Pregnant With My Father-In-Law’s Baby

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Raymond’s POV

My fingers tightened around the assassin’s throat, the dark leather of my gloves creaking under the sheer, unnatural pressure.

The bastard’s legs kicked uselessly against the rain-slicked cobblestones of my inner courtyard, his eyes bulging as he clawed at my wrists. He was weak. Soft. A pathetic excuse for a hitman who had probably been hired off some back-alley dark web forum by a coward too afraid to look me in the eye.

"Who sent you?" I growled, my voice dropping into a register so low it vibrated the stone beneath our feet. "Give me a name, and I’ll break your neck quickly."

He couldn't answer. He could only choke, gasping for oxygen that wasn't coming.

A wave of pure, unadulterated disgust surged through my veins. I didn't even know which list of enemies this bug had crawled off of. That was the problem with building an empire—the target on your back only grew wider, heavier, and impossible to hide.

When I stepped away from the battlefield years ago, I thought leaving the blood-soaked pack wars behind and transitioning into legitimate enterprise would buy me peace. I was wrong. Turning my war instincts toward global commerce hadn't granted me a quiet life; it had simply traded rogue wolves for far deadlier monsters.

By the time my conglomerate crossed its first trillion-dollar valuation, my enemy list had mutated. It wasn't just rival pack leaders anymore. It was shadowy corporate cartels, corrupt tax enforcement agencies, and entire foreign governments trying to siphon off my wealth or put a bullet in my head. My company didn't just trade stocks; we manufactured the global standard of defense. Advanced tactical rifles, smart bombs, specialized artillery, and classified military armaments. I worked hand-in-hand with the highest levels of global defense leagues.

And this fool thought a simple suppressed pistol and a shadow-walk trick would outsmart a man who supplied half the world's elite forces with their arsenal?

"Pathetic," I muttered.

With a sickening snap, I shattered his windpipe, letting his lifeless body drop like a sack of lead onto the stone.

Before I could even wipe the blood off my cuff, a sharp, piercing shriek echoed from the grand interior staircase of the mansion, slicing straight through the morning air.

My heart didn't just beat—it slammed against my ribs with a sudden, violent jolt.

Jasmine.

I didn't care about the dead assassin. I didn't care about the blood on my hands or the scent of rain. I turned on my heel and sprinted through the arched glass doors, my heavy boots devouring the distance as a strange, uncharacteristic panic clawed at my throat.

She was a mystery. A delicate, fragile little bunny who had stumbled into my dark, violent world looking so completely lost, so impossibly sad and empty. From the moment I laid eyes on her in that crowded wine bar, I had felt a desperate, aching urge to reach into her chest and fill whatever void was consuming her.

And then there was the physical ghost that haunted me every time I looked at her.

Her hair. It wasn't just brown—it had those brilliant, subtle ginger undertones that caught the light, gleaming like spun copper in the sun. It was the exact shade of my late wife’s hair. The woman I had lost years ago, the tragedy that had turned my heart into a cold, impenetrable fortress of stone. Maybe that was why I was so helplessly fond of her. Maybe that was why her scent was currently driving my inner beast into an absolute frenzy.

I skidded around the corner of the lower landing, and the breath was instantly violently stolen from my lungs.

Jasmine was crumpled at the base of the marble stairs, a dark, horrific pool of crimson rapidly spreading across her skirt and staining the white stone beneath her. Above her, standing at the top step with a silver tray trembling in her hands, was Sasha.

The maid’s face was pale, her dark red lips trembling as she put on a pathetic, dramatic display of terror. "Oh goddess! Alpha Raymond! She—she slipped! I tried to catch her, I swear I tried—"

I didn't hear a word she said. The stench of Sasha's sudden, bitter spike of envy and deceit was overwhelming, practically suffocating the air in the hall. I knew exactly what the vicious b***h had done. But right now, looking down at the limp, pale form of my delicate girl, I didn't have time to peel Sasha's skin off.

"Touch her, and you die," I roared toward the stairs, scooping Jasmine's broken body into my arms.

She was ice cold. Her head fell heavy against my shoulder, her blood soaking through my shirt as I carried her out to the waiting armored transport, screaming for my personal security team to clear the roads.

The private medical facility was locked down within three minutes of my arrival. My top surgeons, men who had patched up world leaders and high-ranking commanders, hovered over her bed while I stood in the corner, my dark aura so oppressive that the heart monitors were practically glitching from the pressure.

Dr. Vance, my head physician, pulled off his gloves and stepped out into the private hallway, his expression grave.

"Is she going to survive?" I demanded, my voice a lethal, low rumble that made the veteran doctor flinch. "Speak fast, Vance."

"She will live, Alpha Raymond," Vance breathed, wiping a sweat-beaded brow. "The fall caused severe physical trauma, but the primary cause of the bleeding... she suffered a miscarriage not long ago."

My jaw locked so hard my teeth ground together. "A miscarriage?"

"Yes, sir. It appears to have been an incomplete miscarriage from a previous event that wasn't fully cleared from her system," the doctor explained, keeping his eyes firmly glued to the floor. "The fall triggered a secondary hemorrhage. We have performed a procedure to flush out the remaining tissue and stabilize her womb. With a few days of strict bed rest and proper IV nourishment, she will recover fully."

A dark, heavy knot twisted in my stomach. A miscarriage. The ghost of her ex-husband—that nameless bastard she had mentioned in the tub—reared its ugly head. She had been carrying someone else's burden. Someone else's loss.

"She receives the absolute best," I ordered, my voice unyielding. "Guard this room with two perimeter teams. If she wakes up, she stays in that bed."

"Of course, Alpha."

"I have a summit with the Russian troop commanders regarding the new heavy-artillery shipment," I grunted, checking the heavy gold watch on my wrist. "I will be back in two hours. Make sure she is comfortable."

The meeting ran longer than expected. Negotiating weapon contracts with Russian military heads required absolute, ruthless focus, but my mind was stuck in that hospital room, anchored to the delicate, copper-haired woman lying under my sheets.

The second the final contract was signed, I dismissed my lieutenants, stepped into my sedan, and sped back to the private medical wing.

I pushed open the heavy double doors of her VIP suite, a rare, faint softening in my chest as I prepared to look at her hazel eyes again.

"Jasmine—"

The word died in my throat.

The heart monitor was emitting a flat, steady tone. The white sheets were pulled back, tossed carelessly across the mattress. The IV drip was dripping onto the polished floor.

The bed was completely empty.

My silver eyes swept the room in a single, terrifying second. No shoes. No brown bag of medication on the nightstand.

A dark, lethal silence descended upon the room, so thick that the air temperature seemed to drop instantly. The wolf inside me, caged for years, broke its iron chains and clawed its way to the surface, its feral fury flooding my veins with boiling ice.

"Vance!" I roared, the sound shattering the glass pane of the interior door.

The doctor came running down the corridor, pale as a ghost, two armed guards trailing frantically behind him. "Alpha Raymond—what—"

"Where is she?" I whispered, my voice far more dangerous in its absolute calm than it had been when I was screaming.

Vance stared at the empty bed, his eyes widening in pure, unadulterated horror. "I... I don't know, Alpha! She was sedated! She shouldn't have even been able to stand—"

I stepped forward, grabbing the doctor by his lapels and slamming him back against the wall with enough force to rattle the concrete frame.

"She walked out of my hospital, completely helpless, with no money, no phone, and a body that just went through surgery!" I spat into his face, my silver eyes glowing bright in the dim light of the room. "If so much as a hair on her head is harmed, I will burn this entire facility to the ground with everyone in it!"

I threw him aside and turned to my head of security, who was already pulling up the perimeter feed on his tablet, his hands shaking.

"Lock down a five-mile radius," I growled, pulling my coat back over my shoulders as I strode toward the exit. "Bring up every street camera, every alleyway monitor, every satellite feed. My jasmine is out there in the dark..."

I stopped at the doorway, my jaw clenched so tight the muscles pulsed.

"And God help whoever touches her before I do."