I remained on the ground for several long minutes, the city slowly resuming its pace around me. People walked by, deliberately looking away, uncomfortable with the reality of what had just happened. Eventually, a woman with a briefcase knelt down and offered me a tissue, asking quietly if I needed an ambulance.
"No," I whispered, my voice raw and shaking. "No, I'm okay. Thank you."
I let her help me to my feet. My legs felt like lead. My cheek was a pulsing, swollen mass of heat. I touched it gently with my fingertips, wincing at the sharp spike of pain. It was going to bruise, and it was going to bruise badly.
I limped to the nearest public restroom in a large corporate atrium three blocks away.
I stood in front of the harsh fluorescent mirror, staring at my reflection. A deep, angry red welt covered the left side of my face, already turning a sickly shade of purple at the edges. My eyes were bloodshot from holding back my tears.
I felt completely violated. I felt utterly small. But beneath the fear, a cold, rigid anchor of anger began to form in my chest. That man had struck a pregnant woman in broad daylight, surrounded by witnesses, simply because he knew his wealth made him immune to consequences.
I pulled out my small makeup bag. I applied thick, heavy layers of concealer over the bruise, blending it carefully until the stark violence was muted into what looked like a shadow of fatigue. I couldn't cancel my appointment at Genesis Elite. Today was the day I was finally going to meet the intended parents. If I didn't show up, I breached the contract, and I would lose the money that stood between me and total ruin.
I washed my hands, staring at my pale, trembling fingers.
I forced myself to breathe evenly. I was doing this for a reason. I just had to survive a few more months.
When I finally pushed through the heavy glass doors of the Genesis Elite clinic in Tribeca, I was thirty minutes late. The clinic was a masterclass in psychological soothing. Soft classical music drifted from hidden speakers. The lighting was warm and indirect. Everything smelled of lavender and expensive leather.
The receptionist, a young woman with a headset, looked up in irritation, but her expression softened when she saw my pale, strained face.
"Maya," she said quietly. "Are you alright? You look a bit..."
"The subway stalled," I lied smoothly, adjusting the collar of my modest maternity blouse. "I'm sorry. I know they're waiting."
"Mrs. Halloway is already in the private suite with them. Go straight back."
I nodded, gripping the strap of my purse, and walked down the long, carpeted hallway. My heart was pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird. I was exhausted, physically hurting, and emotionally shattered, but I had to perform. I had to smile. I had to reassure these wealthy, demanding strangers that their precious investment was safe inside me.
I reached the heavy mahogany door of Suite 3 and knocked lightly.
"Come in," came Mrs. Halloway’s polished, confident voice.
I turned the brass handle and pushed the door open.
Mrs. Halloway was standing behind her large glass desk. To her right, sitting on a luxurious velvet sofa, was a stunning woman with icy blonde hair pulled back into a severe chignon. She was dressed in a pristine cream-colored silk dress that probably cost more than my rent for the year.
"Ah, Maya," Mrs. Halloway smiled warmly, though her eyes were sharp, calculating my appearance. "Please, come in. Sit down. I was just telling the Vances how wonderfully your latest ultrasounds looked."
I stepped into the room, my hands instinctively going to my stomach.
"Thank you, Mrs. Halloway. It’s an honor to finally meet you both," I said softly, looking at the blonde woman.
"I'm Eleanor," the woman said. Her voice was musical, but devoid of any actual warmth. She looked at my stomach, not my face. "My husband just arrived from a rather difficult morning meeting. He stepped out to take a call. He should be back in a moment."
I sat down heavily on the armchair opposite them, trying to keep the left side of my face angled slightly away from the bright desk lamp. The concealer felt thick and cakey on my skin, and the dull ache in my cheekbone was growing steadily worse.
"Eleanor was just expressing how anxious Arthur, her father, is about the timeline," Mrs. Halloway said smoothly. "As you know, Maya, this pregnancy represents a significant milestone for their family."
I nodded, remembering the cryptic notes in my file. There was an inheritance involved. A massive one.
Before I could speak, the door behind me clicked open.
"Sorry about that, Eleanor," a deep, confident male voice said as the door swung shut. "Arthur is threatening to freeze the offshore accounts if he doesn't see the legal documents by Friday. The man is a parasite."
My blood stopped moving in my veins.
The voice was low, clipped, and vibrating with entitlement.
I froze, my hands gripping the armrests of my chair so tightly my knuckles turned white.
"Julian, please," Eleanor said sharply. "We have company."
The man stepped into my field of vision, walking around the back of the velvet sofa to sit beside his wife. He had changed into a fresh, immaculate navy suit. But as he reached over to unbutton his jacket, the overhead light caught his wrist.