"No. That would be letting him off too easy." I opened my eyes, my gaze ice-cold. "Stephens Group is going public next month on the back of my neural degeneration patent. I want him standing at the very top before he watches everything he has shatter to pieces."
Over the next few days, I stayed at the Ashford family's private estate on the outskirts of the city, resting for the baby's sake.
William didn't come looking for me.
He'd decided that a pregnant woman with no money couldn't hold out for long.
Instead, he started interacting with Alma on social media constantly. Paparazzi even caught him taking her to try on jewelry.
Then, on the third day, Director Jonathan Lambert called Quinn, his voice panicked.
"Mr. Harding, we have a problem! Mr. Stephens got his hands on one of Director Ashford's prenatal reports from somewhere and posted it online. He's claiming the baby has severe genetic defects. That it's deformed!"
I shot to my feet. The room tilted.
"Genetic defects? That's impossible!"
My prenatal records had been handled exclusively through Quinn. The baby was perfectly healthy.
Quinn pulled up his tablet immediately.