Incubator No More: The Billionaire's Secret Heir

twisting the leather strap of her Lafayette 148 bag until the circulation c

pe. It was a smell designed to mask the desperation that usually per

lt ele

oor. Her smile was practiced, profess

" Joy said, her voice light and ai

ud against her ribs. The air left her lungs in a r

vy. Florence took it, her hands trembling. It felt

l she saw was a future. A child. A reason to stay in

t's contact. She wanted to call him. She wanted to hear h

n she s

ht. I want to

e asked, standing up. Her legs felt un

lanced toward the hallway. "Mr. Livingston... he went

ing the report to her c

et in the hallway was thick, swallowing the

e hall. The door was ajar, just a sliver of da

hand to knock.

errible,

and in mid-air. It was a laugh

on Y

r blood turned to

wasn't his business voice. It was soft. Indulge

ser to the gap in the door, her heart hamm

ined. There was the sound of fabric rustling. "I ha

through her stomach. She pressed a

chuckled, a cold, dismissive s

lorence like a

uba

other. A vessel. A

kick her out. The trust fund only requires a legitimate heir born

her lip, hard. She tasted the metallic tang o

ther couch, his hand stroking Alison's hair. He looked at his m

ldness settled over her. It started in her marrow and sp

paper in her hand. Su

ream. Screaming was for people who

would lose. They would gasligh

nd shallow. Then she took

silent, ghostly. She reached the corner and

otion. She smoothed her dress. She forced the corners o

he turned on her heel and walk

now exactly wha