Too Late To Win Me Back, Mr. Blackwell.

Nora’s POV “I have approximately three months to live. And to make matters worse, I was two months pregnant.” The words hung in the quiet room, cold and absolute. I stared down at the white paper resting between my trembling fingers, reading the medical report over and over until the letters blurred together into meaningless ink. For eight long years, I had prayed to see those words. Eight years of endless doctors appointments, drinking bitter herbal medicines, and tearful nights spent holding a hollow belly praying for a child to complete our family—to finally give Adrian the heir his mother had so viciously demanded. Now, the answer to my prayers had arrived wrapped in a death sentence. A bitter, quiet laugh bubbled up from my chest, catching in my throat as a single tear escaped and dropped onto the paper. Twenty-nine years old, and my body was finally giving up. I carefully folded the documents and placed them inside my handbag. I didn't cry any further. Years of living under the roof of the Blackwell family had taught me how to swallow my tears until they choked me silently. Stepping out of the hospital, the cold evening rain of Paris hit my face, chilling me to the bone. Today was supposed to be a special day. It was our eighth wedding anniversary. Eight years since I—a penniless orphan who thought she had found her fairy tale—married Adrian Blackwell, the powerful, breathtaking CEO of Blackwell Corporation. I had loved him with a all my heart since high school. When one drunken night of passion years ago led to our sudden marriage and the birth of our daughter, Natalia, I genuinely believed I could build my own warm and happy home since I never had one of mine. I believed that if I poured enough love into this marriage, if I bore every humiliation without complaint and served his family with an open heart, Adrian would one day look at me with warmth instead of disappointment. I was wrong. To Adrian, I wasn't a partner; I was merely a convenient fixture in his house. A quiet, obedient maid expected to manage his home, endure his mother’s cruelty without making a scene, and wait patiently in the dark until he remembered I existed. By the time I arrived back at the Blackwell estate, my stomach was tight with a throbbing ache. The mansion loomed in the stormy night like a polished marble fortress, sprawling and void of warmth. I walked into the kitchen, pushing aside the exhaustion creeping through my veins. Over the last six hours, despite the pain gnawing at my lower abdomen, I had personally prepared an exquisite six-course dinner—roasting duck, simmering truffle cream soup, and baking a fresh sourdough loaf. I adjusted the silver cutlery along the dining table for the third time, taking a deep breath to steady my dizzying vision. Just hold on a little longer, I whispered to myself, resting a pale hand against my waist. Just tell Adrian tonight. Tell him about the sickness, about the baby... maybe this time, he will listen. The front doors clicked open. The sound of footsteps echoed across the foyer. My heart, stupid and stubborn as always, gave a soft flutter. Smoothing down my dress, I stepped out toward the entrance to greet my husband. Adrian stood in the hallway, towering and devastatingly handsome in a dark tailored suit. He possessed the kind of beauty that forced people to their knees—a razor-sharp jawline that could cut glass, cold dark-obsidian eyes, and thick black hair. "Adrian," I began, my voice soft as I offered him a smile. "Happy anniversary. You're home early. Dinner is all—" "Where is Isla?" he cut me off without looking at me. His eyes swept past my face as if I were nothing more than a shadow leaning against the wall. The fragile smile froze on my lips. Before I could answer, the light tap of expensive heels echoed behind him. Isla Bennett stepped into the foyer, draped in a cream cashmere coat, carrying several shopping bags. "Oh, Nora," Isla purred, her voice dripping with sweet, practiced innocence. "I hope you don't mind that I came along. Adrian was kind enough to pick me up after my fitting. The storm was simply dreadful, and since I’m staying at the hotel until everything is settled, he insisted I dine with you tonight." My fingers clutched tightly at the fabric of my skirt. Isla Bennett—Adrian’s spoiled, wealthy first love. She had returned from abroad after eight years. Since the day she stepped back into our lives, the peace I had spent eight years preserving had completely shattered. "Dinner is set in the dining room," I said evenly, keeping my head down. "Did you make the soup I like, Nora?" a clear, high voice called out from above. Eight-year-old Natalia came bouncing down the curved staircase. She didn't glance at me. She bypassed me entirely, throwing her small arms around Isla’s waist with a bright, genuine smile. "Auntie Isla! Look at the drawing I made for you today in art class!" Isla bent down, stroking Natalia’s hair with feigned maternal affection. "Let me see, darling! Oh, it’s gorgeous! Look, Adrian, doesn't she have such an incredible eye for detail?" Adrian’s hardened features softened instantly. A gentle warmth filled his eyes—a look he had never, in eight years of marriage, directed at me. He rested a tender hand on Natalia’s shoulder. "Great work, sweetheart." I stood two feet away, feeling like an outsider in my own home. A hollow, suffocating ache bloomed in my chest. "Natalia... sweetie," I murmured softly, stepping closer. "Wash your hands for dinner. Mommy made your favorite strawberry tart for dessert tonight." Natalia turned her head, her eyes—so hauntingly identical to her father’s—glared at me with disdain. "I don't want your stupid tart. Auntie Isla brought me real Belgian chocolates from her trip. And stop calling yourself 'Mommy' in front of my friends when you pick me up! Grandma says Auntie Isla should have been my real mom anyway!" The blood drained from my face. My breath hitched in my throat. "Natalia... how could you say that to me?" "She's only stating the truth, Nora," a voice boomed from the upper hallway. Helena Blackwell descended the stairs in a regal burgundy gown, heavy pearls gleaming around her neck. She shot me a look of unadulterated disgust, as she had done every single day since I entered her family. "Don't scold the child for having sense," Helena sneered, resting her hand on Isla’s arm. "Isla comes from a proper, high-society family with actual prestige and wealth. She has grace, connections, and dignity. Meanwhile, my son was foolish enough to marry a nameless orphan with no background and no family who couldn’t even give the Blackwell lineage a male heir after eight whole years!" "Mother," Adrian spoke up flatly. His tone was indifferent, entirely void of any real defense for the woman who wears his ring. "That's enough." "It is not enough, Adrian!" Helena scoffed, stepping closer. "You know very well why Isla is here tonight. The arrangements are settled. Since Nora is completely useless, Adrian wants me to hire a surrogate to carry the next heir—and I have chosen Isla." The words felt like physical blows, knocking the air straight out of my lungs. I whipped my head toward my husband, my heart pounding in my ears. "Adrian..." my voice trembled, barely audible. "A surrogate? Isla?" Adrian adjusted his cufflinks calmly, refusing to meet my gaze. His handsome face was an unreadable mask of ice. "Mother is right about the family line, Nora. We need an heir for Blackwell Corporation. Isla has agreed to help us. You don't need to concern yourself with the details. Just go help the maid dish out the dinner. We are hungry." Isla looked up at me then, her eyes bright with performative concern. She placed a hand lightly over her heart. "Nora, please don't be upset," she said, her voice dripping with fake warmth. "I know this might feel sudden to you, but I'm doing this out of love for Adrian and Natalia. You've been looking so pale and exhausted lately... honestly, carrying a child would probably just be too much of a burden on your body. I just want to ease your load." "Isla..." I choked out, looking at Adrian. "Adrian, she’s..." "That’s enough, Nora," Adrian cut me off, his voice filled with impatience. "We aren't going to argue about this in front of Natalia. The decision is made. Now, if you aren't going to sit down and eat, at least serve the rest of the roast. Isla shouldn't be standing up like this." Adrian didn't even care. To him, my feelings were non-existent. I was just a quiet maid who would accept whatever cruelty his mother and first love threw at me, because I had nowhere else to go. A wave of intense, burning pain flared through my abdomen. My head spun, the room tilting violently as nausea surged up my throat. I had to grip the edge of the table to keep my knees from buckling underneath me. "I... I am sick," I choked out, clutching my stomach as perspiration broke out across my forehead. "Adrian, I need to tell you... I went to the hospital today. I am—" "Oh, please! Stop the pathetic acting, Nora!" Helena snapped, rolling her eyes in annoyance. "Every single time we bring up an important family decision, you suddenly have a headache or a stomachache. Are you not tired of using weak tricks to gain sympathy?" I looked at Adrian, silently begging him to look at me—to see how pale I was, to notice the trembling of my hands. He didn't even glance up. He simply sighed in irritation. "Go to your room if you're feeling unwell, Nora. Stop causing a scene in front of everyone." Stop causing a scene. Eight years of unconditional devotion, eight years of swallowing poison for his sake, and those were the words I received on our anniversary. I didn't argue. I simply walked over to the sideboard, picked up the serving platter, and brought it to the table. I served Helena first, then Isla, then Adrian, and finally my daughter. I didn't sit down. There was no place set for me anyway. I simply retreated a few steps, leaning quietly against the doorframe of the dining room. I stood there, invisible and forgotten, as the four of them chatted, laughed, and toasted to the future. Adrian served Isla the best cuts of meat, cut her food, and smiled at her with a tenderness I hadn't seen directed at me in nearly a decade. Helena beamed, praising Isla's manners, while Natalia sat glued to Isla's side seeking her approval. They looked like a picture-perfect family. And I was just a ghost haunting the edges of the frame. I touched the cold paper inside my bag. Part of me wanted to tear the papers up, fling them across the table, shout the truth into their smiling faces, and tear down their comfortable, arrogant world. But as I watched Natalia laugh at something Isla said, my heart broke all over again. I couldn't leave yet. Natalia was still my daughter. Even if she didn't love me, even if she looked at me with cold indifference, she was the only thing I had left in this world. I couldn't walk away from her, not while I still had breath left in my body. Without another word, I turned away from the dining room and walked up the stairs, the laughter of my family ringing in my ears like a cruel farewell. Inside my bedroom, I locked the door and curled up in my bed.