watching me?

I had tailed celebrities, politicians, mobsters. I had enemies, yes. But this was different.

I clenched my jaw.

The greatest oversight of my career was this: the man I thought was a slob in thrift-store clothes was, in fact, the crown prince of New York’s elite circle.

The next morning, I painted on light makeup, just enough to look sleepless and vulnerable, the perfect mix of weary and attractive. A little bait of my own.

The Parker Group building towered over Manhattan like a steel monolith. I walked into the marble lobby with measured steps, heels clicking.

“Hello,” I said at the front desk. “I’d like to see Mr. Lucas Parker.”

The receptionist looked up with practiced politeness.

“Do you have an appointment, ma’am?”

I slid my business card across the counter.

“It was verbal. Please let him know Maya Young from Apple Weekly is here. I’m sure he remembers.”

Her brows lifted a fraction. She hesitated, made a call, then glanced back at me with widened eyes.

“Mr. Parker will see you. One note, his fiancée is in the office.”

I let a small smile curl my lips.

“Even better. I know both of them.”

Upstairs, the air was thick with power. A secretary pushed open a set of double doors.

Inside, Lucas sat behind a mahogany desk, clad in a tailored charcoal suit. His dark eyes scanned documents with a focus I had never once seen back when he loafed around my apartment.

Beside him, Fiona leaned on the desk, legs crossed just enough to show off gleaming skin, gazing at him with worship that turned venomous when she spotted me.

Her lips curled.

“What are you doing here?”

I did not bother answering her. Instead, I turned to Lucas with a smile so professional it could slice glass.

“Mr. Parker, Apple Weekly admires your leadership. I’d like to conduct an exclusive interview. Would we have the honor?”

Lucas’s gaze locked with mine. The silence stretched.

Then, slowly, his lips curved.

“If you’ll be leading it yourself, Miss Young, I don’t see any reason to refuse.”

It was almost too easy.

We finalized details and exchanged numbers again while Fiona seethed silently in the background. She could do nothing without revealing her claws.

As I turned to leave, she followed me to the elevator. Her voice was a hiss.

“Back at work right after your abortion. You really are something, Maya. But let me make 1 thing clear. No matter how capable you are, the Parker family would never accept you. The only Mrs. Parker will be me. Understand?”

I picked at my ear with a bored expression.

“Calm down, Miss Grant. I don’t have any interest in married men. It’s just work.”

She folded her arms, triumphant.

“Fine. Then you can live stream our entire wedding. How about that?”

My heart twinged, but I forced my brightest smile.

“It would be an honor.”

As the elevator doors closed, I reminded myself of the truth.

Career over men.

Always.

The elevator ride down felt endless. Fiona’s words still rang in my ears.

The only Mrs. Parker will be me.

My nails bit into my palms. When the doors finally opened, I inhaled the crisp air of freedom.

But fate was not finished with me.

As I slid into the driver’s seat of my car, a shadow loomed, and a hand pressed flat against my hood.

I looked up, and my stomach lurched.

Lucas Parker.

He leaned against the car with infuriating ease, his tie loosened just enough to look deliberate, a half smile curling his lips. His eyes locked on me, mischievous and unreadable.

“Two months without a word,” he drawled. “You’re heartless.”

My pulse kicked, but I steeled myself.

“We broke up. We’re strangers now. What exactly do you mean by that, Mr. Parker?”

He tilted his head.

“Exactly what I said.”

I pulled a small digital recorder from my purse and waved it in his face.

“Keep talking, Lucas. You’re engaged now. Don’t forget. Anything you say could end up on tomorrow’s front page.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his eyes.

“So what? I’m not married yet. Until then, I still have the right to choose.”

My throat tightened. Fury surged.

“Scumbag.”

Dimples cut into his cheeks as he chuckled.

“Miss Young, isn’t that a bit improper language for a lady?”

I lifted my chin.

“I’m cursing my ex-boyfriend. That should be perfectly acceptable.”

He leaned closer, lips hovering just shy of my ear.

“Are you sure you’re not still hung up on me?”

I laughed, sharp and hollow.

“How much longer are you going to block my car? Don’t flatter yourself.”

For a second, his eyes darkened. Then he pushed off the hood and stepped aside.

“You’re overthinking it,” he said flatly.

“Good.”

I turned the key, slammed the accelerator, and the car shot forward, exhaust curling up into his perfectly groomed face. In the rearview mirror, I saw him cough, swiping angrily at the smoke.

A laugh burst out of me, short and cruel.

Serve you right.

But the laughter cracked halfway. Without warning, my eyes blurred, tears spilling down my cheeks. My chest heaved with a bitterness I could not swallow.

“What’s wrong with me?” I whispered to the empty car. “Am I sick?”

The phone rang, saving me from myself. My general manager’s voice boomed through the speaker.

“Maya, you’re incredible. You’ve landed another big one. Don’t worry, double salary plus a fat bonus.”

“Who told you already?” I muttered.

“Mr. Parker himself called me just now,” the manager said gleefully. “He’s entrusting us with full coverage of his wedding. Maya, drop everything else. This entire assignment is yours. Whatever you need, resources, people, anything, you got it.”

I gripped the wheel tighter.

Lucas Parker was pulling strings again.

But why?

What game was he playing?

Before I could process it, another call came through.

An unknown number.

I hesitated, then pressed accept.

His voice slid through, low and lazy.

“Tomorrow, 9:00 a.m. Yun Shang Luxury. I’ll be accompanying my fiancée to try on wedding dresses.”

My stomach dropped. I forced calm into my voice.

“Understood, Mr. Parker. I’ll be there on time.”

He chuckled twice.

“Reporter Young. So dedicated.”

I hung up before he could twist the knife further.

He wanted me desperate, clinging, humiliated.

Sorry, Lucas.

Not in this lifetime.

Part 2

The next morning, the bridal boutique glittered like a crystal palace. Diamond chandeliers scattered light across glass cases. Wedding gowns floated in the display window, all lace and pearls, satin skirts spilling like waterfalls.

I froze at the sight.

A memory surged.

Once, long ago, Lucas had caught me staring at that same shop’s display. He had teased me then, eyes soft with affection.

When we get married, I’ll make sure you wear the most beautiful wedding dress here.

Now he could make good on that promise.

But not for me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, straightened my shoulders, and strode inside.

A staff member guided me to the VIP room. To my surprise, Lucas was already there alone. He turned as I entered, his suit crisp, his expression unreadable.

“You’re here,” he said simply.

I glanced around.

“I’m not late, am I? Where’s Miss Grant?”

He smiled faintly, but did not answer. Instead, a staffer pressed a sleek tablet into my hands.

“Miss Young, these are our exclusive couture pieces. Each 1 is 1 of a kind, never duplicated.”

I blinked.

“I think you’ve mistaken me for—”

“She’s here to help me surprise my fiancée,” Lucas cut in smoothly. “You don’t mind brainstorming, do you?”

His tone left no room for refusal.

The lights dimmed. Music swelled. Models stepped onto a runway, gowns glittering under spotlights. One by one, they glided past: layers of tulle, crystal beadwork, dramatic trains.

When the lights returned, Lucas angled toward me. His eyes gleamed with something dangerous.

“Which 1 do you think is most beautiful?”

My throat tightened.

“The 2nd one,” I said carefully. “Of course, that’s just my personal opinion.”

He moved closer, close enough that his cologne, lily of the valley and maddeningly familiar, wrapped around me. His voice lowered, silky and cruelly intimate.

“Would you marry me in that dress?”

Heat shot up my spine. For a heartbeat, my defenses wavered.

Then I shoved him back.

“No.”

I forced a brittle smile and rose from my chair.

“I should—”

The door slammed open.

Fiona Grant stormed in, fury etched across her features. But the moment her eyes landed on Lucas, her expression melted into sweetness.

“Lucas,” she cooed, rushing to his side. “How could you come here alone to pick dresses without me?”

Lucas ignored the question. Instead, he pointed toward the gowns.

“What do you think of the 2nd one?”

Fiona’s lips puckered.

“Too plain. The first is better. Look at the pearls, the crystals. It’s fit for a princess.”

Then she softened her gaze, her voice dripping sugar.

“Honestly, it doesn’t matter what I wear. The most important thing is marrying the man I love. I’ll wear whatever you like.”

Her saccharine performance made bile rise in my throat. I gagged, clapped a hand over my mouth, and bolted for the bathroom.

Cold water splashed against my face. I gripped the porcelain sink, trying to steady the nausea. The mirror reflected a pale, hollow-eyed woman who looked nothing like the 1 who used to laugh so easily.

The door creaked open.

Fiona slid inside, heels clicking against tile. Her eyes dropped immediately to my stomach.

She smirked, cruel and triumphant.

“Tell me,” she hissed. “Did you even get rid of that bastard in your belly?”

Rage surged through me. I shoved her back.

“Miss Grant, what kind of madness is this? Does Lucas know you think this way?”

The mention of his name made her flinch. Then her chin lifted, imperious.

“Who do you think you are? Do you really believe you can still take him from me? Lucas Parker isn’t just a man anymore. He’s the crown prince of the city, worth billions. Every woman wants him. And I—”

She tapped her chest proudly.

“I already have him.”

I straightened, voice even.

“You’re overthinking it. I don’t want him. I just want to do my job.”

Without waiting for her reply, I brushed past her and left.

By the time the assignment ended, my mood was leaden. My stomach still churned. On my way out, a staffer chased me down, pressing a small box into my hands.

“Miss Young,” she said with a shy smile. “This is from our shop, especially for you.”

I accepted it absently, sliding into my car. A sweet strawberry scent wafted up. Curious, I opened the box.

Inside was a perfectly crafted cheesecake topped with glistening berries.

My heart softened.

My favorite.

I pulled over, unwrapped the fork, and devoured it hungrily, savoring each creamy bite. For the first time that day, I almost smiled.

Then headlights flared ahead.

Through the windshield, I saw Lucas shove Fiona out of his car, her face twisted with outrage. She staggered, heels scraping the pavement, before throwing me a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

I dropped my gaze and focused on my cheesecake.

Better not to see.

Better not to exist.

A shadow fell over my car window. Lucas leaned down, 1 arm braced casually on the roof. He pulled out a cigarette, then tucked it back with a smirk.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes.

“Didn’t see anything. Just your 1-man performance.”

He grinned, white teeth flashing.

“Maya, all those women bore me. You’re the 1 I miss. How about we get back together?”

I arched an eyebrow.

“Come closer. Say that again.”

His eyes lit with victory. He leaned in, lips brushing the edge of my ear.

“I said, let’s make up. Don’t tell me you’re too happy to react.”

I smiled sweetly.

Then I lifted the half-eaten cheesecake and smashed it squarely into his face.

Strawberries, cream, and crumbs dripped down his perfect jawline.

“I’m warning you, Lucas Parker,” I said coldly. “Spout that nonsense again, and I won’t be so polite.”

I slammed the car into gear and tore off, leaving him standing dumbfounded in the street, dessert dripping from his cheeks.

Prince or pauper, billionaire or slob, he was still just a man I had once slept with.

He did not get to break me like glass and put me back together at will.

I gripped the wheel tighter. My eyes burned, but my voice was steady.

“Damn you, Lucas Parker,” I muttered. “Do you find it amusing to toy with me? You liar.”

I did not know how long I drove. The city blurred past: neon lights, flashing billboards, streets that used to feel familiar. My hands moved on autopilot, turning the wheel, shifting gears.

By the time I stopped, I realized where I was.

The neighborhood where Lucas and I once lived together. The small apartment, the cracked sidewalks, the corner noodle shop with the faded signboard.

Shaun Snack House.

I pushed open the glass door. The comforting smell of chili oil and scallions washed over me. Behind the counter, the landlady looked up from the soap opera blaring on her tiny TV. Her face brightened when she saw me.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Maya,” she exclaimed. “It’s been ages, sweetheart. Where have you been hiding?”

I forced a smile.

“Moved away.”

“Same order?” she asked, already bustling into the kitchen.

I nodded.

Soon, the familiar bowl of steaming mixed noodles landed in front of me, the aroma tugging me back into a time I wanted to forget. The landlady slid into the seat beside me, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

“Can I ask something I probably shouldn’t?”

I glanced at her wearily.

“That young man you used to come with. Lucas, was it? You 2 broke up?”

I froze, chopsticks hovering midair. Slowly, I nodded.

She sighed, shaking her head.

“No wonder he looked so pitiful the last time he came here. Just sat there staring at his phone. Barely touched his food. At first, I thought he was just distracted, but then I saw his screen. You know what he was staring at?”

My pulse thudded.

“What?”

“Your picture,” she said softly. “As his wallpaper. Over and over again.”

The chopsticks trembled in my hand.

“You’re mistaken. He was the 1 who broke up with me.”

Her brows shot up.

“What? That boy. These young people, I don’t understand. What’s the point of being rich if you can’t protect the woman you love?”

She gestured toward the TV, where the drama heroine wept prettily.

“Marriage should be equal. Otherwise, it’ll never last.”

Her casual words stabbed deeper than she knew. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“You’re right. Better to part sooner than later.”

I pushed the noodles aside, appetite gone.

The very next day, I avoided all direct contact with Lucas. I handed the preliminary coverage over to a colleague and buried myself in editing drafts at the office instead.

When Lucas called, his tone was sharp.

“Why aren’t you doing the interviews yourself?”

“I’m not feeling well,” I replied curtly.

For a long moment, there was silence. Then, surprisingly, he said only, “Take care,” and hung up.

Later, my colleague returned from meeting him, her cheeks flushed pink, eyes shining.

“Maya, he’s unbelievable. Gentlemanly, intelligent, so considerate, and handsome. God, it’s such a pity he’s about to get married.”

I forced a laugh.

“Are you sure you were talking to Lucas Parker?”

“Of course. Besides him, I’ve never met anyone like that. But it’s obvious, you know.”

She lowered her voice conspiratorially.

“He doesn’t love her. Anyone with eyes can see it. The way he looks at someone he actually cares for, you can’t hide that.”

Her words unsettled me. I pressed a hand absently against my stomach, which had begun to swell ever so slightly.

Enough.

I could not afford to think about him.

I would raise this child alone, with or without Lucas Parker.

I was bent over my desk 1 late afternoon, shuffling interview notes, when the office door creaked open.

“Come in,” I called absently.

The smell hit me first. A sour, unwashed odor.

Then I looked up.

A ragged woman stood in the doorway. Her hair was matted, her clothes threadbare. She looked as though she had aged decades, her back bent, her face a map of hardship.

I opened my mouth to ask security to escort her out.

Then she spoke.

“Maya, don’t you recognize me? I’m your mother.”

Ice swept through my veins. My pen slipped from my fingers.

For a moment, I could not breathe.

In my memory, my mother, Yvonne Lewis, was still young and beautiful, the woman who had once promised to protect me. But the year my father had his construction accident, she took the compensation money and vanished, leaving him to die in a hospital corridor.

I was 13.

She had remarried a wealthier man and left me to fend for myself.

Now she stood before me like a ghost.

“Mom is sorry,” she wailed, stumbling into the room.

Before I could react, she fell to her knees with a thud. Her cries echoed down the hall, drawing curious faces to the door.

“Mom will kneel and apologize to you. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.”

I stared at her, cold fury locking my chest.

“Anything?” I asked quietly.

She nodded frantically, tears streaking her grimy face.

“Anything at all, as long as it’s within my power.”

I lifted a finger and pointed to the office window.

“Jump from there. Then I’ll forgive you.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd of co-workers gathered outside. Whispered condemnation rose like a tide.

How can she say that to her own mother?

What a heartless daughter.

Even if her mom made mistakes, she raised her.

Yvonne’s sobs grew louder, feeding off their judgment. She clutched her chest, playing the part of the pitiful mother abandoned by her ungrateful child.

Then she sprang up suddenly, dashing toward the window.

But as she passed me, her shoulder slammed deliberately into mine. Pain exploded through my stomach as I crashed into the desk corner. A white-hot flash stole my breath.

Something warm trickled down my legs.

I looked down, and my vision blurred.

Blood.

So much blood.

“Maya!”

My colleague screamed, rushing forward.

The room erupted into chaos. Someone called an ambulance. Strong arms caught me as my knees buckled. Through the haze of pain, 1 thought screamed in my head.

My baby.

Sirens wailed. Fluorescent hospital lights burned above me. My body shook uncontrollably, cold sweat soaking my clothes.

Somewhere, a voice broke through the panic.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ll take you to the hospital. The best doctors. Don’t be afraid.”

Lucas.

I blinked, and there he was, his face pale, eyes wild with fear. He cradled me against his chest as though I might shatter.

“Lucas,” I whispered, my lips trembling. “Is my baby gone?”

His grip tightened.

“Nonsense. Don’t say that. I’ll find the best doctors. You and the baby will both be fine.”

His voice cracked on the last word, betraying the terror in his chest. A cool kiss pressed against my forehead.

My tears spilled freely.

Then everything went dark.

When I woke again, the world had changed.

I was not just Maya Young the reporter anymore.

I had become the headline.

#FamousJournalistPregnantOutOfWedlock

#MotherJumpsToDeath

#MysteriousLoverMarried

#ShamelessHomewrecker

Accusations swarmed online like locusts. Screenshots, half-truths, outright lies. Every word painted me as the villain.

I scrolled numbly until my phone was snatched from my hand.

Lucas stood over me, expression dark. He shoved a bowl of washed cherries into my lap.

“Eat more,” he said firmly. “Stop reading that garbage. It’s bad for our son’s prenatal education.”

I glared at him.

He coughed.

“Daughter’s,” he corrected.

I popped a cherry into my mouth, bitterness curling behind the sweetness.

“Lucas Parker, could you stop being so full of yourself? When did I ever say this child was yours?”

He leaned close, lips brushing my ear. His voice was velvet and arrogance combined.

“Have you forgotten? That was my seed I planted day and night. If this child isn’t mine, then whose is it?”

Then he fell silent for too long, his head bowed as though collecting his words. At last, he lifted his gaze, and what I saw there stole my breath.

Not arrogance.

Not playfulness.

Raw determination.

“Maya,” he began, his voice low but unwavering. “I know you think I’m a liar. I know you think I’ve toyed with you, left you, humiliated you. But the truth is—”

His hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles whitening.

“Everything I did, every rumor, every lie I let the world believe, was for 1 reason. So that in the end, you would only ever be mine.”

I blinked, stunned.

“What nonsense are you talking now? You have a fiancée, Lucas. Your family wanted the Grants. You stood by while the world crucified me.”

He cut me off, stepping closer, his eyes burning.

“I had to. Because if I fought them openly, if I claimed you too soon, they would have destroyed you. You don’t know how ruthless this world is, Maya. My world. The Parker world. You think reporters are cruel? You think gossip hurts? That’s nothing compared to the way old-money families devour outsiders.”

I turned my face away, staring at the wall, my throat tight.

“So you expect me to thank you for letting me be slandered? For letting my name be dragged through the mud?”

His hands pressed against the edge of my bed as he leaned down, forcing me to meet his gaze. His voice cracked, the steel in it softened by desperation.

“I expect you to believe me when I say I love you. That I’ve only ever loved you.”

The words froze me.

“You think Fiona means anything?” he demanded, his voice rising. “She was a pawn. A shield. From the moment I met you, no 1 else has ever mattered. Do you know what it felt like watching you shut me out, block my number, erase me from your life like I was nothing? Do you know what it did to me?”

His breath came harsh and uneven.

“I planned every step so that no matter what, they couldn’t force me away from you. The accident rumors, the infertility lies. All of it was to make them let go of Fiona and accept only you.”

My heart hammered in my chest.

“Lucas,” I whispered, but doubt still clung stubbornly. “Even if that’s true, what about dignity? What about pride? Do you think I want to marry into your family and be looked down on forever? Do you think I want to be the poor outsider everyone sneers at?”

His jaw tightened.

He took my hand suddenly, pressing it hard against his chest, where his heart beat fast, almost frantic.

“Then let them sneer. Let them look. I don’t care. As long as you are with me, nothing else matters. Maya, I can’t breathe without you. I can’t live without you. If I have to fight the whole damn world to keep you, I will.”

Tears blurred my vision, but I shook my head weakly.

“You’ll regret it. One day you’ll wake up and wish you chose differently.”

He smiled then. Not the cocky smirk I had grown to hate, but something soft, raw, and unguarded.

“The only regret I’ve ever had,” he said quietly, “was letting you believe I didn’t love you. Everything else was worth it if it means you’re mine.”

I covered my face with trembling hands, torn between fear and longing. For years, I had dreamed of hearing those words. For years, I had wanted him to choose me, only me.

But now, when it was finally there, it felt too heavy to bear.

His hands gently pried mine away. He leaned close, his forehead brushing mine, his voice breaking with sincerity.

“Maya Young, you are the first woman I loved, and you will be the last. There is no 1 else. There will never be anyone else. Even if you keep pushing me away, even if you hate me, I will not let go. Because the truth is, you’re already everything to me. My love, my family, my future.”

Something inside me cracked.

My stubborn defenses, the walls I had built out of fear and pain, crumbled under the weight of his words.

I let out a sob and whispered, “You fool. Why do you always have to make things so impossible for me?”

He kissed away my tears, his lips warm against my skin.

“Because loving you was never a choice. It’s the only thing I know how to do.”

Finally, trembling, my hands clutched his suit jacket, holding him close.

“Fine,” I whispered, broken but relieved. “Fine, Lucas. I’ll believe you. Just this once. Don’t you dare make me regret it.”

His arms wrapped around me instantly, fierce and protective.

“Never,” he vowed against my hair. “You’ll never regret it. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that you’re the only 1, the only 1 I’ll ever love.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself rest against him.

And for the first time, I believed him.

Part 3

That afternoon, I shifted slightly, trying to sit up. Pain lanced across my abdomen, sharp enough to make me gasp. My hand flew to my stomach on instinct.

My child was still there.

Still fighting.

The door creaked. I turned my head slowly, expecting a nurse.

Instead, Lucas Parker stepped inside.

It was his face, but something in him had changed. The usual lazy smile was gone. In its place was something sharper, colder. His eyes flicked briefly toward the doorway, deliberately left half open, before settling on me.

A signal I almost missed.

When he finally spoke, his voice carried across the room, low and cutting, meant to be overheard.

“Maya Young.”

My full name landed like a knife.

“How much will it take for you to get rid of that child?”

My breath hitched.

He stepped closer, each footfall measured.

“Ten million, 50 million, 100. Name your price. But don’t fool yourself. The Parker family will never accept you. You’re nothing more than a mistake. I already have a fiancée.”

The words slammed into me like fists, each 1 worse than the last. I gripped the blanket tightly to keep from trembling.

Then I caught it.

The flicker in his eyes. The tension in his jaw.

This was no confession.

This was a script.

My chest burned.

So that was it. He wanted a show for the audience in the hall. For the reporters who sniffed at every crack. For whoever was still doubting his engagement to Fiona Grant.

Fine.

Two could play.

I lifted my chin, forcing venom into my voice.

“Do you think I’d want to carry your child? Even if you offered me nothing, I wouldn’t keep it. The only reason you rushed me here was because you were afraid I’d die and haunt you.”

The words were daggers. Daggers meant for listening ears, not his heart.

Still, part of me ached as I spat them.

“Lucas Parker, I would rather have a child with a homeless man on the street than with you.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

At my bedside, the nurse flinched.

“Miss Young, your baby is perfectly healthy,” she said softly, uncertainly. “Are you certain you want to terminate?”

“Yes,” I forced out, my throat tight. “Arrange the abortion immediately.”

The door burst open.

The sharp click of heels cut through the sterile air, followed by the steady tread of leather shoes.

Evelyn Parker swept into the room in a cream-colored suit, pearls glinting at her throat. Charles Parker followed, his face solemn, eyes heavy with disappointment.

I froze.

Mrs. Parker did not speak at once. Instead, she crouched gracefully, gathering the fallen cherries from the floor. Cherries Lucas had brought earlier, now scattered like drops of blood. Each 1 she placed gently back into the bowl, her movements deliberate and controlled.

Then she set it on the nightstand and turned to me.

Her voice, when it came, was low and warm.

“Miss Young, I am Lucas’s mother.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding.

“Mrs. Parker,” I said quickly. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of clinging to your son. I understand how these things work. Status, reputation. I can support myself. I don’t need anyone’s sympathy or compensation. Please take him with you and leave. On the day of the procedure, if you want, you may come and watch. You’ll see. I mean what I say.”

Her hand shot out, gripping mine with surprising strength.

“No,” she said fiercely. “You misunderstand me. I am not here to persuade you to abort.”

My mouth opened, then closed again.

Her eyes softened, and in that moment, Evelyn Parker looked less like the untouchable matriarch of New York high society and more like a mother.

Steady.

Protective.

“Lucas is filial. He only agreed to the Grant engagement because his father and I pushed him. But if you are carrying Parker blood, then you are my daughter-in-law. That is final.”

Tears stung the corners of my eyes.

“We will do everything properly,” she continued firmly. “Matchmakers, betrothal gifts, a wedding ceremony. Nothing will be lacking. And after marriage, you will not be caged. You will be free to live as you wish. You will not be treated unfairly. Ever.”

Her sincerity undid me. My throat closed, tears threatening to spill.

But I shook my head, clinging to reason.

“Even if I agreed, Lucas wouldn’t. Forced marriages don’t last. A child born of resentment will never be happy.”

For a long moment, she studied me. Her eyes glistened as though she wanted to say more. Instead, she nodded and turned to leave, her heels clicking softly against the tile.

Charles Parker gave me a long, unreadable look before following.

The door closed.

Silence returned.

Then Lucas exhaled as though he had been holding his breath for hours.

In 2 strides, he was at my side. His hand cupped my chin, and his lips crashed against mine with sudden, desperate force.

“Lucas.”

I pushed him back, panting.

“Are you insane? I’m pregnant.”

His grin broke through, maddening and boyish.

“After months of planning, the act worked perfectly. And your performance wasn’t bad either.”

“You—”

My voice trembled with rage.

“You lied to your parents like that. Doesn’t your conscience hurt?”

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock solemnity.

“If I can’t marry you, my heart hurts worse than lying.”

Despite everything, a laugh bubbled up, escaping before I could stop it.

“You’re insane,” I muttered.

He only grinned wider.

Something deep in me cracked. My heart wanted to believe him, but my scars still ached.

Then he handed me his phone.

A video played.

Fiona Grant, flawless in designer clothes, sat across from a woman with disheveled hair and greedy eyes.

My blood turned to ice.

Yvonne Lewis.

My estranged mother.

“Are you really Maya Young’s mother?” Fiona asked sweetly.

“Of course,” Yvonne sneered. “Ungrateful brat. She’s always been heartless.”

“Five hundred thousand,” Fiona purred. “Ruin her reputation. Find out if she’s pregnant.”

“One million,” Yvonne demanded, eyes glittering. “And I’ll do even more.”

The video ended.

My stomach heaved. My laughter came bitter and broken.

“So that’s my mother. She abandoned me once. Now she sells me again.”

Lucas’s hand brushed mine.

“Do we expose them?”

I raised my head, eyes blazing.

“Yes. Burn them both. While the public still hates me, let’s turn the fire on them.”

His lips curved, but his eyes were tender.

“Done.”

The morning I was discharged, the hospital grounds no longer felt like a sanctuary. They felt like a battlefield.

The moment I stepped through the sliding glass doors, flashbulbs detonated like gunfire. Reporters surged forward, microphones thrust out like weapons, voices clashing in a cacophony of accusation and curiosity.

“Miss Young, is it true you seduced Lucas Parker?”

“Who is the father of your child?”

“Are you trying to climb into the Parker family?”

“Is it true the Parkers are protecting you out of guilt?”

Their words stung more than the antiseptic in my wounds. I instinctively wrapped an arm around my stomach, shielding the small life inside, my knees weakening under the onslaught.

Then a hand slipped firmly around my waist.

Lucas.

His suit was immaculate, his expression cut from stone. He positioned himself between me and the flashing cameras, his glare slicing the air.

His voice thundered above the chaos.

“Stay away from my wife.”

The world seemed to still for a second.

Then, like gasoline on a fire, his words ignited the crowd.

“Wife?”

“Did he say wife?”

“So it’s true they’re married already?”

“What about the Grant engagement?”

Questions flew faster, more desperate, but Lucas did not waver. His body was a shield, his arm unyielding around me.

Then salvation arrived in the form of pearls and poise.

A sleek black car pulled up, drawing gasps from the crowd. The door opened, and Evelyn Parker emerged. Her cream suit gleamed under the harsh sunlight, her pearl necklace catching the glint of cameras.

She moved with the calm confidence of a queen accustomed to ruling her court.

Reporters surged toward her instantly.

“Mrs. Parker, do you acknowledge Miss Young as your daughter-in-law?”

“What about Fiona Grant?”

“Will the Parkers abandon the Grant alliance?”

Evelyn ignored them all. She walked directly to me, her heels steady against the pavement, her expression firm but warm. She reached out, clasping my hand in both of hers, and faced the crowd.

“My daughter-in-law needs rest,” she said, voice unwavering. “If anyone frightens her or the baby in her belly, they will answer to me.”

The swarm faltered. A stunned silence rippled through the reporters as though no 1 could quite believe what they had just heard.

A brave voice finally shouted, “Mrs. Parker, does this mean you recognize her? Even after the scandal, even against the Grants?”

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed, her lips curving with disdain.

“Yes. The match with Fiona Grant was arranged by us, the elders. But you cannot force affection. Whoever my son loves, I accept. And let me be perfectly clear. If anyone dares to slander my daughter-in-law again, they will regret it.”

Her words sliced like a blade through rumor and doubt.

I felt my throat close, tears burning at the corners of my eyes.

In that moment, she gave me something I had not dared hope for.

Dignity.

But just as I drew a breath of fragile relief, a shrill voice pierced the silence.

“Mother-in-law.”

The crowd parted slightly, and there she was.

Yvonne Lewis, my estranged mother.

Her hair was neatly combed now, her clothes newly pressed, though the desperation in her eyes betrayed her. She stumbled forward, beaming as though she had been waiting her whole life for this moment.

“Mother-in-law,” she repeated, latching onto Evelyn’s arm. “I am Maya’s mother. Please acknowledge me too. We’re family now.”

The cameras clicked furiously, the scandal writing itself.

Evelyn turned to me, her eyes questioning.

I met her gaze steadily.

“Yes, she is my mother.”

Yvonne’s face lit up like fireworks, her smile stretching wide. In her mind, she was already living in mansions, dining off crystal plates, pampered as the mother of the Parker heir’s wife.

But I did not let her bask long.

“She is my mother,” I repeated, my voice clear and steady, ringing for every microphone present. “But she has been through too much. Her mind is no longer clear. She has been manipulated by people with bad intentions. Even the doctors say she needs long-term treatment.”

The smile on Yvonne’s face faltered, cracking at the edges.

Before she could protest, she quickly nodded, playing along in desperation.

“Yes, yes, I need help. I was deceived, that’s all.”

I tightened my grip on her arm, the smile on my lips sharp as a blade.

“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll take care of you. To the very end.”

Her eyes widened slightly, confusion flickering, but the cameras captured only the tender image of a daughter promising to care for her broken mother.

The crowd sighed, some touched, some skeptical, but no 1 doubted the performance.

Lucas’s hand found mine again, steady and warm. His whispered words brushed against my ear.

“You played that perfectly.”

I kept smiling for the cameras, but inside, my heart was still.

Mother or not, Yvonne Lewis would never harm me or my child again.

The ride was strangely quiet. Outside the tinted windows, the New York skyline blurred into muted gray. Inside the car, Yvonne Lewis could hardly sit still.

She clutched my hand with a trembling grip, her voice spilling over with false sweetness.

“Maya, do you remember? When you were little, you told me you’d take care of me in my old age. That you’d never leave me. That you’d be the 1 to hold my hand at the end. Now, finally, it’s happening.”

I stared at her face, once beautiful, now drawn by greed and years of selfish choices. Her eyes sparkled, not with love, but with hunger.

“And when the baby comes,” she added quickly, darting a look at Lucas, “I’ll help you raise it. A nanny is still an outsider, after all. You can’t really trust them. But a grandmother—”

She patted her chest proudly.

“That’s family.”

Her gaze flicked to Lucas again, sharp as a knife, as though testing his reaction.

“Maya really knows how to pick men,” she said with a sycophantic laugh.

Lucas did not answer. He simply draped an arm around my shoulders, his jaw tight, his silence louder than words.

I smiled faintly and leaned into him, brushing a kiss against his cheek. To anyone watching, we looked like the perfect couple, united and untouchable.

The car slowed.

Through the glass, white stone walls rose ahead, crowned with iron gates. A neat sign in gold letters read:

New York State Psychiatric Center.

Yvonne blinked, confused.

“Maya, what is this place?”

I turned to her, my smile never faltering.

“Your new home, Mom.”

Her smile froze.

“What?”

The doors opened. Two orderlies in white uniforms approached. Yvonne stiffened, her hands flying to her lap.

“Wait. No. This must be a mistake.”

The orderlies were gentle but firm, guiding her out. She tried to twist free, panic flooding her face.

“Why? What are you doing? I’m your mother.”

I stepped out of the car, my heels clicking against the pavement. My voice was calm and detached.

“Yes. And I promised I’d care for you until the end. This is me keeping that promise.”

“No,” she shrieked, her hair falling across her face. “You ungrateful little—”

The syringe slid into her arm before she could finish. Her body sagged, her words dissolving into a slurry of nonsense. The orderlies led her inside, the gates closing behind them with a final clang.

I watched until she disappeared into the building’s shadow.

Only then did I release the breath I had been holding.

Lucas’s hand closed over mine. His voice was low and steady.

“It’s over. She can’t hurt you anymore. From now on, you’ll have me and our child.”

For a moment, I let myself believe him. I squeezed his hand back.

“Not just you. I have parents again too.”

Later that week, the Parkers made everything official.

At a press conference, Lucas stood beside me, his arm wrapped protectively around my waist. Evelyn Parker and Charles Parker flanked us, their presence undeniable, their authority absolute.

Lucas’s voice carried firm and clear.

“The engagement with the Grant family is nullified. The Parkers stand with Maya Young, the mother of my child and the woman I love.”

Cameras flashed wildly.

Fiona Grant’s name trended for hours, but the story was not about her anymore.

It was about us.

The months that followed were quiet in comparison.

For the first time in years, I allowed myself to rest. Evelyn visited often, fussing over me with warm insistence. Charles kept his distance, but his silence was its own acceptance.

Then the day came.

Hours of labor blurred into 1 long scream, 1 endless battle between pain and hope. But when it ended, a thin wail pierced the room, cutting through every scar, every betrayal.

A boy.

My son.

The nurse placed him in my arms, and tears I had not known I was holding back streamed down my face. His tiny fists clenched. His little chest rose and fell, fragile and perfect.

Lucas was beside me instantly, his face wet, his hands trembling as he touched his son for the first time.

“He’s—he’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

He kissed my forehead, then the baby’s.

Laughter and sobs tangled together.

I looked at them: my son, my impossible partner, this family I had thought I would never have. And for the first time in my life, the future did not terrify me.

I leaned into Lucas, whispering through my tears.

“We’ll give him love. The kind we never had. The kind no 1 can take away.”

Lucas nodded fiercely, pressing his forehead to mine.

“We will. No lies, no chains. Just love.”

As our son’s cries softened into the rhythm of sleep, I believed him.

For the first time in a long, long time, I truly believed him.

Fiona’s headlines no longer carried her name.

For weeks, Fiona Grant had been the centerpiece of New York society: the heiress chosen to marry into the Parker dynasty, the woman who styled herself as untouchable, a princess by both birth and engagement.

But in the wake of the scandal, her carefully curated facade crumbled.

At first, the Grants tried to salvage it. Public statements about misunderstandings. Discreet dinners with allies. A staged photo or 2 meant to prove that Fiona was still welcomed in the city’s glittering circles.

But the whispers never stopped.

She bribed a mother to betray her pregnant daughter.

She tried to buy another woman’s child.

She lost Lucas Parker to a reporter.

And whispers in high society cut deeper than knives.

Her invitations dwindled. The smiles from so-called friends turned brittle, then vanished altogether. In private, matrons shook their heads and muttered that the Grant girl had flown too close to the sun. Young debutantes who once envied her now pitied her.

The final blow came not from the Parkers, but from her own family.

The Grant patriarch, weary of scandal, announced that Fiona would take time abroad to focus on her health.

Everyone knew what it meant.

She was being exiled quietly, tucked away until the storm passed, if it ever did.

On the night before she left, Fiona stood before her gilded vanity, her reflection framed in cold light. She still looked perfect. Flawless skin. Gleaming hair. Lips curved in a practiced smile.

But behind the mask, her eyes were hollow.

She thought of Lucas Parker, the man she believed she had captured, the crown prince she imagined standing beside her at the altar. In her mind, she replayed his indifference, his cool dismissal, his declaration of love for another.

He had never truly looked at her.

Not once.

Her hands trembled as she removed the diamond engagement ring, a stone meant to secure her place in history. Now it was nothing more than evidence of her failure.

She placed it back in its velvet box with deliberate care, as though burying the last piece of herself.

When dawn came, she boarded the jet in silence.

No reporters waited. No crowds gathered. Only the quiet shame of departure, her shadow stretching long across the tarmac.

And so Fiona Grant vanished from the city she once believed she would rule.

In the years to come, people would still whisper her name, but only as a cautionary tale, a reminder that crowns built on arrogance and schemes are made to shatter.