Chapter 11 - The Night Amelia ArrivedAmelia Leprince apparently inherited her father’s relationship with schedules.
Specifically, she ignored them completely while insisting everyone else reorganize their lives around her.
My due date was still eleven days away when I woke at 2:14 a.m. because something felt wrong.
Not painful.
Just different.
I lay completely still beside Andrew.
Then another sensation moved through my abdomen.
Contraction.
“Andrew.”
Nothing.
I poked him.
“Andrew.”
He made a sleepy sound.
The man could negotiate billion-dollar contracts under pressure but apparently required natural disaster levels of force to wake at night.
I hit his shoulder.
“My water broke.”
His eyes opened.
Instantly.
“What?”
“My water broke.”
He sat up so fast he nearly fell out of bed.
“Now?”
“No, next Thursday.”
He stared at me.
Pregnancy had severely reduced my patience.
Then training activated.
Andrew Leprince became Emergency Father.
“Okay. Hospital bag.”
“Closet.”
“Doctor.”
“Already calling.”
“Security.”
“They live outside our door now, remember?”
“Oliver.”
“Koko.”
“I’ll call.”
He put on pants backward.
I watched.
“Andrew.”
“What?”
“Your pants.”
He looked down.
“Oh.”
Despite the contraction beginning, I laughed so hard I almost cried.
Our second labor should have been easier emotionally.
We knew the process.
We knew the hospital.
We knew what to expect.
Naturally, everything went wrong.
Not medically at first.
Logistically.
A massive storm had hit the city overnight.
Roads were flooding.
Traffic was blocked.
The nearest bridge to our hospital closed ten minutes after we entered the car.
Andrew became progressively less human with every update.
“Turn around.”
The driver shook his head.
“Sir, road behind us is blocked too.”
“Find another route.”
“I’m trying.”
I breathed through another contraction.
“They’re getting closer.”
Andrew turned toward me.
“How close?”
“Five minutes.”
His face went pale.
“Hospital said—”
“I know what the hospital said.”
Another contraction hit.
I grabbed his hand.
“Stop panicking.”
“I am not panicking.”
“You look like someone threatened the stock market with a nuclear weapon.”
“I’m calm.”
“You are crushing my fingers.”
He released them instantly.
“Sorry.”
Our security vehicle contacted emergency services.
An ambulance was trying to reach us.
Unfortunately, half the city had apparently chosen the same night to require emergency transportation.
Then the driver said the sentence nobody wanted.
“We’re not making the hospital.”
Andrew stared at him.
“We are.”
“Sir—”
“We are.”
I screamed through another contraction.
That ended the debate.
The security team found a private medical clinic eight blocks away.
Not a maternity hospital.
A twenty-four-hour urgent-care facility.
But there were doctors.
And oxygen.
And rooms.
Good enough.
We arrived eighteen minutes later.
Amelia, apparently deeply offended by transportation delays, decided she wanted out immediately.
A doctor examined me.
His expression changed.
“Mrs. Leprince, you’re fully dilated.”
Andrew looked horrified.
“What does that mean?”
I stared at him.
“You’ve done this before.”
“I forgot.”
“How do you forget childbirth?”
“Trauma.”
The doctor almost laughed.
“There’s no time to transfer. Baby is coming here.”
Andrew went pale.
I grabbed his shirt.
“Do not faint.”
“I’m not going to faint.”
“You look like you’re going to faint.”
“I’m fine.”
He was not fine.
Neither was I.
Fear hit differently the second time.
With Oliver, everything had been unknown.
With Amelia, I knew exactly what pain was coming.
I knew how vulnerable birth could make you feel.
Then Andrew took my hand.
His face steadied.
“Look at me.”
Those words.
The same ones he had spoken in the hospital during Phoebe’s scandal.
The same words that always anchored me.
I looked.
“I’m here.”
“I know.”
“You’re safe.”
Another contraction tore through me.
“Stop talking.”
“Understood.”
Labor lasted less than two hours.
Fast.
Violent.
Exhausting.
Then suddenly—
A cry.
Strong.
Furious.
Beautiful.
The doctor laughed.
“She has opinions.”
Tears exploded from my eyes.
“Is she okay?”
“Perfect.”
When they placed Amelia on my chest, the entire world disappeared.
Tiny face.
Dark hair.
Little fists.
Pink cheeks.
I kissed her forehead over and over.
“Hi.”
My voice broke.
“Hi, baby.”
Andrew stood beside me crying openly.
Again.
Apparently childbirth was the one event capable of completely destroying billionaire composure.
“She’s beautiful.”
I looked at him.
“You say that because she’s yours.”
“No.”
He touched Amelia’s tiny cheek.
“I say that because she looks like you.”
“She absolutely does not.”
Actually, she did.
More than Oliver ever had.
Oliver was essentially Andrew copied at miniature scale.
Amelia had my darker eyes.
My nose.
My mouth.
Andrew noticed too.
“She has your eyes.”
“She does.”
He looked absurdly emotional about it.
“She has your eyes.”
“You already said that.”
“I know.”
He kissed me.
“Thank you.”
I stared at him.
“For what?”
“For her.”
My heart broke open completely.
“You helped.”
“Barely.”
“That is scientifically inaccurate.”
He laughed through the tears.
Several hours later, when the storm eased enough for transfer to the hospital, Koko arrived carrying Oliver.
Our son entered the room with enormous curiosity.
“Ma!”
I opened my arms.
He climbed carefully onto the bed beside me.
Then he saw Amelia.
His face became deeply suspicious.
“Baby,” I explained.
Oliver stared.
“Your sister.”
Nothing.
He looked at Andrew.
“Da?”
“Yes. Baby.”
Oliver considered this.
Then reached toward Amelia.
Everyone froze.
He touched one tiny foot.
Amelia moved.
Oliver gasped.
Then smiled.
“Mine.”
I laughed.
Andrew looked offended.
“Technically, ours.”
“Mine,” Oliver repeated firmly.
Koko wiped tears from her cheeks.
“He already inherited the billionaire ownership mentality.”
“Do not encourage him,” I said.
For a few minutes, the room felt perfect.
Then Andrew’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Ignored it.
It rang again.
“Answer,” I said.
“No.”
“It might matter.”
“Nothing matters right now.”
His phone rang a third time.
Koko raised an eyebrow.
“That sounds like something matters.”
Andrew sighed and answered.
“What?”
His expression changed immediately.
Not fear.
Shock.
“What do you mean?”
I sat straighter.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“Elila.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
He lowered the phone.
“Conrad Beaumont is dead.”
The room went silent.
I processed the sentence.
“Natural causes?”
Andrew’s expression told me no.
“He was found in his detention medical unit.”
“What happened?”
“They don’t know.”
I looked down at Amelia sleeping against me.
Not tonight.
I could not allow another nightmare to enter this room tonight.
“Tomorrow.”
Andrew understood immediately.
“Yes.”
He turned off his phone.
Completely.
Then placed it in a drawer.
Koko looked shocked.
“You turned off your phone?”
“I did.”
“Voluntarily?”
“Yes.”
“I need photographic evidence.”
Andrew ignored her.
He came back to the bed and took Oliver onto his lap while I held Amelia.
Our family.
Four people now.
Chaotic.
Exhausted.
Surrounded by problems waiting outside the door.
But for that night, none of them entered.
The next morning, unfortunately, reality returned.
Conrad Beaumont’s death was officially announced as cardiac failure.
Seventy-eight years old.
History of heart disease.
Nothing suspicious.
Yet something bothered Andrew.
“Timing.”
We were alone while Oliver and Amelia slept.
“What timing?”
“He was scheduled to testify.”
“Against Marcus?”
“And David.”
“So?”
“He told prosecutors yesterday that he wanted a cooperation agreement.”
I stared.
“He was going to talk?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“He never got the chance to say.”
A chill moved over me.
“Do you think someone killed him?”
“I don’t know.”
“But?”
Andrew looked toward the hospital window.
“Conrad was guilty of many things. But he wasn’t the person David called C.”
My blood went cold.
“What?”
“Investigators confirmed Conrad’s private communication systems.”
“Maybe he used another device.”
“Possible.”
“But you don’t believe it.”
“No.”
I slowly understood.
The conspiracy had not ended.
Not completely.
“Then who was C?”
Andrew’s eyes met mine.
“That’s what we still need to discover.”
I looked down at our newborn daughter.
Every part of me wanted to reject another battle.
To demand peace.
To tell Andrew to sell the company, move us somewhere anonymous and spend the rest of our lives growing vegetables on some island where nobody knew our names.
But that was fear talking.
And I was tired of letting fear make decisions.
“Not today.”
Andrew nodded.
“Not today.”
“Today, you change diapers.”
His expression became almost offended.
“I changed Oliver’s diapers.”
“Twice.”
“More than twice.”
“Three times.”
“I was busy.”
“CEO excuse rejected.”
Andrew looked at Amelia.
Then at me.
“Fine.”
I smiled.
“Welcome to fatherhood again, Mr. Leprince.”
May you like
He bent down and kissed me.
“Best job I’ve ever had.”
