When I arrived at the maternity ward, I saw from a distance that the light in the VIP suite was on. That suite—equipped with the most advanced monitoring equipment and a temperature-controlled sterile system—was reserved exclusively for special patients at this private hospital. My father had personally instructed the director to make sure I stayed in the safest environment possible.
But just as I reached the door, a woman in a Chanel suit blocked my way. She was wearing ten-centimeter heels despite her slightly rounded belly—and she was none other than my fiancé Daniel Reed’s secretary, Sophie Lane.
“I’m taking this room. You can switch to a standard one,” Sophie drawled, leaning against the doorframe. Her manicured red nails lazily traced over the room plaque. “A pregnant nobody like you is just wasting space in a place like this.”
Supporting my lower back, I spoke through the waves of pain gripping my abdomen. “This room was booked in advance by my family. The reservation slip is at the nurses’ station.”