Chapter 12: The Mother
Mrs. Ashford arrived at my new residence — a Laurent family penthouse I'd had prepared months in advance — with the stiff posture of someone who'd never lowered her head in sixty years.
She sat on my sofa like it belonged to her. Old money arrogance.
"Miss Laurent." She didn't offer pleasantries. "I'll be direct. That child is an Ashford. Regardless of what happened between you and my son, the family has rights."
I poured her tea. Calm. Unhurried.
"Mrs. Ashford, your son purchased my body through a contract. He allowed his girlfriend to poison me for twelve weeks. He never learned my name." I set the teapot down. "What rights, exactly, are you referring to?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "We can make this unpleasant."
"You can try." I sipped my tea. "But I'm worth more than your entire family combined. And I have documentation of every crime committed under the Ashford roof."
Her composure cracked — just barely. "What do you want? Money? A merger? Name your terms."
"I want nothing from you." I looked her dead in the eye. "But let me tell you what's going to happen.
This child will carry the Laurent name. It will inherit my empire. And if your family contests custody, I will release footage of your son timing sexual encounters with a woman he treated as less than human.
I will release lab results showing seven separate attempts to terminate my pregnancy by a woman your son welcomed into his home.
And I will let the world decide what kind of family you are."
The blood drained from her face.
I stood. "You may leave now."
She rose slowly, her hands trembling almost imperceptibly. At the door, she turned.
"He does care, you know. In his own broken way."
"His way nearly killed my baby." My voice was ice. "That's not care. That's ownership."
She left without another word.
That evening, Callum found me on the terrace, watching the city lights.
"You okay?"
I nodded. Then shook my head. Then nodded again.
He stood beside me in comfortable silence until I finally spoke.
"My parents died when I was eight. My identity was stolen. I built everything from nothing, in secret, in shadows. And somehow, despite all that power, I still ended up on a cold table with a timer counting down above me."
I turned to face him. "Is it wrong that part of me wanted him to see me? Not Vivienne Laurent. Just... me?"
Callum's jaw tightened. "He doesn't deserve that."
"I know." I looked back at the skyline. "But the wanting doesn't know that."
---
She sat on my sofa like it belonged to her. Old money arrogance.
"Miss Laurent." She didn't offer pleasantries. "I'll be direct. That child is an Ashford. Regardless of what happened between you and my son, the family has rights."
I poured her tea. Calm. Unhurried.
"Mrs. Ashford, your son purchased my body through a contract. He allowed his girlfriend to poison me for twelve weeks. He never learned my name." I set the teapot down. "What rights, exactly, are you referring to?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "We can make this unpleasant."
"You can try." I sipped my tea. "But I'm worth more than your entire family combined. And I have documentation of every crime committed under the Ashford roof."
Her composure cracked — just barely. "What do you want? Money? A merger? Name your terms."
"I want nothing from you." I looked her dead in the eye. "But let me tell you what's going to happen.
This child will carry the Laurent name. It will inherit my empire. And if your family contests custody, I will release footage of your son timing sexual encounters with a woman he treated as less than human.
I will release lab results showing seven separate attempts to terminate my pregnancy by a woman your son welcomed into his home.
And I will let the world decide what kind of family you are."
The blood drained from her face.
I stood. "You may leave now."
She rose slowly, her hands trembling almost imperceptibly. At the door, she turned.
"He does care, you know. In his own broken way."
"His way nearly killed my baby." My voice was ice. "That's not care. That's ownership."
She left without another word.
That evening, Callum found me on the terrace, watching the city lights.
"You okay?"
I nodded. Then shook my head. Then nodded again.
He stood beside me in comfortable silence until I finally spoke.
"My parents died when I was eight. My identity was stolen. I built everything from nothing, in secret, in shadows. And somehow, despite all that power, I still ended up on a cold table with a timer counting down above me."
I turned to face him. "Is it wrong that part of me wanted him to see me? Not Vivienne Laurent. Just... me?"
Callum's jaw tightened. "He doesn't deserve that."
"I know." I looked back at the skyline. "But the wanting doesn't know that."
---