The Unclaimed Luna
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While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her
As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole. I begged him for help, my vision blurring. But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background. "Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again." He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm. I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube. Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry. Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled. "You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up." He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research. I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym. They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive. They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding. I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it. Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house. The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born.
Chapter 1 Help me... the baby...
A sharp, tearing sensation ripped through June's lower abdomen.
It was so sudden, so violently intense, that her fingers went numb. The glass of water slipped from her hand.
It hit the hardwood floor, shattering into dozens of jagged pieces. The sound echoed loudly in the massive, empty master bedroom of the Compton estate.
June tried to take a step forward, but her knees buckled.
A cold sweat instantly broke out across her forehead, sticking her hair to her skin. She collapsed onto the expensive Persian rug, her hands flying to her stomach.
Her lungs forgot how to pull in air. The pain wasn't just a dull ache; it felt like a serrated blade twisting inside her organs.
Her vision blurred at the edges, turning gray. She knew her body. She was a medical researcher. This was not a normal pregnancy cramp. Her vital signs were crashing.
Her phone was on the nightstand, three feet away. It looked like a mile.
Trembling violently, June dragged her body across the floor. The jagged pieces of the broken glass bit into her knee, but she couldn't even feel it over the agony in her abdomen.
She reached up, her fingers blindly clawing at the nightstand until she knocked the phone down.
The bright screen pierced her eyes. Her fingers were slick with cold sweat. She pressed the speed dial. Number 1.
Cole.
The phone rang once.
June squeezed her eyes shut, her fingernails digging so hard into her palms that the skin broke. Please answer. Please.
It rang a second time. Each second stretched out, heavy and suffocating.
Then, a click.
"What?" Cole's voice came through the speaker.
It wasn't a greeting. It was a wall of ice. In the background, June could hear the clinking of champagne flutes and the smooth jazz of a live band.
"Cole..." June gasped, her throat tight and dry. "Help me... the baby..."
Before Cole could respond, a high-pitched, sweet voice drifted through the receiver.
"Cole, who is it? We're going to be late for the red carpet."
Alycia.
June's stomach lurched. The pain spiked, sending a wave of nausea up her throat.
"June," Cole said, his tone dropping into a low, impatient growl. "If this is your pathetic attempt to stop me from attending the gala, it's a terrible strategy."
"No..." June choked out. She tasted something metallic in her mouth. Blood. "I'm bleeding. Please."
"Stop acting," Cole snapped. She could almost see him adjusting his expensive cufflinks, annoyed by her existence. "You are perfectly fine. We are walking on stage in two minutes. Do not call this number again tonight."
"Cole, wait-"
The line went dead.
The dial tone buzzed in the silent room. It sounded like a death sentence.
June stared at the darkened screen. Her phone slipped from her weak grasp, landing on the rug.
A sudden, terrifying warmth spread between her thighs.
June looked down. A dark, thick pool of red was soaking into the intricate patterns of the Persian rug.
Blood. So much blood.
A primal panic seized her chest. She was losing the baby.
With the last ounce of strength in her shaking fingers, she grabbed the phone again and dialed 911.
"911, what is your emergency?"
"Compton Manor..." June whispered, her voice barely leaving her throat. "Hemorrhaging. Pregnant. Please hurry."
She dropped the phone. Her head fell back against the floor.
Across the room, the massive flat-screen TV was muted, playing a live broadcast of the charity gala.
Through her half-closed eyes, June saw Cole. He looked breathtaking in his custom tuxedo. He was smiling.
He was smiling down at Alycia, who had her arm wrapped tightly around his. Alycia wore a stunning white gown, looking like a bride. Cole's eyes held a tenderness that June had not seen in four years of marriage.
The contrast was brutal. He was in the spotlight, holding another woman, while his wife was bleeding out on his bedroom floor.
The wail of ambulance sirens pierced the night air, growing louder.
Downstairs, the heavy oak doors banged open. Footsteps rushed up the stairs.
Mrs. Lynch, the head housekeeper, appeared in the doorway. She didn't gasp in horror at June's pale face. Instead, her eyes darted to the floor.
"Good heavens," Mrs. Lynch muttered in disgust. "You've ruined the antique rug."
Paramedics shoved past the housekeeper. They dropped a medical bag and knelt beside June.
"Ma'am? Can you hear me?" a paramedic shouted, shining a penlight into her eyes.
June couldn't speak. The room started to spin.
They lifted her onto a stretcher. The movement sent a fresh wave of agony through her pelvis, and a silent tear slid down her temple.
Inside the ambulance, the fluorescent lights flickered.
"Blood pressure is tanking!" a medic yelled over the siren. "Eighty over forty! Suspected ruptured ectopic pregnancy. Step on it!"
The doors of the emergency room flew open. The wheels of the gurney rattled violently against the linoleum floor. The overhead lights passed by in a dizzying blur.
Nurses swarmed her. Scissors cut through her blood-soaked clothes.
"Where is the family?" a doctor demanded, holding a clipboard. "Where is the husband? We need consent for emergency surgery!"
A nurse leaned over June. "Mrs. Compton? Where is your husband?"
June forced her heavy eyelids open. She looked at the nurse. Her lips trembled.
"He..." June's voice was a broken whisper. "He won't come."
The doctor didn't wait. "We're losing her. Get her to the OR now!"
The heavy doors of the operating room swung shut. A mask was clamped over her nose and mouth.
The sweet, chemical smell of anesthesia filled her lungs. Her last conscious thought was the sound of Cole hanging up the phone.
Hours later, the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor woke her.
June opened her eyes. The hospital room was dark, lit only by the streetlights of New York City filtering through the blinds.
Her abdomen felt hollow. A dull, throbbing pain radiated from her surgical incisions.
The room was completely empty. There were no flowers. There was no husband sitting in the chair beside her bed.
A nurse walked in to check her IV drip. She offered June a look of deep pity.
"Mrs. Compton," the nurse said softly. "We tried calling the emergency contact number listed in your file several times. A Mr. Compton. He... he didn't answer."
June turned her head slowly to look out the window. The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and silver.
She didn't cry. The tears were gone, replaced by a freezing, solid block of ice in her chest.
She closed her eyes. The June who loved Cole Compton had died on that operating table.
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