Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ella
I sat by Maya's hospital bed, clutching the signed purchase agreement. The heavy paper dug into my fingertips. Lucas, that lunatic, he'd actually bought that penthouse downtown, the one with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire city skyline. And he'd used my birthday as the entry code.
"The realtor said everything's finalized," I told Maya quietly, staring at the astronomical sale price. "But it feels like a dream, Maya. I've never accepted anything this expensive. It's like my spine finally straightened, and now it's bending all over again."
Maya leaned against her pillows, her face flushed with color from recent treatments.
She looked at me and smiled. "Here you go again."
"How can I not?" I let out a bitter laugh and tossed the contract onto the nightstand.
"I used to bend over backwards for your medical bills, degraded myself in that marriage until I was nothing.
Now I'm finally standing on my own two feet, and he pulls this shit—reels me right back in.
I don't want to be the one who's less than anymore, Maya.
I've already learned what it costs to take someone's money. "
Maya shook her head, her eyes clear and knowing. "Ella, stop treating this like a trap. Lucas isn't paying off a mistress. He's taking responsibility as a father."
I froze.
"It's for the baby." Maya gestured at my belly, her voice firm.
My hand drifted to my abdomen. Inside, the little life made bubbling movements, like a fish blowing tiny bubbles.
The sensation was strange. Every time I felt the baby move, I was reminded this tiny person was real.
"And you need to understand something," Maya continued.
"The dynamic between you two has changed.
Before, you owed him for my medical bills—that was your debt.
But now you're carrying his child. That makes you equals.
You're growing a life for him, dealing with your body changing, and facing childbirth.
He provides material security. That's fair. "
I bit my lip and said nothing.
"You know what, Ella?" Maya's voice softened.
"I've always admired you. You're so much stronger than me.
When Mom abandoned us, you were only eight.
Your childhood was so hard—we worried about where our next box of pasta was coming from in that leaking apartment.
We walked three miles home in a blizzard once just to save a few bucks on bus fare. "
"Maya." My eyes burned.
Her words dragged me back to childhood. Winter was hell for poor people.
Maya and I lived in Dad's old apartment with no money for heat.
We'd huddle under thin blankets in one bed.
Maya dropped out of school and worked three jobs.
After school, I'd come home alone, do my homework, and eat the sandwich she'd left me.
One winter was brutal. My shoes had a hole in them. Walking through snow, ice water seeped in. My feet swelled red and raw. I could barely walk. When Maya found out, she cried for hours. She bought me new shoes with her earnings, but that month we lived on mashed potatoes and canned soup.
I didn't want my child living like that.
"But sometimes you need to learn to accept things," Maya said, her gaze serious. "Accept kindness. Accept what life offers you. You don't have to carry everything alone. You can lean on people. Let them take care of you. There's no shame in it."
I turned away so she wouldn't see my tears. Outside, the wind stripped the last leaf from a branch. It spun through the air, like a lost soul.
I let Maya's words sink in. She was right. I couldn't let pride and impulse teach my child what poverty felt like. That would be failing as a mother.
"I understand," I finally managed, my voice thick. "You're right. The apartment's for the baby. I'll accept it."
Maya's expression relaxed. "That's better."
"But," I took a deep breath, steadying my voice, "I'm not lowering my standards for myself. I'm passing that nursing exam. I'm getting my own job, my own income. So if he ever treats me like before, if he abandons me again, I can support my child on my own."
"He won't," Maya said. "I can tell. He's really changing."
"Maybe." I sighed. "But I can't hang all my hopes on his transformation. I have to prepare for the worst."
Maya didn't argue. She just reached out and took my hand. Her warmth reminded me of walking home from school together as kids.
That afternoon, I went to the new apartment.
The elevator opened directly onto the thirty-second floor. Through the windows, Rochester's skyline glowed gold in the sunset. The river beyond looked like a silver ribbon.
The place was massive. Living room, kitchen, four bedrooms, five bathrooms, plus a study. Everything was new—sleek, modern furniture that looked expensive. The kitchen had top-of-the-line imported appliances.
I walked into the master bedroom. King-size bed with cream sheets. Fresh lilies on the nightstand, next to a black Amex card.
I picked up the card. Lucas's handwriting, elegant cursive: Please accept it.
I set the card down and sat on the bed. The mattress was soft—I sank right in. A crystal chandelier caught the sunset, scattering fragments of light.
This apartment was too much.
A different universe from where I'd been staying. But I wouldn't let it change how I lived. I'd still buy sale items at the grocery store, still cook my own meals, still spend every dollar carefully.
I wouldn't use Lucas's unlimited credit card. I wouldn't let him disrupt my plans.
This time, I wanted to rely on myself.
I had to rely on myself.
I never wanted to be this blindsided again when he left.
The days that followed settled into routine.
Maya was discharged and moved into one of the guest rooms. Her recovery was going well.
Doctors said she could start light activities.
Every morning we'd eat breakfast together, then she'd read or watch TV in the living room.
Sometimes while I studied, she'd sit nearby, bringing me water or organizing my notes.
I devoted most of my time to preparing for the nursing exam. I'd bought textbooks and practice tests online and studied at least six hours daily. The material was dense and difficult, but I forced myself through it piece by piece.
The only change was Lucas's calls.
He'd become like a teenager with separation anxiety. He called almost daily—mornings, evenings. His voice always sounded exhausted, but when he spoke to me, it softened.
"How are you today, Ella? Is the baby giving you trouble?" His voice came through the line with a carefulness I'd never heard before.
"He's only a few months along, Lucas." I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear while struggling with a box of nursing textbooks that had just arrived.
"What are you doing? I hear something heavy moving."
"Unpacking textbooks I ordered."
"You're moving them yourself?" Lucas sounded anxious. "Ella, no. What if it affects the baby? You already had that bleeding episode. You can't risk anything."
His tone carried an edge—that Rockefeller need for control showing through.
"That was an accident. I'm being careful now, Lucas." I was exasperated. "Trust me, Lucas. No one protects her child better than a mother."
Silence on his end, then a defeated sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm just worried."
"I know."
"Ella," he said suddenly. "I want to send someone to look after you. A professional caregiver, or a nutritionist. You're six months pregnant now. You need help."
"No." I refused immediately. "Maya's here. And I've learned plenty from my nursing studies. I know how to take care of myself."
"But—" He tried to argue.
"Lucas." I cut him off. "I'm doing fine. This normal life gives me peace. I don't need caregivers or nutritionists. I just need to live at my own pace. Can you understand that?"
Another pause, then carefully, "I ordered fresh berries for your fridge—air-shipped from the West Coast. The delivery guy gets there in half an hour. Please don't throw him out."
"Fine." I gave in reluctantly and hung up.
This push and pull became our new normal. He no longer imposed his will arrogantly—he was learning to track my smallest mood shifts. Once, I casually complained that the air was too dry, and the next day, a top-of-the-line humidifier system appeared at my door.
Lucas had changed.
I couldn't deny it. He wasn't cold and distant anymore. He acted like an ordinary husband, constantly attentive to his wife's every move.
But was that enough? I didn't know.
I still remembered his neglect through two years of marriage. Waiting alone in the manor from dawn to dusk. Getting nothing but tabloid photos of him with other women.
Some wounds don't heal just because he's different now. They linger in memory like scars—no longer bleeding, but aching when touched.
I needed time. I needed to see real, sustained change. Not one month or two, but longer. Enough to know he wouldn't hurt me like before.
I needed to know he was worth the risk.
That evening, Lucas called again.
"Ella," he said.
"Yeah?" I'd been reading, and I closed the book when I heard his voice.
"I want to ask you something." He sounded hesitant.
"What?"
"Have you thought about when I'm coming back?"
I froze. The question was too direct—so direct I didn't know how to answer.
"Why do you ask?" I said carefully.
"Because I can't stop thinking about it." His voice slowed, each word pushed from his throat. "I know you need space. I don't want to pressure you. But, Ella, I want to be with you. I want to be there through your pregnancy, be there when the baby's born."
My heart raced. My hand shook holding the phone.
"How much longer are you in Manhattan?" I heard myself ask.
His breathing turned heavy. Lucas went silent for so long I thought the call had dropped.
"Maybe a month this time, Ella." His voice was hoarse. "I'm handling the transition. I'm giving up executive control of the company."
I froze, nearly dropping the phone. "Giving it up? What are you thinking, Lucas! You fought for years to inherit that from your grandfather. You always said work was your life!"
"It's not my everything," he answered calmly. "You are. You and the baby are."
My throat closed.
"But Mr. Rockefeller..." I barely found my voice. "Will he agree?"
"I've already talked to Grandfather." Lucas laughed.
"He said I needed to learn what actually matters.
He'll oversee operations, and I found an excellent CEO.
He's already handled the board vultures.
I'll spend the next month finishing the transition, making sure the company runs smoothly. Then I'm coming to Rochester."
I collapsed onto the couch, my mind blank. This man. This man who valued work over life itself. Who could travel for months without a single call home. He was telling me he'd give up everything to be with me and our baby.
"Why?" I heard myself ask. "Why go this far?"
"Because I love you," he said. Soft, but every word carved into my heart.
"I love you, Ella. I love our family. I love our child.
I don't want to leave you alone anymore, making you bear all that loneliness and pain.
I want to be a good husband. A good father.
I want to make up for every mistake. I want two full years by your side—yours and the baby's.
I don't want to miss a single moment of your pregnancy or the baby's first time rolling over.
When the kid can walk and call me Dad, then I'll think about going back to work. "
While he rambled through that long speech, tears poured from my eyes. I couldn't stop them.
"Lucas." My voice shook.
"I know it's not enough," Lucas exhaled. "I know I hurt you too badly. But, Ella, please give me a chance. Let me prove I can change. I can become the person you need."
I tried to speak, but something blocked my throat. I could only cover my mouth as tears streamed down.
"I'll be there in a month," he said. "Wait for me, okay?"
"Okay." I finally got the word out.
After hanging up, I sat there in a daze. Outside, city lights gradually dimmed as night deepened. The window reflected my face—written all over it was a hesitation I'd never felt before.
Maybe I should give him a chance.
And give myself one too.
After all, this baby deserved a complete family.
And I deserved real love.
And maybe, just maybe, a man willing to abandon his entire empire for me was worth one final gamble.