The Wrong Penthouse

Chapter Twelve: The News That Changed Everything

Ariana Cole POV

I didn't sleep that night. No matter how many times I closed my eyes, sleep refused to come.

Every time I drifted off, another problem pulled me back awake. My mother's cancer. The missing savings. My father's betrayal. Chloe's tears. Damian.

Everything felt like a storm crashing inside my head. I lay staring at the ceiling of my apartment while darkness filled the room around me. The silence felt suffocating.

A few days ago, my biggest concern had been surviving a terrifying flight. Now my entire life seemed to be falling apart piece by piece.

I rolled onto my side and glanced at the clock beside my bed. 3:17 a.m. A frustrated sigh escaped my lips. I had barely slept for more than an hour. My body felt exhausted, but my mind refused to cooperate.

I closed my eyes again. Immediately, Chloe's voice echoed inside my head. "He called off the engagement."

The memory made guilt twist painfully inside my chest. I pulled the blanket tighter around myself. I hadn't told Chloe the truth. I couldn't. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The thought made me feel sick. Eventually exhaustion won. Not enough to give me proper rest. Just enough to drag me into a shallow, restless sleep.

The next morning, I woke with a sharp wave of nausea. Before I could react, I jumped out of bed and rushed toward the bathroom. I barely reached the sink before vomiting. My stomach cramped painfully.

Tears filled my eyes.

When it finally stopped, I gripped the edge of the sink and stared at my reflection. I looked terrible. My skin was pale. Dark circles sat beneath my eyes. My hair was a complete mess.

I looked like someone who hadn't slept in days. Which wasn't far from the truth. A shiver ran through my body. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water across my face. Maybe it was stress. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was because I hadn't been eating properly.

Whatever the reason, I felt awful. I slowly made my way back into the apartment. The sight of the room made my chest tighten. My father's visit had left everything in chaos. The overturned chair. The scattered belongings. The broken picture frame lying near the wall.

For a moment, anger replaced exhaustion.

Ten thousand dollars. Every cent I had saved for my mother's treatment. Gone. Stolen. By my own father. I swallowed hard.

Crying wouldn't solve anything. My mother still needed me. So I forced myself to move. I cleaned the apartment. Picked up the scattered clothes. Straightened the furniture. Swept broken glass into a dustpan. It wasn't much. But it made the place feel normal again. Or at least less broken.

By the time I finished, I felt even weaker.

Another wave of dizziness washed over me. I sat on the edge of the couch until it passed. Something wasn't right.bI knew my body. And this wasn't normal. Maybe the stress was finally catching up to me.

Maybe I was getting sick. Either way, I needed answers.

After changing into clean clothes, I grabbed my purse and left the apartment.

The morning air felt cool against my skin. I flagged down a taxi.

"St. Mary's Hospital, please."

The driver nodded. The journey felt longer than usual. I spent most of it staring through the window. Watching strangers walk through their ordinary lives. Some were laughing. Some were talking on phones. Some looked worried.

Everyone seemed to be carrying a burden.

Maybe that was life. Maybe nobody was as okay as they appeared.

The hospital came into view twenty minutes later. My stomach tightened immediately. Hospitals always carried memories. Some good. Most painful.

I paid the driver and stepped inside.

The familiar smell of disinfectant greeted me. The reception area was crowded. Patients. Doctors. Visitors.

Everyone is moving in different directions. I approached the nurse's station. A middle-aged nurse looked up from her computer.

"Can I help you?"

"I haven't been feeling well," I explained. "I've been nauseous since this morning and I've been feeling dizzy."

The nurse nodded professionally. "Have you registered before?"

"Yes."

She searched through the system. A few moments later she found my information.

"Please take a seat. The doctor will see you shortly."

I thanked her and moved toward the waiting area. The next forty minutes felt endless. My headache continued to worsen. My body felt strangely heavy. Every few minutes another wave of nausea rolled through me. Finally my name was called.

"Miss Ariana Cole."

I stood immediately. A young doctor greeted me with a polite smile.

"Come with me."

I followed him into a consultation room.

He asked dozens of questions. When did the symptoms begin? Had I been eating properly? Was I experiencing stress? Any recent illnesses?

I answered everything honestly. Although I left out certain details. Namely Damian. The doctor listened carefully. Then he recommended a few tests. Blood work. A physical examination. Several routine checks.

The process seemed endless. Every time I thought it was finished, someone appeared with another form or another question. By midday, frustration had replaced my patience. I was tired. Hungry.

Emotionally drained.

And all I wanted was to visit my mother.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the tests were completed.

The nurse guided me into another office. "Please wait here."

I nodded. The room fell silent. Minutes passed. Then more minutes.

I stared at the clock on the wall. The ticking sound seemed unusually loud. My nerves grew with every passing second.

What if something was seriously wrong?

What if the stress had finally broken me?

The door opened. A doctor entered carrying a file. He smiled politely. But there was something different about his expression. Something careful. Something measured. My heart immediately began racing.

"Miss Cole."

I sat up straighter. "Yes?"

The doctor took a seat across from me. He opened the file. His eyes briefly scanned the paperwork before returning to mine. For a moment he seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

Then he smiled. "There's nothing life-threatening in your results."

Relief flooded through me instantly. Thank God.

"But..." he continued.

My stomach dropped. There was always a but. The doctor folded his hands together. His expression softened. Then he delivered the last thing I expected to hear.

"Miss Cole," he said gently, "you're pregnant."

The world stopped. Everything around me faded into silence. The doctor's voice. The ticking clock. The sounds from the hallway.

Gone. Only one sentence remained.

You're pregnant. My heart slammed against my ribs. No. That wasn't possible.

Or maybe it was.

My hand slowly drifted to my stomach.

And for the first time since leaving Damian's penthouse… Fear truly settled into my bones.