Stolen Heirs: The Billionaire Mother's Revenge

"Make sure you take your vitamins, Tash! We need our little miracles to be absolutely perfect."

George’s voice drifted over the hiss of the running shower, sickeningly sweet and full of a husband's devotion.

"I just took them!" I called back, resting my hand on my massive, seven-month pregnant belly.

A tiny foot kicked against my palm. I smiled, a wave of exhausted relief washing over me. Three years of IVF hell.

Thousands of hormone injections that left my stomach bruised black and blue. Two devastating miscarriages that had left me sobbing on the bathroom floor.

Through all that physical and mental torture, George had been my rock. And my best friend, Carmen, had been my anchor—holding my hand in waiting rooms, wiping my tears, and telling me to never give up hope.

Now, I was finally carrying our miracles. Triplets.

The sharp chime of a notification broke the quiet of the bedroom.

I glanced over. George had left his iPad resting on the nightstand. The screen lit up with an urgent email from Bright Future Fertility, the elite private clinic we used.

I frowned. Genetic panel? Dr. Evans had only mentioned running routine bloodwork for my anemia.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I reached over and picked up the tablet. I tapped the screen, expecting to see a chart of my iron levels.

Instead, the words on the screen made my blood run completely cold.

Fetus A: Blood Type AB.

Fetus B: Blood Type B.

Fetus C: Blood Type AB.

Maternal DNA Match: 0%.

My breathing stopped.

Zero percent?

How could it possibly be zero percent?!

My hands began to shake so violently that the heavy tablet nearly slipped from my grasp. I frantically scrolled down the page, my eyes scanning the clinical text, desperate for it to be a typo. A sick joke. A clerical error.

But the next lines shattered my entire world into a million jagged pieces.

Egg Donor: Carmen Holland.

Sperm Donor: George Russell.

Carmen.

The name flashed before my eyes, painfully ironic and utterly devastating.

My best friend.

The triplets inside my womb... they weren't mine.

They were hers. And George’s.

In the next instant, unstoppable tears spilled from my eyes, blurring my vision.

So my best friend... she was the reason my husband had been so distant lately?!

And my husband... he had already been having an affair with her!

After deceiving me for years, the two of them went on to use my body as a free incubator for their bastard children!

This marriage, from beginning to end, had been nothing but a fucking lie!

Grief and fury made my teeth clamp together so hard I tasted the sharp tang of copper in my mouth.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear this entire bedroom apart. I wanted to march into that bathroom, rip the shower curtain back, and demand to know why!

Were more than ten years of our friendship all fake?!

Was every single "I love you" from my husband just a calculated manipulation?!

I was nothing but a vessel to them. A convenient, naive surrogate to bear the physical torture of pregnancy, the stretch marks, the endless nausea, all so Carmen wouldn't have to ruin her perfect figure!

My chest heaved as I gasped for air, feeling like I was suffocating.

But as my trembling finger accidentally swiped to the next page of the medical file, my breath hitched violently in my throat.

It was an unedited ultrasound scan.

Not the cropped, carefully framed images the clinic had been handing me for the past seven months. This was the raw, full-scope imaging of my uterus.

Behind the three large amniotic sacs, hidden deep in the back, was a shadow.

An anomaly.

I zoomed in, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst straight through my ribs.

There was a fourth sac.

Fetus D: Natural Conception.

Maternal DNA Match: 100%.

I gasped, clapping both hands over my mouth to stifle a hysterical sob.

Quadruplets.

My body had naturally released an egg during the IVF cycle. The fourth baby—the tiny, hidden one tucked securely behind Carmen’s triplets—was biologically mine!

Why? Why would they hide my own baby from me?!

The sheer weight of the betrayal and the terrifying implications crushed down on me. If they were willing to fake my medical records and use my body without my consent, what were they planning to do with my biological child once I gave birth?

My hands lost all their strength.

The iPad slipped from my trembling fingers and clattered loudly onto the hardwood floor, the screen glowing brightly against the rug.

At that exact moment, the bathroom door clicked open.

Thick white steam billowed out into the bedroom.

George stepped out, a white towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Water dripped from his hair, and his handsome face was curved into that familiar, loving smile.

“Tash? Did you drop something, darling?”

His gaze shifted from my tear-streaked, horrified face down to the glowing iPad on the floor.

In a split second, the warmth in his eyes vanished completely.

"You weren't supposed to see that until after the delivery, Tash," he said, his voice flat and eerily steady.