Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress

Chapter 1 A sharp, piercing cry sliced through the sterile air of the delivery room, followed immediately by another. Chloe Hayes's vision swam. Sweat pasted strands of hair to her temples. The exhaustion was a physical weight, pressing down on her bones, but the sound of her babies' cries was a tether to life. Tears, hot and thick, blurred the already hazy lights above her. With a kind expression on her face, the midwife placed the two warm little babies on Chloe's ch**t. The weight was surprisingly solid. A tiny, thumping heartbeat pulsed against her own exhausted one. A wave of love, so fierce it felt like a physical blow, crashed over her, stealing what little breath she had left. The midwife 's voice a soothing balm. "You gave birth to a pair of adorable boy and girl twins . Both perfectly healthy." She smiled weakly, trying to look at the two babies surrounded by the midwives. Outside the delivery room, a nurse held the baby and cried out, "Where's Chloe Hayes's family? Where are Chloe Hayes's parents?" She called out again and again, but no one responded. On the hospital bed, Chloe's face turned even paler at the sound. Had Julian really not come? Even though they were divorced, he was still the child's biological father. So before entering the delivery room, she called him. She lay in the hospital bed, completely exhausted and weak. The doctor and nurse quickly took her to the ward. However, she wasn't taken to the private VIP ward that Julian had promised her, but rather an ordinary multi-person room. There were many people in the ward. Besides her, there were also pr**nant women lying in the other three beds. Each of them was attended to by several family members. Some were taking care of their wives, some were leaning over the baby cribs to watch their children, and there were also new dads holding their babies and comforting them. Everyone had a happy smile on their face. This scammer. It doesn't matter where she lives, but has he ever thought about the children at all? A sense of icy humiliation swept through her entire body. Chloe gave birth suddenly, and now there's no one to take care of her. She's unable to care for the baby on her own, and the nurses can't help all the time. So, she decided to call Julian for help. A nurse handed Chloe her phone. Her trembling fingers fumbled across the screen until she found Julian Sterling's name in the contacts. The sharp-looking business photo he used as his profile picture seemed to mock her from the screen. She took a deep, shaky breath and pressed the call button. The sound that answered wasn't his voice. It was the cacophony of a party-loud music, the clinking of glasses, a swell of laughter. Then, his voice, sharp and impatient. "Chloe? What is it? I'm busy." The coldness in his tone was a familiar ache. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the words out. "Julian, the babies... have been born. " A beat of silence on the other end. Just long enough for a sliver of hope to flicker in her ch**t. Then it was extinguished. "Okay. Send the details to my assistant." Before she could form a reply, a woman's laugh, high and melodious, echoed close to the receiver. It was a laugh she recognized from countless celebrity news segments. Amelia Hayes. Julian's voice returned, layered with a dismissive politeness that was worse than outright anger. "I have to go. We're celebrating Amelia's new movie deal." The line went dead. The dial tone buzzed in her ear, a relentless, mechanical sound that felt like it was drilling into her skull. Chloe's hand fell limp, the phone slipping from her grasp onto the starchy white sheets. The tears finally came. Not loud, hysterical sobs, but silent, wracking tremors that shook her entire body. She curled onto her side, facing the wall, pressing her face into the thin pillow to muffle the sound. She couldn't bear the thought of the woman on the other side of the curtain hearing her. The curtain was pulled back on the other side of the room. Visiting hours. A boisterous family spilled in, their happy chatter filling the small space. Chloe pulled her own curtain tighter, a flimsy barrier against their joy. But the voices carried. "Look at the one in the next bed," a middle-aged woman said, her voice a stage wh**per. "So pitiful. Gave birth and her husband isn't even here." A younger girl replied, "Isn't that Chloe Hayes? The one who married into the Sterling family." "That's the one!" the woman confirmed, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "The papers are saying Julian Sterling is going to divorce her for that actress, Amelia Hayes." "I heard Amelia's pr**nant too," the girl added. "This is going to be some drama." Each word was a fresh cut. Pity and malice, a cruel co**tail served by strangers. In fact, not many people knew about their marriage, as Julian always refused to bring her into his life. Occasionally, a few people might have seen her through certain channels and learned who she was. But so what? She smiled bitterly. Even if she became an actress like Amelia and was exposed to everyone, it's also possible that no one will recognize her as Julian's wife. Chloe clamped her hands over her ears, but she couldn't block them out. She squeezed her eyes shut, the darkness behind her eyelids a welcome relief. A gentle squeak of wheels broke through her misery. A nurse was pushing a clear, plastic bassinet towards her bed, then another. The two sl**ping infants were placed beside her. Chloe's sobs caught in her throat. She pushed herself up, her sore muscles protesting, and gazed at her children. Their faces were so new, so perfect. The boy had her brow, a serious little frown even in sl**p. The girl had a delicate nose that was an exact replica of Julian's. She reached out a hesitant finger, her nail bitten and short, and gently st**ked her daughter's cheek. The skin was impossibly soft. In that moment, something shifted inside her. A foundation of steel began to form where only rubble had been. She was no longer just a wife, waiting for a man who would never love her. She was a mother. She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. Her gaze, once filled with despair, now held a new, hard-edged resolve. For them. For these two tiny, helpless beings, she had to be strong. She picked up her phone again. Not to call Julian. She scrolled through her contacts, a desperate search for a friend, a lifeline. Her finger swiped past business contacts for the Sterling family, past numbers for caterers and florists from a life that was no longer hers. The scrolling stopped. The screen glowed with the names of people who were not her people. She had spent years trying to fit into Julian's world, and in the process, she had erased her own. She was utterly, completely alone. Chapter 2 The early morning sun cast long, pale stripes across the linoleum floor. Chloe hadn't sl**t. Her eyes burned with a dry, gritty exhaustion that went deeper than the physical toll of childbirth. She watched the gentle rise and fall of her son's ch**t, the tiny flutter of her daughter's eyelids. And as she watched them, a memory, sharp and unwelcome, surfaced. Six months ago, Julian, who hadn't been home in ages, suddenly returned and handed her a divorce agreement. The terms were a public execution on paper. She was to relinquish all claims to any Sterling assets. She would receive a one-time payment, barely enough to cover a year's rent in a decent neighborhood. In return, she had to sign a non-disclosure agreement so ironclad it would prevent her from ever speaking about their marriage, his family, or even the existence of the agreement itself. "This is to give Amelia what she compensation," he had said, his voice devoid of any emotion. He didn't even look at her, his gaze fixed on the skyline outside his window. "She is the partner I should have had from the beginning." "What about the babies?" she had asked, her hand instinctively going to her swollen belly. He had finally turned to look at her then, his eyes filled with a chilling indifference. "The Sterling family will provide for their financial needs. But don't think you can use them as leverage for anything more." She didn't want to agree at all. She even thought that she'd be willing to endure this situation for the rest of her life. She refused to get a divorce. Even if his heart belonged to Amelia, she would still keep his wife's title, ensuring that Amelia could never be anything more than a mi**ress. But she was willing to risk her entire life, yet she lost to his ruthlessness. He threatened her with the child: if she didn't get a divorce, the baby in her womb had to be aborted! She can't give up her child. The doctor said that she has a special physical condition. If she aborts this baby, she might not be able to get pr**nant again in the future. She has no relatives left. Her child is her only hope. She says she must not give up her right to be a mother under any circumstances. For the sake of her child, she ultimately signed the divorce agreement. But she never expected that this man would be so heartless as to won't even take a look at one's own child. Is it just because she's only a foster daughter of the Hayes family, while Amelia is the biological daughter of Hayes family? Twenty-two years ago, her adoptive parents, who had been unable to have children after years of marriage, adopted her from an orphanage. But no one expected that just a few months after adopting her, the adoptive mother became pr**nant and gave birth to their own daughter, Amelia. From then on, she became the daughter whom the family didn't really care for. Her adoptive parents always favored Amelia. Three years ago, Julian was in a car accident and became a vegetative state. There was an urgent need to arrange a marriage to bring good fortune to him. For their own interests, Hayes family pushed her forward as Julian's wife. A year ago, Julian woke up unexpectedly. She thought that at last, after all the hardships, sweetness would come. But to her surprise, her sister Amelia fell in love with him at first sight. Finally, she broke up with her adoptive parents for Julian, because she loved Julian. Throughout her life, she had already given in to Amelia far too much. She didn't want to give up her husband to Amelia as well. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't win Julian's heart. Now, back in the stark reality of the hospital room, her nails dug into her palms.They signed the divorce agreement last time, but they haven't officially gone to the civil affairs office to get the divorce certificate. So, legally speaking, they're not yet divorced. She's determined to put an end to this as soon as possible. For her children, she had to. She had to take the money and get them as far away from the Sterling name as possible. A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. A man in a crisp white coat entered, a warm, professional smile on his face. He was older, perhaps in his late fifties, with kind eyes and a calm demeanor that immediately set him apart from the rushed nurses. His name tag read: Dr. Quentin Beaumont, Head of Obstetrics. He was the department head. She wondered why he was doing routine rounds in a shared ward. "Good morning, Ms.Sterling ," he said, his voice gentle. He had used her married name, the one that felt like a costume she was forced to wear. He asked about her recovery, his questions precise and his manner so genuinely caring it caught her off guard. Chloe answered politely, a wall of practiced courtesy around her. Dr. Beaumont's gaze drifted to the bassinets. His friendly expression tightened, just for a second. His eyes narrowed slightly. He turned back to her, his tone casual. "The children resemble you. Are your family coming to visit soon?" The question landed like a stone in her stomach. Chloe's gaze dropped to her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. "I don't have any family," she said, the words tasting like ash. A fleeting, elusive expression crossed Quentin's face. He noticed a small, light-brown mole on the inside of her left wrist, just below the pulse. That mole was identical to the one his sister-in-law Eleanor had. It was also exactly the same as the mole on his own daughter's wrist. His heart trembled violently. An idea, a hope that he had buried for over twenty years-a wild and seemingly impossible hope-struggled to surface in his mind. His heart gave a sudden, violent lurch. That was exactly why he came here. Confirm the birthmark. Yesterday, when he accidentally saw this woman, he was shocked. Her appearance was too similar to his sister-in-law's. There was even a faint resemblance to his eldest brother in the girl's features. In the end, he couldn't resist and secretly took a sample of the girl's bl**d for a paternity test. The test results will be available today, and he'll know the answer soon. "Get some rest," he said, "I'll make sure the nurses take good care of you." Quentin returned to the office with steady steps, ready to endure the wait for the test results. Meanwhile, he retrieved Chloe's file. The file listed her real name: Chloe Hayes. She was adopted. Immediately afterwards, he brought up another set of data.The DNA data belonged to his brother Richard's daughter. That little girl, who disappeared in the park twenty-two years ago, left a wound in this family that would never heal. They never stopped searching. The wait was agonizing. He paced the confines of his office like a caged animal. Every tick of the clock on the wall was a hammer blow against his nerves. An hour later, an email notification pinged. The subject line was stark: "99.99% Match." Quentin's hand shook so badly he could barely control the mouse. He clicked open the email. He stared at the report, at the undeniable, scientific proof on the screen. The doctor who had delivered thousands of babies, who had faced life and death with unwavering composure, felt his eyes burn with tears. He had found her. He had found Richard's daughter. He grabbed his phone, his fingers punching in a number he knew by heart, a number that connected him to the head of their family. Chapter 3 In a sprawling corner office atop a skyscraper in New York City, Richard Beaumont was concluding a transatlantic video conference. His voice was a low, commanding rumble, and the executives on the screen listened with rapt attention. He was a man accustomed to absolute control. Suddenly, his private, encrypted cell phone vibrated against the polished surface of his desk. It was a frantic, insistent buzz. The caller ID showed a single name: Quentin. Richard knew his younger brother. Quentin would never call this line, at this time, unless it was a matter of life or death. He held up a hand to the screen. "Meeting adjourned." He didn't wait for a response before ending the call, plunging the screen into darkness. He answered the phone, his voice tight with apprehension. "Quentin, what's wrong?" The voice on the other end was choked with an emotion Richard hadn't heard in years. It was a raw, trembling mix of shock and elation. "Richard... I found her. I found Chloe." The name struck Richard Beaumont like a physical blow. The world tilted on its axis. He shot up from his leather chair, the heavy, gold-plated fountain pen in his hand clattering to the floor. "Are you sure?" he demanded, his voice a strained wh**per. "One hundred percent?" "DNA match. 99.99%," Quentin's voice cracked. "She's here, Richard. In my hospital. She just gave birth to boy and girl twins." Richard stumbled back, his hand flying to his mouth to stifle a sound that was half-sob, half-g**p. Twenty-two years. Twenty-two years of hollow anniversaries, of his wife's silent tears, of a phantom limb that ached with a loss so profound it had become a part of him. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the titan of industry forcing himself back into the role of the patriarch, the protector. "Don't let anyone near her," he commanded, his voice now laced with steel. "I'm on my way." He hung up and slammed a small, red button concealed on the underside of his desk. Within seconds, his chief of staff burst into the office, his face pale with alarm. "Get the jet ready. We're flying to Massachusetts. Now," Richard ordered, his voice leaving no room for questions. "And get Eleanor, Alexander, Sebastian, and Nicholas on a conference call. Immediately." The assistant, sensing the seismic shift in his boss's universe, simply nodded and vanished. Minutes later, the Beaumont family's emergency protocol was activated. On a screen in Richard's office, four faces appeared. His eldest son, Alexander, the formidable lawyer, was in his chambers, a court recess just beginning. His second son, Sebastian, the hardened police detective, was at his desk in a bustling precinct. His youngest, Nicholas, the maverick film director, was on a chaotic movie set in California. Richard looked at his sons, his composure a thin veneer over a raging sea of emotion. "We found her," he said, his voice thick. "Your sister is alive." A stunned silence fell over the call. It was broken by a collective g**p, a chorus of disbelieving voices. At a charity luncheon on the Upper East Side, Eleanor Beaumont was gracefully holding court. An assistant discreetly handed her a phone with an urgent message. Excusing herself with a serene smile that betrayed none of the sudden panic in her heart, she stepped into a private powder room and joined the call. When she heard her husband's words, the regal composure she had maintained for decades shattered. A sob escaped her lips, and she pressed a silk handkerchief to her mouth, her perfectly applied mascara threatening to run for the first time in public memory. "She's in a hospital in Massachusetts," Richard continued, his voice firm, a general rallying his troops. "She needs us. Everyone, drop what you're doing. We're going to get our daughter back." The response was immediate and absolute. "Cancel all my appointments for the next week," Alexander told his assistant off-screen. Sebastian was already on his feet, grabbing his keys. "Family emergency, cover for me!" he yelled to a bewildered colleague. On the film set, Nicholas ripped off his headset and bellowed into a megaphone, "Wrap for the day! Everyone go home!" The entire production ground to a halt, leaving a crew of hundreds standing in stunned silence. The vast, powerful machinery of the Beaumont family, an empire that spanned continents and industries, stopped on a dime. All for one girl. Back in Massachusetts, Quentin had already set his own plans in motion. He walked with purpose down the hospital corridor, his white coat a banner of authority. He stopped outside the door to multi-patient wards. He took a deep breath. His first job was to get his niece out of this public, undignified room. He was going to take her to a place where she would be safe, cared for, and treated like the princess she was. He raised his hand and knocked gently on the door, composing his features into the kindest, most reassuring smile he could muster. Chapter 4 Chloe was surprised to see Dr. Beaumont again. He entered with his warm, professional smile, but this time he wasn't alone. Two nurses stood behind him, one pushing a wheelchair. Chloe's brow furrowed in confusion. "Doctor? Is something wrong?" "Not at all, Ms. Hayes," Quentin said, his tone gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. "We've prepared a more comfortable room for you. Please, come with me." Her first instinct was to refuse, to say this was fine, that she didn't want to be a bother. But there was a look in his eyes, an unmistakable, urgent concern that made her hesitate. The nurses moved forward with quiet efficiency, helping her from the bed into the wheelchair with practiced, gentle hands. Another nurse began carefully wheeling the two bassinets out of the room. The woman in the next bed and her family watched the procession with wide, curious eyes, their chatter dying down to whispers. They bypassed the main elevators, taking a private one operated by a key card Quentin produced from his pocket. They ascended to the top floor of the hospital, a wing Chloe didn't even know existed. The air here was different. It was hushed, the floors were carpeted, and the lighting was soft. It felt more like a luxury hotel than a hospital. She was wheeled into a spacious suite. It wasn't just a room; it had a separate sitting area with a plush sofa, a large private bathroom, and an adjoining nursery already prepared for the twins. The sheer scale of it was overwhelming. Chloe felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her ch**t. This had to be a mistake. She couldn't possibly afford this. Quentin dismissed the nurses with a quiet word and closed the door, enveloping them in a cocoon of silence. He pulled a chair from the sitting area and placed it beside her bed, his movements deliberate. His kind, professional demeanor had been replaced by something more personal, more serious. "My dear," he began, his voice a little hoarse. "What I'm about to tell you may be very difficult to believe. But I need you to listen, and to trust that every word I say is the absolute truth." Chloe's heart began to beat a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She watched him, her hands twisting the thin blanket. He reached into a leather portfolio he was carrying and pulled out a single document. He handed it to her. "This is a DNA analysis report." Her hands trembled as she took it. She saw two names at the top. One was hers: Chloe Hayes. The other made her breath catch in her throat: Richard Beaumont. The Richard Beaumont? The billionaire CEO of the Beaumont Group? Her eyes scanned the page, landing on the conclusion at the bottom. The clinical, scientific words seemed to leap off the page. "Probability of Paternity: 99.99%." The world tilted. The room felt suddenly airless. She looked up at Quentin, her mind a maelstrom of confusion. "What is this?" she whispered. "What does this mean? Richard Beaumont...?" Quentin's eyes were shining with unshed tears. He nodded slowly. "He is my older brother. And he is your biological father." He let the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing, his voice thick with emotion. "My name is Quentin Beaumont. I am your uncle." Chloe shook her head, a violent, jerky motion. "No. That's... that's impossible. I was adopted. My name is Hayes. I..." The words tumbled out, a desperate attempt to hold onto the reality she had always known. Quentin reached out, his hand hovering over hers before he gently placed it on her arm. His touch was warm and grounding. "Twenty-two years ago, you were taken from a park. A moment of chaos, a crowd... and you were gone. Your parents, my brother and his wife, have never stopped searching for you." He spoke of the mole on her wrist. A small, insignificant mark she'd had her entire life. He told her it was a Beaumont family trait, passed down through the women in their line. She instinctively covered the mole with her other hand, a jolt running through her. It was too much. The sterile smell of the room, the impossible words, the document in her lap-it was all a surreal nightmare. Tears began to stream down her face, hot and silent. Tears of shock, of confusion, and of a deep, buried grief for a life she never knew she had lost. "We've been looking for you for so long, child," Quentin said, his own voice breaking. He leaned forward, his movements slow and tentative, as if approaching a frightened animal. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a gentle, careful hug. It was a hug that carried the weight of twenty-two years of searching, of hoping, of grieving. In the safety of his embrace, feeling the solid warmth of a family she never knew she had, Chloe finally let go. The silent tears turned into wrenching sobs, a lifetime of loneliness and pain pouring out of her. When her crying subsided, Quentin gently pulled back, his hands on her shoulders. He pulled out his phone, a small, hopeful smile on his face. "They're all on their way. They're going crazy with anticipation. Would it be alright if I... if I took a picture of the babies for your parents? And your brothers?" Your parents. Your brothers. The words sounded foreign, alien. She looked at this man, her uncle, and saw nothing but sincere, overwhelming love in his eyes. She looked at her sl**ping children, the reason for her newfound strength. After a long moment, she gave a small, hesitant nod. It was the first step. The first, terrifying step into a new life. Chapter 5 Quentin handled his phone with the focused precision of a surgeon, angling it just so to capture the perfect image of the two sl**ping infants. Their tiny faces were serene, their chests rising and falling in the deep, untroubled sl**p of the newborn. Chloe watched him from the bed, a silent observer in the drama of her own life. The storm of emotions inside her had quieted to a low, humming tremor of disbelief and a strange, fragile flicker of anticipation. Quentin selected nine of the best photos, his thumb hovering over the screen. He opened a group chat named "Beaumont Legacy." With a deep breath, he sent the pictures, adding a simple line of text beneath them: "Everyone, meet the newest members of our family." The message shot across the entire Beaumont family. Aboard the Beaumont Group's private Gulfstream jet, somewhere over Pennsylvania, the atmosphere was thick with a tense, unbearable silence. Richard, Eleanor, Alexander, and Nicholas sat staring at their phones, waiting. Four phones chimed in unison. Four pairs of eyes dropped to their screens. The silence in the cabin deepened, but now it was filled with a different quality. It was a silence of awe, of hearts too full to speak. Eleanor was the first to break it. A soft, choked sob escaped her lips. She zoomed in on one of the photos, her finger tracing the curve of the baby girl's cheek on the screen. "My grandchildren," she whispered, tears streaming freely down her face. "Oh, Richard, they look just like Chloe did as a baby." Richard, the titan who could make markets tremble with a single word, reached for his wife's hand, his own eyes red-rimmed. He squeezed her fingers, his knuckles white. Alexander, the cool, unflappable lawyer who could dismantle a witness without raising his voice, felt an unfamiliar smile spread across his face. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated joy. Nicholas, ever the showman, let out a low whistle. He was already typing furiously in the group chat. "D**n, Quentin! They're adorable! My niece and nephew are future movie stars!" Miles away, in a police cruiser speeding down a Massachusetts highway, Sebastian Beaumont gripped the steering wheel. His phone, connected to the car's system, buzzed incessantly with notifications. "It's from the Beaumont Legacy chat!" his partner said, glancing at the screen. Sebastian's foot slammed on the brake. He screeched to a halt on the shoulder of the highway, ignoring the blare of a passing truck's horn. He snatched the phone, his heart pounding. He saw the pictures. The hard lines on the detective's face softened, the years of cynicism and grit melting away to reveal the older brother beneath. The group chat exploded. Aunts, uncles, cousins-the entire Beaumont clan erupted in a digital celebration. "Are those Chloe's babies? Oh my god!" "We have new heirs!" "Tell the pilot to fly faster!" On the plane, Eleanor turned to her husband, her grief momentarily replaced by a fierce, maternal protectiveness. "When we get there, I go in first. Alone. You men will wait outside. I will not have you overwhelming her." Richard looked at his wife, at the fire in her eyes, and nodded without hesitation. "Whatever you say, my love." In the hospital suite, Quentin showed Chloe the phone, the screen a dizzying scroll of excited messages. "See?" he said, smiling. "They're all crazy about you." Chloe leaned in, a hesitant smile touching her own lips as she read the loving, chaotic messages from strangers who were her family. The knot of fear in her stomach loosened, just a little. Less than an hour later, there was a soft, tentative knock on the suite door. Quentin opened it. Standing in the hallway were Richard, Eleanor, and their three sons. They looked travel-worn and exhausted, but their eyes were bright with an almost painful intensity. Eleanor's gaze swept past her brother-in-law, past the luxurious room, and landed on the small, pale figure in the hospital bed. It landed on Chloe. Time stopped. The bustling hospital, the anxious family, the entire world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, a mother and a daughter, separated by twenty-two years of silence. Eleanor's lips trembled. She took a step forward, then another, moving as if in a dream. Tears tracked silent paths down her cheeks. Chloe watched her approach, this elegant, beautiful, heartbroken woman who was her mother. A hand seemed to clench around her own heart, squeezing tight. Eleanor reached the bedside. She raised a trembling hand, wanting to touch Chloe's face, to confirm she was real, but she seemed afraid to, as if Chloe might vanish like a mirage. Her voice, when it came, was a raw, broken wh**per, filled with a universe of love and loss. "Chloe... my baby girl..." That name, spoken in that voice, shattered the last of Chloe's defenses. She lifted her own hand, her fingers finding her mother's. Their skin touched. And with that touch, a connection, primal and undeniable, was forged. "Mom...?" The word was a question, a plea, a prayer. Eleanor's composure broke completely. She leaned down and gathered her daughter into her arms, holding her with a desperate, tender strength. The love she had been forced to suppress for twenty-two years came pouring out in a flood of silent, shuddering sobs. &2&