Ellen’s POV

“What the fuck!” I screamed, horror seizing me as I stared at the document. I looked up to meet Becky’s astonished gaze.

“What the hell, Ellen? You need to calm down. We did our best to ensure the implantation was successful,” Becky replied in hushed tones.

Becky had always strived for excellence. Ever since preschool, we’d been friends. Knowing her dedication, I’d trusted her as the perfect reproductive endocrinologist to help me conceive Zeke’s child. But this result shattered my hopes.

“Since you did your best, can you tell me what the fuck happened?” I demanded.

“The in vitro fertilization failed due to poor sperm motility, likely related to the sperm’s condition at the time of use,” Becky explained professionally. But I wouldn’t accept it.

“Becky, I don’t want medical jargon. I want to get pregnant with the fucking child I paid you for!” I screamed, pacing the large office. It could easily fit two extra examination beds, but Becky only used one. The white walls, like any hospital, smelled faintly of roses—Becky loved roses.

“Calm down,” Becky scolded. “You know this was done without Zeke’s permission, and we could be prosecuted.” Her expression was sour.

Damn it. She had a point.

“But I need this child, Becky. Can nothing be done?” I asked, my voice solemn.

“I’m afraid not, Ellen,” Becky replied, looking less distressed than I felt.

“I can’t accept defeat. I told Zeke I was pregnant; I can’t lose him,” I said fiercely, my gaze fixed on the stethoscope near her lab coat, missing her shocked expression.

“You what?” Becky’s voice, though firm, betrayed her upset. “I told you after implantation the chances were fifty percent. Didn’t you understand?”

“I don’t fucking care! I want a baby. Is that too much to ask?” I retorted angrily.

“Getting a child isn't hard for you, Ellen. The problem is you want Zeke’s child, and we can't guarantee he'll donate more sperm; he hasn't in a while. Pressuring him would be futile,” Becky said, trying to console me.

But had I failed? After all these years, I was searching for sperm Zeke donated while he was with Kamille. Fate was cruel.

I slumped into the chair. Becky glanced at her desktop, where a plaque read "Dr. Becky Johannes." She’d married young and had a child. Meanwhile, I felt utterly helpless.

I had to have Zeke’s child, no matter the cost. Then a phone call interrupted, drawing Becky’s attention. I squinted at the caller ID.

“What?” I answered coldly.

“Good day, Ma’am. I have news,” the lady said.

“I’m listening.”

This better be good.

“It was early; the mansion was quiet, but then I heard breathing…”

“Shut the fuck up and get to the point!” I snapped, already furious. The last thing I needed was a maid wasting my time.

“I… I’m sorry, Ma’am,” she stammered. “A few days ago, I saw a disheveled woman leaving Master Ezekiel’s room around four a.m.”

“What! What the hell did you say?” I screamed. Becky, alerted by my outburst, rushed to my side, asking what was wrong. I couldn’t answer yet.

“Go to his room. Clean it. Gather any evidence linking him to that woman. No mistakes,” I instructed, ending the call.

Fighting for Zeke’s attention was bearable with Kamille gone. Hopefully, he’d realize she was dead and return to me. But if he found a replacement…

I needed Zeke’s baby. I wouldn’t lose to some bitch. His baby would win his attention.

I paced again.

“What’s wrong, Ellen?” Becky asked. Should I tell her? Maybe later.

“Nothing I can’t handle. I should go.” I grabbed my purse and headed for the door.

“Be safe,” Becky said, but her words only angered me further. I stormed out, slamming the door.

Outside, I called for Ava, my assistant. “Where next?” My tone was sharp. Ava, sensing my mood, fidgeted with her iPad.

“The press interview concerning the Manor’s embezzlement. You’re expected at three p.m.,” she said.

“Why can’t these people mind their own business?” Ava, after a pause, offered, “Uhhh… they must be very jobless, Ma’am.”

I smirked at her cowering. “Silly,” I said coldly. I put on my Dolce & Gabbana shades, tossed my purse to Ava, and got into my car. We sped off.

My family’s business dealings were shady, but the press shouldn’t spread malicious rumors. They would regret this.