Chapter 33
I woke up in an unfamiliar room. The first thing that came to my mind was Art—and the accident. I shot up, hands flying to my stomach.
My baby. Art. The sobs tore from my chest before I could stop them. This was all my fault.
The door opened, and I instinctively turned toward it. Mr. Alegre entered, and before I could say anything, his hand landed on my cheek.
“Who is the father of that child?!” he roared.
I froze, clutching his arm. “My baby! Is my baby alive? Is my child still alive?!” I screamed.
But Mr. Alegre shoved me away with disgust.
“You’re going to abort that child. And Mr. Truson must never find out,” he said coldly.
My heart stopped.
“No! No! I won’t allow that! This is my baby!” I shouted, my voice cracking. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. That chil
