THE HIDDEN BABBIES OF THE TYCOON

"Let go of me!" Everlyn Hart hissed, yanking her arm free from her stepsister's grip, her voice trembling with both fear and fury. Cassandra smirked, her heavily painted lips curling with twisted satisfaction. "Sister, why are you so dramatic?" she purred, tilting her head as if genuinely confused. "As long as you spend one night with Old Man Richard, the Hart family can rise from ashes." Everlyn's eyes widened in disbelief. "You're selling me off like some—" "A sacrifice," Cassandra interrupted coldly, brushing an invisible speck off her designer dress. "This is what daughters from broken families do, Everlyn. They offer themselves for the greater good." Her smile turned cruel. "Tonight, just enjoy the feeling… of being ruined by an old man. It's not like you had any future left anyway." Everlyn’s heart pounded in her chest, her fists clenched. "You’re sick—" Everlyn staggered as the drug speed deeper into her bloodstream, her legs wobbling beneath her. The hallway spun, golden lights turning to blurry streaks as she reached out to steady herself—but Cassandra was already behind her, smiling like the devil in satin. “This is your destiny, Everlyn,” she whispered coldly, grabbing her by the shoulders. “You should thank me.” “Don’t—” Everlyn slurred, struggling weakly, but Cassandra’s grip tightened. With a vicious shove, she pushed her forward. The hotel door swung open. Everlyn stumbled inside and collapsed against the silk sheets of the massive bed. She tried to sit up to cry for help, but her voice barely came out. Then—she felt it. A warm hand brushed her arm. Everlyn flinched as a low, masculine groan rumbled near her. A figure stirred beside her, broad-shouldered and shirtless, his breathing shallow. “No—please…” she mumbled, panic bubbling in her chest. But the man didn’t answer. His eyes fluttered open, dark and stormy, filled with something wild: confusion, desire, desperation. Damon Westwood, the infamous billionaire CEO, had no idea who she was… only that there was a woman beside him. The drug in his system clouded everything—his judgment, his restraint, his usual cold control. His large hand slid up her waist. “You came back…” he whispered hoarsely, his voice heavy with longing as if lost in some memory. “Don’t leave me again…” Everlyn shook her head weakly, trying to push him off, but he leaned closer, pressing his lips against hers, his touch trembling, his breath hot against her cheek. And though she wanted to scream, to run—her body refused to obey. Her mind slipped further into darkness. The night blurred into a storm of confusion, desire, and silence. Neither of them knew the truth. Neither of them knew this moment would bind them forever. Cassandra was all smirks as she answered the call, expecting gratitude, maybe even a bonus from Richard Langston, for delivering a "gift" to his suite. "Mr. Langston," she sang into the phone. "Is everything to your liking—?" The voice that responded wasn’t Richard’s. It was gruff. Urgent. “This is security from Regal Crown Hotel. Are you related to Mr. Richard Langston?” Her smile froze. “Why are you calling me from his phone?” There was a long, heavy pause. “I’m afraid Mr. Langston was found dead… in his suite. With a woman.” Cassandra shot to her feet, the color draining from her face. “What…" What did you say?” “He was found unresponsive. The woman called emergency services—she's been taken in for questioning.” Cassandra's throat tightened. “What woman? Are you telling me Everlyn—” “No, ma’am. The woman’s name is Juliette Crane. Blonde. Late thirties. Definitely not Everlyn Hart.” Silence. Cassandra’s hand shook. “If it wasn’t Everlyn,” she muttered, panic rising in her chest, “then who the hell did Everlyn sleep with?” She frantically opened her messages, pulling up the check-in data she had bribed a hotel staffer to give her. Suite 1703. Not 1708. Cassandra stormed back into the hotel, her heels clicking furiously against the marble floors. Her heart pounded, the call from security still echoing in her head. Richard Langston was dead. Everlyn wasn’t in his suite. Then where the hell was she? Suite 1708. She rushed up the private elevator, swiping the stolen staff card she'd used earlier. The doors slid open with a soft chime, and she practically ran down the hall, stopping in front of the suite she had pushed Everlyn into. Cassandra burst inside, the soft click of the lock muffled by the thundering of her heartbeat. And there—bathed in golden dawn light spilling through the curtains—lay Everlyn, tangled in white sheets. Her dark hair spilled across the pillow, and her skin flushed. Beside her, one arm draped across her waist was him. Damon Westwood. His sculpted torso rose and fell with steady breaths, his face calm and unreadable even in sleep. The same man whose presence dominated boardrooms, whose glare made CEOs tremble, and whose wealth could bury families like theirs without lifting a finger. Cassandra froze. Then she let out a stunned, breathless laugh. “You lucky b***h,” she whispered, taking a step forward, eyes wide with disbelief. “You slept with Damon Westwood. The cold-hearted CEO of the damn century… the real power behind Westwood Corporation. The richest man that exists.” She covered her mouth, giddy and stunned. For a split second, she considered snapping a picture. But no—this was too big. Bigger than revenge. Bigger than the family’s bankruptcy. This was power. Cassandra backed out of the room carefully, pulling her phone from her purse as the door clicked shut behind her. She tapped on a contact. Call two men into Regal Crown Hotel on suite 1708 find a way to get Everlyn Hart into the dead Mr Richard Langston bedroom suite . After ensuring Everlyn was planted like a ticking time bomb beside Richard Langston’s lifeless body, Cassandra returned to Suite 1708 with a new plan—one far more dangerous. Slowly, she slid off her coat, letting it pool around her ankles, revealing her silk nightdress underneath. She carefully pulled back the sheet and slipped into the bed beside Damon, molding her body against his warmth. Cassandra rested her head on his chest, heart pounding with dark satisfaction. “When you wake up,” she whispered softly, her lips brushing his skin, “you’ll remember someone was in your bed. You won’t know her face… but I’ll make sure mine fits the memory.” When I wake up I'll be the one compensated the title of Mrs Westwood will be mine. I'll be Damon's wife. Her lips curved into a wicked smile as she snuggled on him. Nine months later Today was the day. She approached the delivery room, her hand trembling just slightly as she pressed it against the cool glass of the door, peering inside. Cassandra’s lips curled upward, her eyes glittering with malicious satisfaction. She approached the bed, her presence like a shadow looming over Everlyn.. And then Cassandra’s voice cool, calculating, and full of venom—cut through the silence. “My dear sister,” she purred, her voice laced with icy sweetness, “I’ve been looking for you for so long.” “You really made me search for you.” “Where are you taking my baby please leave my baby alone!” She begged with desperation. “Don't worry my dear sister I'll be a good mother to him As for you, you just have to rest in peace.” Her eyes gleamed with cruelty her voice sweet as poison.