By the time she came to, she was in an unfamiliar black and grey-toned room. Everything in the room screamed luxury, and she could detect a faint masculine scent from the covers over her.
Ingrid tried to sit up but found she was too weak to do so. She looked at the infusion that was connected to her arm, and memories of what happened the day before flashed through her mind.
Her baby was gone!
She felt a drop of tears slip out of her eyes. All because of Simon.
What did she do to be treated this way? She had been completely loyal to him. He was her only family, and he took advantage of that.
At the age of five, Ingrid had woken up in a hospital bed with no recollection of the past and no family to lay claim on her, or at least that's what she heard from the nuns at the orphanage.
Not even her name.
They took in and nurtured her until she was grown enough to be by herself. With the little support money she was given and a few loans, she was able to attend college and make something out of herself, getting a job as a secretary the moment she was done. That was how she met her now ex-boyfriend, Simon Davis.
Simon was the CEO of Davis Corporation, a simple man whom Ingrid grew to love within a year of working for him. Although he had a lot of secrets and rarely divulge personal information about himself, he never made her feel lonely. Despite her background, he'd shower her with enough love just so she wouldn't feel inferior, and Ingrid had come to accept that he was a very private person.
Everything was going fine for them until two years ago when the accident occurred. It was a very hard time for her. She had almost lost her two legs, but he stayed. Simon stayed and loved her even more. Ingrid had thought he was comfortable with her situation.
Yesterday was enough to prove to her that it was all a facade.
How long has he resented her for being this way?
She turned on her side and wept harder. Where would she begin? How would she live her life? She had sold everything she had when she moved in with him and fully invested in his business.
Now he had kicked her to the curb with nothing.
Suddenly, the door to the room was thrown open, and a young man who looked to be no more than thirty years old strolled into the room in a custom-made Armani suit.
Ingrid sat up immediately, wincing at the flare of pain in her abdomen. His face felt familiar, and she tried to remember where she had seen him but came up short.
He stopped at the foot of the bed, stuffing both hands in his pocket as he cocked his head at her. She shuffled away, back into the headboard, her eyes studying him intently.
He was ridiculously handsome and hard. Very hard. She could tell from his stance that this man was not to be played with, as he exuded a cold but graceful aura.
Who was he?
Ingrid's eyes traced his facial features from his hard chiselled jaw to his full lips and high cheekbones.
He was beautiful, and judging by how his green eyes stared at her, he knew it too.
She watched him pull his hand out of his pocket and walk over to the sofa not too far from the bed, picking up a discarded cigar from a small table along the way. He took a seat, placing the cigar in between his lips to light it up.
He let out a puff of air and his lips devilishly curled up to the side, his cold eyes meeting hers.
"Happy birthday tesorino (darling)."
Ingrid tilted her head at his words. Her eyes drifted to the calender on the bedside table and she gasped. It was indeed her birthday; the next day had come.
But how did he know? Who was he?
He must have wanted to clear up the confusion written all over her face so he spoke up.
"Hello, Ingrid Holdings."
