Barren Heiress Returns With Quadruplet

Zeke’s POV

Jonathan’s expression shifted to one of disbelief as he continued. “Yeah, word has spread like wildfire all over the hospital that your kid was admitted into the hospital, and that you, in fact, have four kids with your ex-wife! Zeke, we saw your ex-wife! I thought she was dead?”

What the hell was he talking about?

As Jonathan offered me a seat and asked if I wanted coffee, I nodded numbly, my mind racing with a thousand questions. “Yeah, black coffee and make it strong, please.” I murmured, barely able to form coherent thoughts.

A small smile graced Jonathan’s lips as he replied. “I know exactly how you like it.”

As he was about to step out to prepare the coffee, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of frustration and anxiety building within me. “Hold your horses now.” I said, my voice tinged with urgency. “What do you mean it has spread round the hospital like wildfire?”

Jonathan chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the small office. “Of course, don’t you know gossip takes place more in the hospital than anywhere? Gossips spread more here.”

Fuck! I cursed under my breath, cursing myself for not considering the consequences of Kamille being exposed by bringing her here. “Shit.” I muttered, running a hand through my hair in frustration. “I didn’t think of that, but I’m not sure they’re my kids.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What?” He exclaimed incredulously. “You’re not sure they’re your kids? Stop playing around. I saw them when they were coming in. I was at the balcony, and I didn’t even need you telling me they were your kids. I knew they were. So what are you talking about?”

I sighed heavily, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me like a leaden blanket. “I don’t know.” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Their mom said I wasn’t their father.”

A heavy silence settled over the room as Jonathan processed my words. Then, with a determined glint in his eyes, he spoke again. “Do you want me to run a DNA test on them? I could do that right now.”

I shook my head, my resolve firm. “No.” I said firmly. “I wouldn’t want to do that without their mother’s consent. I’ll never do that. If she’s ready to tell me, she will. So I’ll wait.”

“How about your current ex wife, Ellen?” Jonathan asked.

As Jonathan mentioned Ellen, a surge of bitterness and resentment surged through me. “I don’t want to talk about Ellen right now.” I replied tersely, my jaw clenched with anger.

Jonathan let out a heavy sigh, his expression mirroring my frustration. “Yeah, of course.” He conceded. “Why would you even want to talk about her after all they did to Kamille? Are they not supposed to be like a family? Why would they do that?”

What the fuck was going on? Was I trapped in time and missed out on something?

Confusion clouded my mind once again, as I struggled to make sense of his words. “What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice tinged with bewilderment.

Jonathan, deafened to my question, kept on babbling. “But then how did Kamille rise from the dead? Like what the hell is happening?” He paused, noticing my confused stare.

“Come on now Zeke. You know I love stories.” He smiled sheepishly.

“No Jonathan. You don’t love stories, you love to hear tales of other people’s lives.” I responded, holding back from saying the actual word.

Gossip.

“Hehehehe.” He giggled. “Literally that’s the same thing.”

I rolled my eyes. “Now what were you saying about Kamille and Ellen’s family?” I asked.

Jonathan’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You haven’t seen it?” He exclaimed incredulously. “It’s on the tabloids, it’s every-fucking-where! Very disgusting and inhumane treatment Kamille faced. Hurry now and check your phone while I go get your coffee ready.”

As Jonathan stepped out of the room to fetch my coffee, I took a moment to collect myself, my mind still reeling from our conversation. But as I reached for my phone, a sense of dread washed over me as I saw the numerous missed calls and messages from Rogers, my assistant.

“Fuck.” I muttered under my breath, my heart pounding with apprehension. What could have happened to prompt such urgency? With a trembling hand, I clicked on the links Rogers had sent me, and what I saw left me stunned and horrified.

Videos of Liz, Ellen’s sister, flashed across the screen, capturing her brutal assault on Kamille with sickening clarity. The canceled fight, the vicious attacks, the threats it was all there, laid bare for the world to see. My stomach churned with disgust and anger as I watched, unable to tear my eyes away from the screen.

The headlines accompanying the videos only added fuel to the fire, painting a damning portrait of Liz as a violent abuser. “Liz Manor, former MMA fighter in training, abuses adopted sister.”

Serves her right.

But the images that followed truly shook me to my core. Pictures of Kamille’s fractured arms, her body covered in bruises and wounds so grotesque they turned my stomach. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing the true extent of the horrors she had endured.

As I sat there, lost in a sea of swirling thoughts and emotions, the weight of Kamille’s suffering pressed down on me like a suffocating blanket. The videos and images I had just witnessed painted a horrifying picture of the torment she had endured, a reality far darker and more sinister than I had ever imagined.

“The hell…” I muttered under my breath, my hands trembling as I scrolled through the evidence again.

The realization that Kamille had been silently carrying this burden alone, without anyone to lean on or confide in, filled me with a sense of profound sadness and guilt. How could I have been so blind, so oblivious to the horrors she had faced?

I quickly dialed Rogers. “Trace the posts. Find out who gave out the evidence and what is in all this for them.” I instructed as soon as the line came alive.

Rogers replied, his tone grave. “I’ve been tracing the source of those videos and pictures. It’s from a blogger. I traced further, and found an anonymous tip beside the blogger’s handle.”

“Damn it.” I cursed under my breath, feeling a knot form in my stomach. “Find out everything you can. I want to know who’s behind this.”

“I’m on it Sir.” Rogers assured me before hanging up.

As I stared at my phone, the gravity of the situation sank in. The evidence against Liz was too detailed to be given by any random blogger. Could Kamille be the anonymous tipster? And if so, what was her motive? Was she seeking justice for herself and her children, or was there more story to the play?

The thought of Kamille being in danger, of her past catching up to her in the form of her vengeful family, filled me with a sense of urgency and dread.

I couldn’t lose her again, not after everything she had been through. I would do whatever it took to protect her and her children, even if it meant facing off against her own flesh and blood.

I won’t let anyone hurt her. I vowed.

As I contemplated whether to tell Kamille or not, Jonathan strolled back in with two cups of coffee. “Your coffee is ready.” he said.Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

I glanced up at him, my mind consumed with thoughts of Kamille. “I’m sorry, Jonathan, but I have to leave.” I replied, my tone strained. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“But your coffee is ready.” Jonathan protested, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I’ll be back, I promise.” I assured him, my words sounding hollow even to my own ears. Without waiting for a response, I stood up and hastily made my way out of the office.

I needed to find Kamille. The anger and bitterness that simmered within me threatened to consume me whole. Liz’s cruelty filled me with a rage so potent it bordered on madness.

I don’t hit women, but in my mind, Liz Manor had suffered a thousand fatal blows from me.

As I hurried through the corridors of the hospital, my fists clenched with righteous fury, I knew that I would stop at nothing to ensure that justice was served for the woman I loved.