CHAPTER 58: CHAPTER 58 SHE WAS PREGNANT

Ryan’s POV

I drummed my fingers impatiently on my desk, barely focused on the financial report Simon had just handed me.

The quarterly numbers looked promising—Blackwood’s market share had increased by twelve percent—but my mind was elsewhere.

Three meetings down, two more to go before I could escape this suffocating office.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number. I almost ignored it, but something made me answer.

"Mr. Blackwood speaking."

"Mr. Blackwood." The voice was unfamiliar but urgent. "This is Jackson. You assigned me to protect Ms. Quinn?"

My body tensed instantly. The security detail I’d arranged to protect Serena after she refused to return to the mansion.

"What happened?" I demanded, already moving toward the door.

His voice came through panicked, breathless. "She’s been rushed to the hospital!"

My blood turned to ice. "Which hospital?" I demanded, already on my feet.

The moment Jackson told me the location, I slammed my phone down and grabbed my jacket.

"Simon, cancel everything. Reschedule the board meeting."

"But sir, the investors have flown in from—"

"I don’t care if they’ve flown in from Mars," I snapped, loosening my tie. "Family emergency."

The drive to the hospital passed in a blur of traffic lights and horn blasts as I weaved through downtown.

I hadn’t told Serena about the security detail—she would have seen it as another attempt to control her. But thank God I’d had the foresight.

I pulled into the hospital parking lot with tires screeching, tossing my keys to the valet without waiting for a ticket. Inside, I flashed my ID at the front desk.

"Serena Quinn. Brought in by ambulance about forty minutes ago."

The receptionist directed me to the third floor. As I approached the nurses’ station, I heard Maya’s familiar voice speaking with a doctor just around the corner.

"So it was just stress that triggered this?" Maya asked, worry evident in her tone.

"Yes, essentially she experienced what we call threatened miscarriage. The baby is fine, but she had some spotting due to extreme stress. Ms. Quinn needs complete rest for the next few days. No work, no stressful situations," the doctor explained. "She’s been pregnant for just over three months now, and while the first trimester is always delicate, emotional distress at this stage can be particularly dangerous."

I froze mid-step, the doctor’s words hitting me like a physical blow.

Pregnant?

My brain struggled to process this information. Three months pregnant? That would mean...before our divorce. Before she left.

My child. Serena is carrying my child.

A surge of emotions crashed through me—shock, joy, confusion, and then a blinding, possessive need to protect what was mine. I felt my face split into a grin I couldn’t control.

I stepped forward, intercepting the doctor before he could walk away.

"Excuse me," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the earthquake happening inside me. "Did you just say she’s pregnant?"

The doctor looked up at me, slightly startled. "Yes, about fourteen weeks along. The baby appears healthy, but she experienced some threatened miscarriage symptoms. Are you family?"

"I’m the baby’s father," I said automatically, the words feeling both strange and completely right on my tongue. "What exactly happened to her?"

"She experienced what we call emotional shock, which caused some uterine contractions. Nothing too serious this time, but she needs to avoid any further distress. Complete bed rest for at least three days."

My mind raced. Emotional shock? What did this mean?

Maya suddenly appeared beside the doctor, her expression changing from concern to cold fury when she spotted me.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, arms crossed defensively. "How did you even know she was here?"

I ignored her question. "Why didn’t she tell me she was pregnant?"

Maya’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "Are you kidding me right now? After that little girlfriend of yours, Ivy Hart, announced her own pregnancy to the world? The nerve of you to even show your face here!"

For a second, I froze, not fully grasping her words. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended.

Maya let out a cold laugh, yanking her phone from her pocket. With a few swift taps, she shoved the screen toward me.

"See for yourself. It’s everywhere—front page, trending feeds. Your precious Ivy Hart made sure the world heard it loud and clear during the jewelry show today."

My gaze dropped to the glowing screen. Headlines screamed back at me, accompanied by photos of Ivy standing under the stage lights, one manicured hand resting meaningfully over her abdomen.

I’m carrying his child, the captions quoted, bold and merciless.

A rush of disbelief and fury crashed through me. My jaw clenched so hard it ached.

"This is insane," I muttered, pulse hammering in my ears. "Ivy Hart is not my girlfriend. That entire stunt was fabricated."

"Sure, and I suppose she just magically came up with all those intimate details about you two?" Maya countered, standing protectively between me and Serena’s room. "Save it for someone who hasn’t watched Serena cry herself to sleep over you."

Her words stung more than I wanted to admit. Had Serena really cried over me? The thought both pained and secretly pleased me.

"I need to see her," I insisted.

"Absolutely not. You’ve done enough damage already. Unless you’re planning to trample over my dead body, you’re not getting anywhere near her room."

I could have easily pushed past her—physically, at least. But I needed Maya on my side if I wanted access to Serena long-term.

"Fine," I conceded, pulling out my phone. "But at least let me prove something to you."

I dialed my head of security and switched it to speaker. "Keith, I need everything you’ve found on Ivy Hart in the last hour. Specifically her medical records."

Keith’s voice came steady on the other end. "Understood, sir. I’ll get on it immediately."

I hung up, shoving the phone back into my pocket. Maya’s arms were crossed, skepticism written all over her face. "You’d better hope you’re not bluffing," she muttered.

The next hour dragged by like a lifetime.

I tried to keep myself composed, but the thought of Ivy’s announcement—her smug voice echoing in front of the cameras—made my blood simmer.

What the hell had she done? And more importantly, how many people already believed her lie?