The days following Chloe's decision to leave Lucas Blackwood blurred into a monotonous haze of hospital rooms, sterile corridors, and the relentless hum of medical equipment. She had moved out of the Bel Air estate while Lucas was in New York, leaving behind a note that was brief and devoid of emotion—a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside her. She found a small, furnished apartment near UCLA Medical Center, its beige walls and generic furniture a world away from the opulent prison she had called home. It was a temporary solution, a place to hide while she figured out her next move.
The HZ4 had stabilized her mother, Margaret. The transformation was slow but undeniable. Color was returning to Margaret's cheeks, and the ghost of a smile occasionally graced her lips. She was awake for longer periods, her cognition improving daily. She recognized Chloe, though her memories were fragmented, a mosaic of past and present that she was still piecing together. Each small improvement was a balm to Chloe's soul, a validation that the devil's bargain with Jake Henderson had been worth the cost.
But the cost was ever-present. The signed divorce papers and share transfer agreement felt like brands on her conscience. She had surrendered her marriage and her financial security in one fell swoop. The ten percent stake in Blackwood Group had been her child's inheritance, a legacy now handed over to a man she distrusted. The weight of that decision was a constant, heavy ache in her chest, rivaled only by the subtle, persistent nausea of her pregnancy.
She was in her mother's room one afternoon, reading aloud from a book of poetry, when her phone vibrated. It was a text from an unknown number: The shares have been transferred. Henderson thanks you for your cooperation. A wire transfer for $50,000 has been initiated to your account as a gesture of goodwill. Consider it a stipend.
Chloe's blood ran cold. Fifty thousand dollars. A pittance compared to the value of the Blackwood shares, but a life-changing sum for someone in her position. It was a reminder that she was now on Jake Henderson's payroll, a dependent in his game. The money was a leash, and he held the other end. She deleted the message, a wave of shame washing over her. She was no better than a kept woman.
"Chloe?" her mother's voice, weak but clear, broke through her thoughts. "Is everything alright, dear? You look pale."
Chloe forced a smile, setting the phone aside. "I'm fine, Mom. Just a little tired." She reached out and adjusted the blanket around her mother. "How are you feeling today?"
"Better," Margaret said, her eyes searching Chloe's face with a mother's intuition. "Stronger. But you... you seem troubled. Is it Lucas? Have you spoken to him?"
The mention of his name was a physical jolt. "No," Chloe said quickly, too quickly. "We... we agreed it was best to have some space right now."
Margaret's gaze was perceptive. "Space? Or an ending?" She sighed, a soft, weary sound. "I may have been in a coma, Chloe, but I'm not blind. I saw the way he looked at you—or rather, the way he didn't look at you. That man has a fortress around his heart. I always feared you would break yourself against its walls."
Tears welled in Chloe's eyes. Her mother saw too much. "I'm okay, Mom. Really. I just need to focus on you getting better. And on... on the future." Her hand drifted unconsciously to her abdomen.
Margaret's eyes followed the movement, and a dawning understanding lit her features. "Oh, Chloe," she whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of joy and profound sorrow. "My dear girl. What have you done?"
The story spilled out then—the ultimatum, the deal with Jake, the signed papers. Chloe left out the more sordid details, but the essence was there: she had traded her place in Lucas's world for her mother's life.
Margaret listened in silence, her face a mask of grief. When Chloe finished, she took her daughter's hand. "You should have told me," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I would never have wanted you to sacrifice your happiness for me."
"It wasn't a sacrifice, Mom. It was a choice. And I'd make it again." Chloe leaned forward, resting her head on the bed beside her mother. "You're my family. You and this baby. That's all that matters now."
A few days later, Chloe was leaving the hospital when a familiar voice stopped her.
"Fancy meeting you here."
She turned to see Jake Henderson leaning against a sleek, silver sports car parked at the curb. He was wearing dark jeans and a tailored blazer, looking effortlessly handsome and completely out of place in the midday hospital bustle.
"What are you doing here, Jake?" Chloe asked, her guard immediately up.
"Can't a concerned friend check in?" he asked, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "I heard your mother is making excellent progress. The wonders of modern medicine, right?"
"Get to the point," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Always so direct. I like that." He pushed off the car and took a step closer. "I have a proposition for you. A job."
"A job?" she repeated, incredulous. "I'm pregnant, Jake. My mother is still recovering. I'm not exactly looking for a career move right now."
"This isn't just any job. It's at The One. Your studio."
Chloe froze. The One was her life's work, a fashion design studio she had built from the ground up. It was her passion, her identity outside of being a Blackwood. After leaving Lucas, she had assumed it was lost to her, another casualty of her divorce.
"How?" she managed to ask.
"Let's just say I acquired a controlling interest," Jake said casually. "The previous backers were... persuaded to sell. I need someone with vision to run it. Someone who understands the brand. That's you."
Chloe's mind raced. It was a trap, she was sure of it. But the thought of returning to her studio, of rebuilding something for herself and her child, was irresistibly tempting. "What's the catch?"
"No catch. You run it. You have full creative control. The profits will be more than enough to support you and your mother comfortably. Consider it a... severance package. A more dignified one than a wire transfer."
He was offering her a lifeline, but it came with strings attached. Working for Jake Henderson meant being deeper in his debt, deeper in his world. But saying no meant poverty, uncertainty, and relying on his sporadic "stipends." It was no choice at all.
"I'll need to think about it," she said, though she knew her answer was already yes.
"Take your time," Jake said, his tone implying she had none. He opened the car door. "But not too much time. The fashion world waits for no one." He slid into the driver's seat and drove off, leaving Chloe standing on the curb, her future once again dictated by a man she barely trusted.
That evening, back in her sterile apartment, Chloe stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked tired, her face thinner, shadows under her eyes. But there was a new hardness in her gaze, a resilience forged in the fires of recent weeks. She placed a hand on her still-flat stomach.
"Okay, little one," she whispered. "It's just you and me now. And we're going to be okay. We have to be."
She picked up her phone and typed a message to Jake: I'll take the job.
The response was immediate: Smart girl. Welcome back.