Chapter 7 - BLOOD IN THE WATER
In the dilapidated penthouse apartment Ryan had rented for Madison—the only property not yet frozen by the federal monitors—the scene resembled the aftermath of a war zone.
Empty wine bottles littered the marble countertops. Suitcases spilled designer clothes onto the floor.
Madison was sobbing hysterically in the bathroom, her voice muffled through the door. “My manager blocked my number, Ryan! The landlord sent an eviction notice because the credit card bounced! We have nothing! You promised me I would be the wife of a billionaire!”
Ryan sat on the edge of the unmade bed, his eyes sunken and bloodshot, staring at a courier envelope that had arrived an hour earlier from the King County Courthouse.
It was the formal service packet for the divorce proceedings.
With trembling, nicotine-stained fingers, Ryan flipped through the legal exhibits attached to the filing. Restraining orders. Asset freeze confirmations. Embezzlement affidavits.
Then his eyes locked onto Exhibit D: *Certified Medical Records & Prenatal Status Report.*
Attached was a high-resolution ultrasound scan from Blackwell Manor’s medical wing. Three distinct fetal profiles were clearly visible, labeled Baby A, Baby B, and Baby C, along with gestational measurements and genetic markers confirming paternity.
Ryan stopped breathing.
“Triplets...?” he whispered, his voice cracking into a dry, hoarse wheeze. “Three... she’s carrying three?”
He scrambled to his feet, knocking a bedside lamp to the floor, where the bulb shattered.
“Madison! Come out here right now!” Ryan roared.
The bathroom door flew open, Madison stepping out with mascara running down her blotched cheeks. “What? Are you going to scream at me again? I’m packing! I’m leaving!”
“Shut up and look at this!” Ryan grabbed her wrist, shoving the ultrasound scan into her face. “Hannah isn't just pregnant. She’s carrying triplets! Three boys!”
Madison pulled back in disgust. “So what? She has three brats! How does that help us? Blackwell took the company! We are ruined!”
Ryan’s eyes widened with a terrifying, manic gleam. A grotesque smile spread across his face as the warped logic of a cornered narcissist took hold.
“You don’t understand, you stupid girl,” Ryan whispered, laughing breathlessly. “The Carter trust! Thomas Carter’s military foundation and family estate had a lineage clause! Donald told me about it years ago—if Thomas Carter’s line produced multiple male heirs, a multi-hundred-million-dollar trust unlocks at birth!”
Madison blinked, wiping her eyes. “A trust?”
“Hundreds of millions of dollars,” Ryan gasped, clutching the paper to his chest like a holy relic. “And I am their biological father! Under Washington state family law, a father has equal constitutional custody rights! Blackwell can buy my company, but he cannot buy my blood! If I have custody of those three boys, I control the trust! Blackwell won't be able to touch a dime without negotiating with me!”
“Ryan, she hates you,” Madison said, her voice shaking. “She won't even look at you.”
“She’s a weak woman who loved me for five years!” Ryan snarled, his arrogance rushing back like toxic poison. “She’s emotional. She’s pregnant and vulnerable. She thinks Blackwell is her hero, but Blackwell is just using her father’s legacy for PR. Tomorrow night at the Sovereign Gala... I’m going to corner her. I’ll make a public scene if I have to. I will demand my children back in front of every camera in the state.”
May you like
He tossed the ultrasound onto the bed, grabbing his tailored tuxedo from the closet.
“Go put on your best gown, Madison,” Ryan commanded, straightening his posture in front of the mirror. “We aren’t beaten yet. Tomorrow night, we claim our heirs.”
