Chapter 2 - The Suite at Saint Aurelia
The air inside Saint Aurelia Women’s Pavilion smelled of expensive disinfectant,
fresh lavender,
and money.
It was the premier private maternity hospital in Manhattan,
a place where heiresses,
celebrities,
and the wives of billionaires gave birth in rooms that resembled five-star hotel suites.
I walked through the double doors of the East Wing,
my heels clicking rhythmically against the pristine white marble floor.
I was dressed in a tailored white Alexander McQueen blazer,
matching trousers,
and dark sunglasses.
I looked like a woman who owned the world.
Because,
despite Grant’s best efforts,
I still did.
“May I help you?”
the receptionist at the front desk asked,
her eyes widening slightly as she recognized my face.
I was Vivienne Ashford.
My family’s name was engraved on the bronze plaque in the hospital lobby.
We had donated ten million dollars to build the wing she was sitting in.
“I’m here to see Piper Vale,”
I said calmly,
removing my sunglasses.
The receptionist blinked,
looking down at her monitor nervously.
“Mrs. Ashford...
she is currently in pre-labor prep.”
“Her admission paperwork lists you under...”
“I know what the paperwork says,
Kendall,”
I interrupted,
offering her a polite,
chilling smile.
“Which room is she in?”
“Suite 402,”
Kendall whispered,
clearly terrified of getting caught in the middle of a high-society scandal.
“Thank you.”
I walked down the quiet corridor toward Suite 402.
Two security guards stood near the end of the hall,
but when they saw me,
they stepped aside immediately.
They knew who paid their salaries.
I didn't knock.
I simply turned the brass handle and pushed the heavy mahogany door open.
Inside,
the suite was flooded with morning sunlight.
Vases of white lilies and pink roses lined the windowsills.
On the bed sat Piper Vale.
She was twenty-six years old,
with long blonde hair,
delicate features,
and a round,
heavily pregnant stomach.
She was wearing a silk robe,
scrolling through her phone with an expression of intense anxiety.
When the door opened,
she looked up,
expecting Grant.
When she saw me,
the color instantly drained from her young face.
“Vivienne,”
she gasped,
dropping her phone onto the soft mattress.
“Mrs. Ashford.”
I stepped into the room,
closing the door softly behind me.
I took in the luxury surrounding her.
The flowers.
The private nurse station.
The imported Italian leather sofa in the corner.
All of it charged to the Ashford corporate account.
All of it paid for by my money.
“Hello,
Piper,”
I said smoothly,
walking toward the foot of her bed.
“You’re looking surprisingly comfortable for someone who just tried to commit corporate fraud.”
Piper swallowed hard,
her hands instinctively covering her swollen belly.
She tried to pull herself together,
trying to summon the arrogance she must have felt when she put Grant’s name on the intake forms.
“Grant belongs with me now,”
she said,
her voice trembling slightly,
though she tried to sound brave.
“We love each other,
Vivienne.”
“He’s tired of living in your shadow.”
“He’s tired of being treated like your servant!”
I laughed out loud.
It was a genuine laugh,
full of amusement.
“Is that what he told you?”
I asked,
leaning against the edge of the mahogany table.
“That he was my servant?”
“Grant Ashford was a mid-level hotel manager when I met him,
Piper.”
“I gave him a title.”
“I gave him a seat on the board.”
“I gave him Fifth Avenue.”
“And what did he give you?”
“A fake promise,
a stolen credit card,
and a baby he can’t afford.”
Piper’s eyes flashed with anger.
“He loves this baby!”
she snapped.
“He put his name on the birth registration forms!”
“He gave me your penthouse address because that is where we are going to live once he divorces you!”
I stepped closer to her bed,
bending down so that my face was only inches from hers.
“Let me educate you on how legal contracts work,
little girl,”
I whispered,
my voice dripping with venom.
“914 Fifth Avenue is owned by the Vane Family Heritage Trust.”
“Grant does not own a single brick of that building.”
“If he tries to bring you or that child anywhere near my home,
security will have you removed for trespassing before your feet touch the rug.”
Piper’s lip trembled.
“He has insurance—”
“He had insurance,”
I corrected her.
“Thirty minutes ago,
I called our legal counsel.”
“I removed Grant from the primary subscriber status of the Ashford Group Family Policy.”
“Since you are not a legal dependent,
and since Grant is no longer an authorized signature on that policy,
your medical coverage here has been officially canceled.”
Piper’s eyes widened in sheer horror.
“What?”
“Saint Aurelia charges twelve thousand dollars a day for this suite,”
I said cheerfully,
glancing around the room.
“Plus surgical fees,
anesthesiology,
and pediatric care.”
“By the time you leave this hospital,
your bill will be well over one hundred thousand dollars.”
“And neither Grant nor my company will be paying a single cent of it.”
“You can’t do that!”
Piper shrieked,
her voice rising in panic.
“I am in labor!”
“You can’t just kick me out!”
“I’m not kicking you out,”
I replied softly.
“I’m just making sure you pay for your own choices.”
I pulled a thick manila folder from my leather tote bag and dropped it onto her lap.
Piper looked at it nervously.
“What’s this?”
“That is a copy of the subpoena that will be served to your brother,
Victor Vale,
at noon today,”
I said.
Piper went dead silent.
Her skin turned an ash-grey color.
“You thought you were so clever,”
I whispered,
tapping the folder with my manicured finger.
“You thought Grant was siphoning money out of my father’s trust just to buy you diamond necklaces and pay for this luxury suite.”
“You didn’t realize that wire transfers leave paper trails.”
“Fourteen million dollars transferred to Vance Holdings in the Cayman Islands.”
“Your brother signed the incorporation documents.”
“Which makes him an accomplice to federal corporate fraud,
money laundering,
and embezzlement.”
Piper began to cry,
real tears streaming down her face,
ruining her heavy makeup.
“Please,”
she sobbed,
clutching her stomach.
“Victor didn’t know!
Grant told him it was legal investment money!”
“Ignorance of the law is not a defense,
Piper,”
I said,
standing up straight and adjusting my suit jacket.
“You wanted my life?”
“You wanted my husband?”
“You can have him.”
“Because by the time I am finished with Grant Ashford,
he won’t have a penny left to his name.”
“He won’t have a career.”
“He won’t have a reputation.”
“And he certainly won’t be able to pay for your luxury lifestyle.”
I turned toward the door,
placing my hand on the bronze handle.
Before leaving,
I turned back to look at her one last time.
“Good luck with the delivery,
May you like
Piper.”
“I suggest you ask for an itemized bill.”
