I was nine months pregnant, in the middle of labor, when they burst in.

My fiancé's mistress slapped me. “Drag this shameless bitch off the bed. She doesn’t deserve to have his child.”

“Get a doctor!” I screamed.

“No doctor would dare offend a powerful heir for the bastard in your belly.” She even started a live stream.

My baby was born.

She snatched him up to the camera. “Now for the main event. Let’s watch this little bastard die.”

That’s when my fiancé walked in. He looked at me with disgust, “She’s the one I love. Stop pestering me.”

He has no idea. I'm the real heiress.

————————

1

“Drag that shameless bitch off the delivery bed. She doesn't deserve to have Evander's child.”

I struggled to push myself up from the bed, watching in horror as a group of influencers and thugs swarmed toward me.

I instinctively wrapped my arms around my violently contracting abdomen.

My voice trembled. “Who are you? How did you get in here? Where's my doctor?”

The woman in the lead, Sloane, slapped me across the face. Two other men grabbed my arms, one pulling and one pushing, and roughly yanked me off the delivery bed.

As I fell, I desperately shielded my stomach, letting the back of my head slam hard against the floor.

The impact sent my vision black, and a wave of intense nausea surged up my throat.

Before I could even gag, a tearing contraction made me curl into a ball of pain.

I looked up at Sloane, who towered over me, my voice hoarse with desperation. “I'm about to give birth… Please, call a doctor.”

She crouched down and grabbed my hair, her face twisted in a venomous sneer. “A bitch who slept her way to the top, and you're delusional enough to think you can trap him with a child!”

“Let me tell you: no doctor would dare offend the heir to the Hawthorne family for the bastard in your belly. You and whatever's in your stomach are both going to die today.”

The heir to the Hawthorne family?

I was forced to crane my neck, my eyes landing on a face that bore a slight resemblance to my own. A cold smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

As the sole heir to New York’s legendary Hawthorne family, I was kidnapped from our Hamptons vacation home at the age of eight and nearly lost my life.

After being rescued, I spent a full year recuperating at home.

To protect me, my parents locked down all my information, deleted every photo of me online, and hired several decoys to obscure my identity.

A few years later, in high society, only my immediate family knew what I truly looked like.

To conceal myself more thoroughly, my parents sent me abroad and gave me a new name, Celestia.

Over the years, my parents turned a blind eye to the socialites who impersonated me, as long as they didn't break the law in my name.

But I never imagined their tolerance would allow her to become so brazen she could storm a private delivery room in Lenox Hill Hospital—the most secure hospital in New York.

I glared at her furiously, using all my strength to grab her wrist. “You impersonate me and have the gall to be this arrogant—aren't you afraid of retribution?”

Her expression soured, and she raised her hand to slap me again. “Impersonate?”

She pulled her phone from her Hermès bag and shoved it in my face. “Look closely. This is my billionaire father, and this is my fiancé.”

“Even if you slept with Evander, he'll never marry you. Between the family heir and a bitch, it's not even a choice.”

I stared at the photo, dumbfounded.

The Evander she was talking about… he was my fiancé. I’d never even formally introduced him to my father.

From the intimate posture of Evander Crawford and this woman in the photo, I had to suspect he had betrayed me.

But photo editing is so advanced now. How could I throw away eight years with Evander over a single picture?

I struggled, trying to snatch the phone. “I want to see Evander.”

She pulled the phone back and glanced at her accomplices, her expression turning even more sinister. “Start an Instagram Live stream. I want all of New York to see what happens to a homewrecker.”

At Sloane's command, they immediately started a live stream and forcibly dragged me in front of the camera.

The pain in my lower abdomen felt like I was being torn apart. I begged them, “Please, call a doctor… I'll give you anything you want. Just let me go…”

But they completely ignored my agony.

They held me down, forcing me to face the camera.

On the screen, I was drenched in sweat, my lips purple, my face deathly pale. I clutched my writhing stomach, my body convulsing from the excruciating pain.

I looked desperately at the thug closest to me and pleaded again, “I'm really about to give birth. Please, save me…”

Sloane scoffed, slapped me again, then aimed the camera at me. “This shameless woman dared to steal the fiancé of the Hawthorne family heir. Today, in front of everyone, I'm going to teach her a lesson.”

With that, she swung the camera around and kicked me hard in the stomach.

“A bitch's child is always a bastard. Today, I'll make sure it dies in there, never to see the light of day.”

The piercing pain made me collapse. My baby, as if sensing the mortal danger, thrashed wildly in my womb.

I instinctively dropped to the ground, trying to shield my belly with my body, but they dragged me up again. “Look at what the comments are saying.”

The comments scrolled by rapidly. My vision was blurry, but I could still see the overwhelming flood of viciousness.

‘She dared to mess with the Hawthornes? She deserves it.’

‘Sloane’s crisis PR team is notoriously ruthless. Only she could hire them.’

‘Even if she’s a homewrecker, this is too much. She’s pregnant! She’s dying!’

I struggled to break free from Sloane's grip on my hair, but suddenly, a powerful pressure built deep inside me.

I threw my head back, my body convulsing. I clenched my fists, desperately trying to use the breathing techniques my doctor had taught me.

I bit down hard as a tearing pain ripped through me, drenching me in sweat. It was followed by a sudden sensation of release.

Trembling, I reached down and was shocked to feel my baby's slick head.

I looked up, using my last ounce of strength to face Sloane. “The baby's head is out! Please call a doctor. As long as my child is safe, I'll give you anything, even my identity as the Hawthorne family heir…”

Sloane approached me with an icy stare.

She gripped my chin, aimed me at the screen, and asked in a venomous tone, “Do you all want to see how the bastard born from this bitch crawls out?”

The comments flashed by, a chorus of vicious celebration.

I closed my eyes in resignation, deciding to save my energy for the delivery.

I hadn't expected to go into labor before coming to New York.

I felt fine when I got off the plane. The contractions only started after I left the airport.

I kept calling Evander, but he never picked up.

Later, a bodyguard brought me to the hospital. Before going into the delivery room, I sent the hospital's address to Evander.

I had only given the address to Evander. Just him. Not even my parents…

I clenched my fists and glared at Sloane. “If anything happens to my child, I will make you pay.”

She burst into manic laughter, reached down, grabbed my baby's head, and viciously pulled.

The intense pain caused my consciousness to fade; I was on the verge of passing out.

I desperately grabbed her hand, begging her in a low voice to stop, but she was like a madwoman, brutally tearing my child from my body.

The moment the baby left my body, I blacked out.

When I opened my eyes again, Sloane was holding my newborn child high in the air, smiling wickedly at me. “Look who's awake! Next, we'll live stream how this little bastard dies.”

“No…”

I struggled to crawl toward Sloane, but she just laughed maniacally and let go.

The moment the baby hit the floor, I froze, my mind a complete blank.

When reality crashed down, I stumbled through the chaos, covered in blood, and crawled trembling toward my child. A vise gripped my heart, squeezing until I couldn't breathe.

I trembled as I carefully cradled him in my arms, but the faint cries from moments ago had been replaced by a dead silence.

Gazing at his small, grayish-blue face, a wave of despair so profound it stole the air from my lungs crashed over me. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

I desperately tried to push myself up to find a doctor, but my legs felt like jelly. I couldn't stand, collapsing again and again.

I slumped to the floor, holding him tightly, my hand gently patting his tiny body, futilely trying to wake him.

Before he was born, I had imagined countless nights holding him to sleep.

Throughout my pregnancy, I studied parenting, learning how to burp him, how to hold him so he would sleep soundly, and even researched infant gas relief exercises.

My parents were ecstatic about his arrival. They bought us a penthouse in Brooklyn, complete with a butler, nannies, a nutritionist, and had even arranged for a preschool teacher.

Last month, my father started planning his grand one-month celebration. That night, he excitedly called his friends in Europe and had his secretary contact business partners in China, proudly announcing he was going to be a grandfather.

The cover of the invitation was beautifully designed with Evander's name and mine, and we wrote the inside by hand.

Although Evander had been busy with financing for our FinTech company, Nexus Capital, and was rarely home this past year, he video-chatted with me every day, following the baby's growth. Whenever he saw cute baby items, he would buy them immediately, filling the entire nursery.

He, the embodiment of all our love—how could he be gone, just like that?

I raised my gaze to the sneering Sloane. I gritted my teeth, pushing off the floor to stand, but before I was steady, a nearby thug punched me back to the ground.

She held up her phone, shoving the screen in my face, her tone mocking. “Look, everyone, this is what happens when you're a bitch!”

Amidst the rapidly scrolling comments, I still managed to glimpse some of the vicious insults aimed at me.

They said I deserved to lose my child.

They lamented missing the moment Sloane dropped my baby to his death.

They also said a homewrecker like me should go to hell with my child, because you have to rip out the problem by the roots.

I stared intently at the usernames, forcing myself to memorize every single villain.

One day, I would settle the score with each and every one of them.

Sloane smiled triumphantly, grinding her stiletto heel hard into my hand, looking down on me with contempt. “Celestia? You dare touch my man, and I'll make sure you never find peace.”

As the sharp heel dug into my palm, I felt no pain.

I tilted my head up to face everyone before me and burst into manic laughter. “Every single one of you, I will not forget. For everything you've done today, I will make you pay in blood!”

Sloane laughed arrogantly. “I'll be waiting. Just try not to join your son first. We're leaving.”

I stared at their departing backs, struggling to stand again, when Sloane suddenly spoke. “Evander, what are you doing here?”