PREGNANT FOR MY COLD -HEARTED BILLIONAIRE NEIGHBOR BY MELLA

CHAPTER 4: THE EVICTION NOTICE

The sound of the morning was not the usual city hum of distant sirens and barking dogs. It was the rhythmic, bone-deep thud of a sledgehammer hitting a stone.

I woke up with my heart hammering against my ribs, the frantic adrenaline of the masquerade still coursing through my veins like a lingering fever. The flash drive, the small, cold piece of plastic that contained the encrypted donor list was tucked safely beneath the loose floorboard under my bed. It was our only chance. My father’s only chance. And I had stolen it from the most dangerous man in the city.

I rolled out of bed, my muscles aching from the sprint through the Volkov woods, and hurried to the window of our cramped, two-bedroom apartment.

Below, the street was a hive of activity that made my stomach churn. Black SUVs were parked haphazardly along the curb, and men in sharp suits moved with a clinical, terrifying efficiency. They were hammering large, professional signs into the crumbling brickwork of our building’s entrance.

VOLKOV PREMIER DEVELOPMENTS: FUTURE SITE OF THE ROYAL VANTAGE LUXURY HOTEL.

The name Volkov hit me like a physical blow. This building was a sanctuary for people the city had forgotten: elderly pensioners, struggling families, and people like my father, whose medical bills had swallowed every cent of our history. We lived here because the homeowner didn't ask questions about the oxygen tanks humming in the corner or the nurses who slipped in and out at odd hours.

A loud, heavy banging started at my front door. It wasn't a knock; it was a declaration of ownership.

I threw on a faded robe and wrenched the door open. A man in a charcoal suit stood there, holding a digital tablet like a shield. He didn’t look at me; he looked through me, his eyes scanning the peeling wallpaper of the hallway with open disdain.

"Elara Vance?" he asked, his voice as flat as a dial tone.

"Yes. What is this? Why are there crews downstairs?"

"You’ve received the electronic notice, I assume. The building has been acquired. All leases are terminated effective immediately. You have forty-eight hours to vacate the premises."

The hallway seemed to tilt. "Forty-eight hours? That’s impossible. My father is on a ventilator. He’s in the middle of a delicate treatment cycle. Moving him without a specialized medical team could kill him. You can't just throw us out."

The man finally looked at me, but there was no empathy in his gaze. "The relocation assistance package is five hundred dollars. If you aren't out by Thursday, the locks will be changed and your belongings will be moved to the curb. Have a nice day, Miss Vance."

He turned on his heel and moved to the next door, his footsteps echoing with a finality that made my knees weak. I slammed the door and leaned my forehead against the wood, my breath coming in short, jagged gasps.

I looked toward my father’s room. Through the cracked door, I could see the soft, rhythmic glow of the monitors. Hiss-click. Hiss-click. The machine was his lungs. It was his life.

I couldn't move him. A private ambulance alone would cost more than the "assistance package" this man had offered. No other low-income building in this zip code would have a tenant in his condition on two days' notice.

Silas.

He wasn't just looking for me. He was dismantling my life piece by piece to force me out of the shadows. He had bought the very ground I stood on just to prove that there was nowhere I could go that he couldn't reach. It was a move of calculated, quiet cruelty.

I went to my father’s bedside and took his hand. It felt like parchment dry and fragile. "I'll fix this, Dad," I whispered, though the lie tasted like ash in my mouth. "I promise."

The Lion’s Den

The lobby of Volkov International was a cathedral of glass and cold ambition, designed to make people like me feel invisible. I didn't wait for permission. I ignored the receptionist’s call and headed straight for the private elevator.

When the doors opened on the top floor, I didn't hesitate. I couldn't afford to be polite when my father’s life was on the line. I pushed the heavy oak doors open, the air inside the penthouse already heavy with the scent of cedar wood and the crisp, ozone smell of a coming storm.

Silas was standing by the window, his back to me. He wasn't in a suit. He was wearing a heavy black silk robe, tied loosely at the waist. His shoulders were broad, his posture relaxed, as if he hadn't just signed a decree that would destroy a hundred lives.

"You're late, Elara," he said, his voice a low vibration that made the hair on my arms stand up. He didn't turn around. He didn't have to.

"Stop the eviction," I said, my voice cracking despite my efforts to stay strong. "My father is dying, Silas. He can't be moved. You’re going to kill him for a hotel that you don't even need."

He turned then, slowly. The robe fell open slightly at the chest, revealing the hard, tanned lines of his torso. Without the silver mask, his face was even more striking and more terrifying. His eyes were a sharp, predatory gray, scanning me with a clinical intensity that made me feel exposed.

"The world doesn't stop because one man is struggling, Miss Vance," he said, stepping toward me. Each stride was graceful, purposeful. "Business is about progress. Your building is an eyesore on a valuable lot."

"It's a home," I snapped, stepping into his space. "I'll give you the drive back. It has the donor list, the one I stole to save him. Take it. Just leave the building alone. I’ll give you whatever you want."

Silas reached out, his cool fingers brushing a stray lock of hair away from my forehead. The touch was agonizingly soft, a sharp contrast to the coldness in his eyes. He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze.

"You come into my home, you steal my private data, and then you come here to beg for mercy?" He let out a short, dark laugh. "You have spirit, Elara. But mercy is not a currency I accept."

"I'll do anything," I whispered, the tears finally burning my eyes. "Work for you. Pay you back every cent. Just give us two weeks. That's all I need to find medical transport."

Silas’s hands settled on my waist, his grip firm but not painful. He pulled me an inch closer, until I could feel the heat radiating from him.

"I don't give handouts, Miss Vance," he murmured, his thumb grazing the side of my ribcage through the thin fabric of my blazer. "I make deals."

"What kind of deal?"

His eyes darkened, focusing on my lips for a fraction of a second before meeting my eyes again. "A deal where I get exactly what I want. And right now... I want to see how far you’re willing to go to keep him alive."

My stomach twisted. I wanted to say no. I wanted to run. But my father’s wheezing lungs were louder than my fear. I looked at Silas, the man who held the power to save my world or crush it with a signature.

"Stay," he whispered, his voice like velvet over steel. "Give me a month of your time, and the building stands. Your father gets the best doctors in the country. Everything he needs, paid for by me."

"A month?" I breathed, my heart racing. "Doing what?"

"Whatever I ask," he said.

Every instinct screamed that I was trading a piece of myself, but I swallowed the fear. There was no other choice. If I walked out that door, my father would be dead by morning.

"Deal," I whispered.

Silas smiled, and for the first time, I realized that the Ice King didn't just want a mystery to solve. He wanted a prize to keep. He leaned in, his lips inches from mine, and I knew the next thirty days would either be my salvation or my absolute destruction.