2While I sat beside my premature twins in the NICU, my husband dropped divorce papers onto my lap and told me he had emptied every joint account. His pregnant mistress stood beside him wearing the custom maternity coat I had bought for myself. He thought I was helpless—until I signed the papers, picked up my phone, and called the billionaire grandfather he never knew existed.

Beside me, Dominic chuckled. The sound was dry, mocking, and full of unearned arrogance.

"Your grandfather?" Dominic scoffed, tossing his silk tie over his shoulder. He picked up the signed divorce folder from my lap, tucking it securely under his arm. "Audrey, you're delusional. You grew up in some nameless midwestern farm town. What is your old man going to do? Drive his tractor up to the front steps of Saint Aurelia Medical Center?"

Natalie giggled, stroking the sleeve of my ivory cashmere maternity coat. "Darling, stress makes women imagine all sorts of things after labor. Let’s just go. The air in here smells like disinfectant and poverty."

"Wait," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. I didn't look at them; my eyes remained fixed on Liam’s tiny hand twitching inside the incubator. "Don't leave yet, Dominic. You should at least meet him."

"I don't have time for your pathetic mind games," Dominic snapped, his demeanor hardening. "By four o'clock today, the locks on the penthouse will be changed. The funds in our joint account are already transferred to my company's corporate holdings. You have no money, no home, and no husband. If you want to raise those two half-dead creatures, you better find a charity to take you in."

Before the words could fully clear his mouth, the double doors of the neonatal wing slammed open with a heavy, echoey thud.

The quiet routine of the unit instantly shattered. A dozen men in sharp black suits burst into the hallway, moving with military precision. Behind them came four uniformed city police officers, followed closely by a group of men and women in tailored executive attire.

At the front of the procession walked an elderly man with silver hair, carrying an ivory-handled cane. Despite his eighty-two years, Charles Sterling walked with the posture of an emperor. His eyes, cold and blue as glacial ice, swept across the room until they landed on me.

Behind him hurried Dr. Harrison, the Chief of Medicine at Saint Aurelia, sweating profusely and clutching a leather binder.

"Mr. Sterling, sir! We weren't informed of an unannounced inspection," Dr. Harrison stammered, bowing his head nervously. "The entire executive board is on their way down!"

Dominic stood frozen, his eyes widening in sheer bewilderment. As a medical supply distributor, Dominic had spent the last three years trying to secure a single meeting with the board of the Sterling Healthcare Group—the multi-billion-dollar conglomerate that owned Saint Aurelia, along with forty-five other hospitals across the continent.

"Mr... Mr. Sterling?" Dominic stammered, stepping forward instinctively with an outstretched hand. "Sir! I'm Dominic Vance, CEO of Apex Medical Supplies. It is an absolute honor—"

Charles Sterling didn't even acknowledge Dominic's existence. He didn't look at his hand. He walked straight past him, stopping right beside my wheelchair.

The old man lowered his cane, his stern expression softening into profound sorrow as he looked at my frail frame and the two incubators behind me.

"My sweet girl," Charles whispered, his voice trembling slightly as he reached out to stroke my hair. "Look at what they’ve done to you."

"Grandfather," I said quietly, letting a single tear fall down my cheek. "I'm so tired."

Dominic’s breath hitched violently. He staggered back half a step, his eyes darting frantically between me and the titan of global healthcare. "G-Grandfather? Audrey... what is this?"