From Broken Wife To Billionaire Power

Lying in the hospital bed, I clutched my empty stomach, the doctor' s words about my miscarriage still ringing in my ears.

I called my husband, desperate for comfort, but he sounded annoyed.

"Allison, not now," Erik snapped. "Barbie' s dog is throwing up. She' s hysterical. Just get a cab and stop being so dramatic."

He hung up on his wife who just lost their child to comfort his mistress' s Pomeranian.

When I dragged my broken body home, he didn't hug me. He forced me to apologize to the dog.

Then came the final blow: I watched on TV as he gifted my entire photography portfolio to his mistress, claiming it was her work, while handing me a bottle of perfume he knew I was deadly allergic to.

Broken, I went to a radical clinic to have my memories of him erased forever.

But the procedure didn't leave me blank. It unlocked a door I didn't know existed.

I wasn't the orphan Allison Day.

I was Allison Woodward, the missing billionaire heiress.

And I was done apologizing.

Chapter 1

Allison Day POV:

The world swam into focus, a blurry kaleidoscope of white. White walls, white sheets, the crisp white uniform of the nurse bending over me. But the starkest white was the blank space where hope used to be. The doctor' s words echoed, cold and clinical, twisting my insides.

"We did everything we could, Mrs. Day."

My breath hitched. "My baby?" It wasn't a question, more a choked plea.

The nurse, a woman with tired eyes and a practiced gentleness, avoided my gaze. She adjusted the IV drip, the plastic tubing a cold snake on my arm. A doctor, young and unfeeling, stepped forward. His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth.

"The blood loss was significant, the trauma to your abdomen too severe. He was too small to survive the impact. And given the prolonged exposure to the blizzard conditions... we lost him."

Lost him. The words were a hammer blow, shattering the fragile shell of my reality. My hand instinctively flew to my stomach, a flat, empty landscape now. The small, hopeful bump, the fluttery kicks I' d only just begun to feel-gone. Just like that. A tear trickled down my temple, hot against my cold skin.

"And your injuries," the doctor continued, oblivious to my agony. "The internal bleeding is under control, but the scarring will be extensive. You're lucky to be alive, Mrs. Day."

Lucky. The word tasted like ash. I twisted my neck, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the dark hospital window. A pale, drawn face stared back, eyes hollow, framed by tangled hair. A deep crimson stain peeked from beneath the edge of my gown, a cruel reminder of what I'd lost. My whole body ached, a deep, bruising pain that went beyond the physical. It was a hollow ache, an emptiness that echoed the one inside me.

Despair, thick and suffocating, wrapped around me. I was alone here, utterly, tragically alone. The sterile room amplified the silence, mocking the screams trapped in my throat.

Then, my phone buzzed on the bedside table, a jarring intrusion. I flinched, my hand shaking as I reached for it. The screen glowed, displaying Erik' s name. Hope flickered, sharp and painful. He would be here. He would comfort me. He would understand.

I pressed the answer button, my voice a raw whisper. "Erik?"

His voice, usually so smooth and melodic, was tight with irritation. "Allison? Where are you? What's going on? Barbie's dog, Princess, she's had a bit of a tummy ache, and Barbie's completely hysterical. She needs me."

My heart, already fractured, splintered further. "Erik," I tried again, my voice barely audible. "I was in an accident. The blizzard... I lost the baby."

A beat of silence. Not shock, not grief, but annoyance. "The baby? Allison, now is really not the time for this. Princess is throwing up, and Barbie's crying. You know how sensitive she is." His voice grew colder. "Look, you just need to get home. Barbie says Princess needs quiet. And she wants you to apologize to her for upsetting the dog. Just... deal with it."

My blood ran cold. Apologize? For upsetting a dog? While I was lying in a hospital bed, having just lost our child? The world tilted.

"Erik, please," I pleaded, a desperate, childish wail catching in my throat. "I'm in the hospital. I'm hurt."

"I told you, Allison, Barbie needs me right now. And frankly, you're always so dramatic." His tone hardened even more. "Just get yourself home. And clean up any mess you made on the way."

And then, a click. He hung up. Just like that. The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering softly against the bed rail. The dial tone echoed in the sterile quiet. Barbie' s whimper, a faint, distant sound in the background of his call, felt like a deliberate blow.

My eyes burned, but no more tears came. I felt nothing but a vast, terrifying emptiness. An invisible hand clutched my chest, squeezing the last vestiges of air from my lungs.

"Mrs. Day?" the nurse asked, her voice tinged with concern. "Are you alright? You look very pale."

I ignored her. My husband, the man I loved, had just hung up on me. He had chosen a dog over his dying child, chosen a manipulative influencer over his injured wife.

"I need to go," I rasped, pushing myself up despite the searing pain in my abdomen.

The nurse rushed forward. "Mrs. Day, you can't. You just had major surgery. You need to rest."

"I need to go," I repeated, my voice stronger now, laced with a new, chilling resolve. "He needs me to apologize."

"Apologize?" The nurse looked bewildered.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the movement sending a fresh wave of agony through my body. I gritted my teeth, ignoring the dizziness, ignoring the frantic protests of the medical staff. Their words blurred into an indistinct hum. My body screamed, but my mind was eerily quiet.

I pulled on the clothes they had laid out for me-a loose-fitting top and sweatpants, stiff with dried blood. Each movement was a battle, but I fought through it. I had to get home. I had to apologize.

The hospital doors slid open, revealing the bitter chill of the blizzard. Snow stung my face, icy needles against my raw skin. The wind howled, a mournful cry that matched the one trapped inside me. My body throbbed, every nerve screaming in protest.

I limped to the curb, shivering violently. Taxis were scarce in this weather. My phone was dead. I had no money, no coat, just the thin clothes and the crushing weight of Erik's indifference. Panic flared, cold and sharp. I had to get back. He was waiting. Barbie was waiting. Princess was waiting.

A snow-covered public bus rumbled by, spewing exhaust. I hailed it, my voice weak, but the driver stopped. I scrambled aboard, clutching my side, the pain a hot, searing ribbon across my abdomen. The warmth inside the bus was a small mercy, but it couldn't thaw the ice spreading through my veins.

The journey was endless, each bump of the bus sending fresh jolts of agony. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the pain, tried to block out the image of Erik' s face, cold and indifferent.

Finally, I reached our apartment building. The grand facade, usually so welcoming, now seemed to loom over me, a silent judge. I pushed through the heavy doors, my legs trembling. The lobby was warm, but I felt nothing but a deep, penetrating cold.

I rode the elevator up, the silence deafening. Each floor ascended felt like another step into an abyss. My hand trembled as I keyed in the code to our penthouse. The door swung open.

Erik was there, standing in the living room, his back to me. Barbie was draped on the sofa, a pristine silk scarf wrapped around her neck, dabbing at her eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief. Princess, a fluffy white Pomeranian, sat regally on her lap, looking perfectly fine. The scene was perfectly staged, a tableau of manufactured distress.

"Erik," I whispered, my voice cracked and raw. I reached out a hand, wanting to touch him, to feel some connection, some warmth.

He turned, his eyes narrowing. "You're finally here." There was no relief in his voice, only a chilling impatience.

He didn't move towards me. He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't even notice the bloodstain on my clothes or the pallor of my face. He just stared, his gaze cold, devoid of any recognition of the woman who had just lost his child.

My hand dropped, limp and useless.