The Rejected True Heiress (Liora and Callum) novel Chapter 394

Bianca knocked on my door just after ten that night.

I opened it to find her standing in the hallway in an oversized sweatshirt, her hair loose around her shoulders and her eyes watering.

“I just needed to see you,” she sniffled. “The hormones are so bad tonight. I can’t stop feeling emotional.”

I stepped back and let her in.

She flopped onto my bed and held her arms out to me. I hesitated, then went to her and laid down, tucking her against my side. My eyes remained fixed on the ceiling as I rubbed circles on her back.

One… Two… Three…

I counted each one. Just like I did every time she came to me like this, which was becoming more frequent lately. I’d count to twenty, to thirty, however long it took for it to seem like I wasn’t waiting for it to be over. Then, I could make an excuse and get her to leave.

A pang shot through me at the thought. No man should ever feel that way about his pregnant fiancee, but I did. And I hated it. Even more so now after what Zane had told me earlier.

She’s faking it.

The person you wanted has been right in front of you all along.

I looked down at Bianca. She had her eyes closed and was whimpering softly against my chest. She looked small and pale and tired, just like a woman in the throes of early pregnancy.

And yet…

What if it wasn’t real? What if Zane was telling the truth?

The words came out before I could stop myself. “Bianca. I need to ask you something.”

“Hmm?”

I took a breath. “Is the pregnancy real?”

Bianca sat bolt upright and looked at me like I’d just shot her. “What did you just say?”

“I need to know,” I said, sitting up against my headboard. “I’m not asking to upset you. I’m asking because I need the truth.”

“Of course it’s real.” Her voice rose in pitch. “Callum, how could you ask me that? After everything—”

“Bianca.”

“I’m not going to sit here and let you question me like this. Not when I’ve been sick every single day and doing everything right and—”

“Bianca, come out.”

Still nothing. The crying had gone muffled.

I waited. One minute, then two. Then five. The crying had tapered off into silence.

Eventually, half an hour passed, and I still heard nothing. I began to get worried when I knocked and tried to open the door and found it locked.

“Bianca?”

I heard a soft, sputtering gasp come from within the bathroom.

My stomach lurched. I grabbed the door handle and rammed my shoulder into it. Thankfully, the cheap lock gave way without much resistance, and the door swung open. I stumbled into the room and froze.

Bianca was on the floor, kneeling, her fingers spread wide against the tiles. Her thighs were sticky with something dark and red, and she was staring at the floor in shock.

Slowly, she looked up at me. Her eyes were dark and wet, and her mascara was leaving black trails down her face. She raised her hands, spread her fingers, and showed me the blood on her palms.

“You… You made me have a miscarriage!” she cried.