He Killed Our Twins For His Fake Daughter
Lily · Completed · 6.4k Words
Introduction
Today, he traded the lives of our unborn twins for the life of his "illegitimate daughter."
Faced with the risk of killing both me and the babies, he didn't even blink. "Draw the blood. We can always try again later."
In that moment, I knew. He wasn't just giving up on the babies.
He was giving up on me.
I closed my eyes, letting them wheel me into the operating room to drain vial after vial of my blood.
Chapter 1
Three years ago, Dominic Astor saved my life.
Today, he traded the lives of our unborn twins for the life of his "illegitimate daughter."
Faced with the risk of killing both me and the babies, he didn't even blink. "Draw the blood. We can always try again later."
In that moment, I knew. He wasn't just giving up on the babies.
He was giving up on me.
I closed my eyes, letting them wheel me into the operating room to drain vial after vial of my blood.
——
"Both fetuses are viable, with strong heartbeats. Congratulations, Mrs. Astor."
I stared at the still-warm ultrasound printout in my hands, my eyes stinging with tears.
For these two babies, I had endured three agonizing months of severe morning sickness.
The clinic door was shoved open violently.
Dominic strode in, flanked by two bodyguards, his bespoke suit still radiating the chill from outside.
He didn't even glance at the ultrasound in my hands. His order was ice-cold.
"Sophie's condition has deteriorated. Arrange the blood draw immediately."
My heart plummeted into ice.
Sophie—the daughter his college sweetheart, Gemma, had brought back with her.
The attending doctor turned deathly pale, desperately trying to intervene.
"Mr. Astor, absolutely not! Ms. Stella suffers from a severe coagulation disorder."
"She is five months pregnant. Extracting such a massive dose of antibody-rich blood will almost certainly trigger a massive hemorrhage!"
"The babies won't survive, and the mother's life will be in grave danger!"
"Enough."
A cold sneer cut through the room from the doorway.
Constance, Dominic’s mother and the director of the Astor Private Hospital, swept in.
She looked down at me with absolute disdain.
"She owes the Astor family her life. What's a little blood?"
"Sophie is our flesh and blood. I am the director, I’ve reviewed the charts, and I’ll take full responsibility if anything happens!"
Trembling violently, I clung to Dominic’s cuff.
"Dominic, I'm begging you, please, for the sake of our twins..."
A flash of extreme impatience crossed his eyes as he forcefully peeled my fingers away.
"Stella, give the blood to Sophie. She's just a child; she can't wait."
"As for what's in your stomach..."
He glanced at my abdomen, his tone chillingly matter-of-fact.
"We’ll just let this pregnancy go for now. I’ll pay for the best IVF team in the world for you later."
"Go give the blood. You've always been so obedient."
Under the crushing pressure of my mother-in-law and Dominic’s tacit approval, the attending doctor was forced to yield.
Stripped of all dignity, treated like nothing more than a blood bag, I was pinned down onto the freezing phlebotomy chair by the two bodyguards.
The thick needle pierced my vein.
I watched my warm blood being siphoned away, vial after excessive vial, as a heavy, dragging ache began to pulse in my lower abdomen.
The moment Dominic got the blood bags, he turned on his heel and strode out mercilessly, without casting a single backward glance.
Three years ago, when he pulled me from the abyss of bankruptcy, I thought it was out of love.
Today, he pushed me onto the guillotine with his own hands.
Since he murdered my babies, I don't want him anymore, either.
After the extraction, they dumped me into a freezing observation room like trash.
Violent contractions hit me.
The gush of hot, fresh liquid between my legs told me exactly what the doctor had warned about: the miscarriage was happening.
Spasming in sheer agony, I collapsed from the wheelchair onto the floor. With the very last ounce of my strength, I dialed Dominic’s number.
The call connected.
In the background, I could hear Gemma’s sickeningly sweet laughter, overlapping with Sophie cheering as she cut a gluten-free cake.
"What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?"
Dominic’s voice dripped with the arrogance and impatience of a man who owned the world.
"Stella, my mother already told you that losing a little blood won't kill you. Stop bothering me with these pathetic attempts to compete for my attention."
Clutching my cramping stomach, I choked out the words, every syllable tasting like blood.
"Dominic, I’m bleeding... we're losing the babies..."
There was no trace of panic on the other end; instead, his voice spiked with fury.
"Don't you forget that you owe your very life to me!"
"Even if you do miscarry, you can just get pregnant again! Sophie is running a fever, I can't just leave her to die!"
He issued his command like a charitable alms-giver.
"Go find a nurse and get some anti-miscarriage pills. Stop embarrassing me. We’ll talk when you get back to the penthouse tonight."
The call was abruptly disconnected.
I lay there in a pool of my own blood, my vision blurring at the edges.
The screen of my dropped phone lit up, popping up with Gemma’s latest Instagram Story.
In the photo: Dominic was holding a rosy-cheeked Sophie, while Gemma leaned intimately against his broad shoulder.
The caption read: "Thank you to my hero @Dominic_Astor for giving Sophie a second chance at life. With you here, I fear nothing."
Right beneath it was an instant "like" and a comment from Dominic’s official account: "Baby Sophie will be healthy forever."
I stared at the blood drenching the floor, physically feeling two tiny lives slipping away from my body.
Amidst the tearing, excruciating agony, I closed my eyes and smashed the emergency call button on the wall.
Between the massive blood draw and the horrific hemorrhage of the miscarriage, I barely survived the operating table.
I lost my twins. Forever.
I endured a living hell in the recovery room until dusk, when I was finally discharged.
Dragging my shattered, hollowed-out body, I took a cab back to the Manhattan penthouse alone.
The elevator doors parted.
I had practically exhausted the strength just to stand. Leaning heavily against the doorway of the foyer, I barely had time to catch my breath.
Before I could even make a sound, I heard voices drifting from inside.
It was Gemma, her tone dripping with the playful entitlement of the lady of the house.
"Dom, Sophie is throwing a tantrum for your homemade pasta."
That was Gemma's voice.
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