Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 58

Julian: POV

Her eyes opened.

Just for a second—barely a flutter—but enough to make my chest seize with desperate hope.

"Elena!" I leaned over her, water dripping from my hair onto her face. "Stay with me. Come on, baby, stay—"

Her hand moved. Slowly, shakily, it pressed against her stomach.

"Save..." The word came out as barely a whisper, hoarse and broken. "Save...the baby."

*The baby.*

The confirmation, whispered from her own lips, drove the reality of it home like a physical blow. It wasn't a mistake. She really was pregnant.

*She's really carrying my child. And she's been hiding it because she was terrified of me.*

Then her eyes rolled back. Her hand dropped.

*No. No no no—*

"Elena!" I grabbed her face, my hands shaking. "Don't you fucking dare! Don't—"

I fumbled for my phone, nearly dropping it before managing to dial 911. The operator's voice was calm, professional, asking questions I could barely process.

"Connecticut estate—Sterling property—my wife—she's not breathing—please, she's pregnant—"

*Pregnant.*

*This is my child. My wife. And I might lose them both.*

"Sir, is she breathing now?"

"No—I mean, she was, but—fuck, I don't know—" I pressed my fingers to her neck, feeling for a pulse. There. Weak, but there. "She has a pulse. Barely."

"Keep her warm. Don't move her. Ambulance is three minutes out."

I shrugged off my soaked jacket, covering her with it. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

The rage came then—hot and immediate and directed at the figure still standing by the pool.

Catherine.

I looked up, and she was frozen there, her face pale, eyes wide.

"You." The word came out like a growl. "What the fuck did you do?"

"I didn't—she just—it was an accident—"

"Accident?" I was on my feet, advancing toward her. "You pushed her into the pool! I fucking saw you!"

"Julian, I—"

"She's pregnant!" The roar tore from my throat. "She's carrying my child and you tried to kill her!"

Catherine stumbled backward. "I didn't know! How was I supposed to—"

"Get out." My voice dropped to something deadly quiet. "Get the fuck off this property. Now."

"But—"

"NOW!"

She ran. Actually ran, her designer heels clattering as she fled toward the driveway.

I turned back to Elena, kneeling beside her, my hand finding hers.

*Please. Please don't leave me. Not now.*

Behind me, I heard voices. Running footsteps.

"Julian!" Victoria's voice, high and panicked. "Oh my God, what happened?"

Then Grandfather asked, "Someone call an ambulance!"

"Already done," I said without looking up. "They're coming."

Victoria appeared at my side. "Julian, let me help—"

"Don't touch her." The words came out harder than I intended. "Just—stay back."

"I said stay back!"

Grandfather moved closer. When he saw Elena—really saw her, pale and unconscious on the ground—his face went gray.

"My God." His voice cracked. "What happened to her?"

"Catherine pushed her into the pool." Each word felt like glass in my throat. "She can't swim."

"Where is she?"

"I sent her away." I kept my eyes on Elena's face. "And she's never setting foot on this property again."

Josephine came rushing out then—Elena's mother, the head housekeeper. She took one look at her daughter and let out a sound I'd never forget—a wail of pure anguish.

"My baby!" She fell to her knees beside Elena. "What did they do to you?"

"Ma'am—" I started.

"Don't!" She turned on me, eyes blazing with tears and fury. "This is your fault! All of this!"

The accusation hit like a physical blow.

"She loved you!" Josephine's voice broke. "For sixteen years, she loved you. And when your grandfather forced you to marry her—she thought it was a miracle."

*Sixteen years.*

"But you didn't love her, did you?" Josephine's hands shook as she stroked Elena's wet hair. "You just used her. Kept her hidden like some dirty secret."

"She's been suffering for three years!" The housekeeper's voice rose. "Three years of being treated like she's nothing!"

Grandfather's hand landed on Josephine's shoulder. "Jo. The ambulance—"

"You want to know something, Mr. Sterling?" She turned back to me. "Three years ago, at that yacht party? That drink you thought Elena drugged? She never touched it. Not once."

My blood ran cold.

"She was set up. Framed. And you were too blind to see it because you already thought she was some gold-digging whore."

*No. That's not—*

But pieces started clicking into place. The timing. The way Victoria had been so quick to show me those photos.

"Julian." Grandfather's voice was grave. "Is this true?"

"I—" My throat closed up. "I didn't know. I thought—"

"You thought the worst of her," Josephine finished. "Because that's what rich boys like you do."

Sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer.

I looked down at Elena. At my wife. At the mother of my child.

"I'm not letting her go," I said quietly. "Whatever happens—I'm not letting her go."

Josephine laughed—bitter and broken. "You think you have a choice? You think after everything you've put her through, she'll stay?"

"She's carrying my child."

"So what? You think a baby makes up for three years of cruelty?"

"No." I cut off Grandfather before he could speak. "She's my wife. She's carrying my child. I don't care what happened three years ago. She belongs to me, and I'm not letting her go."

The ambulance pulled up, its lights painting everything in harsh red and white. Paramedics rushed out, taking over.

I tried to follow as they loaded Elena onto the stretcher, but one of them held up a hand.

"Family only in the ambulance."

"I'm her husband."

He looked at Josephine. "Ma'am?"

"Let him come," she said quietly. "But God help you, Julian Sterling, if she wakes up and you hurt her again."

---

The ambulance ride was a nightmare of beeping monitors and medical jargon I couldn't understand. I sat squeezed into the corner, my hand pressed against the curve of her stomach.

*Our baby. There's a baby in there.*

"How far along is she?" one paramedic asked Josephine.

"I don't know. She didn't tell me." The housekeeper's voice cracked.

Because she was afraid. Afraid of what I'd do.

*You're not worthy of carrying my child.*

My own words came back to haunt me.

I touched her stomach gently. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so fucking sorry."

The paramedic glanced at me. "Sir, you should sit back—"

"No." My hand stayed where it was. "She's my wife. This is my child. I'm not going anywhere."

"Elena." I leaned closer. "I know you can't hear me. But I need you to fight. You and our baby—you both need to fight."

Her eyelids fluttered but didn't open.

"I know I don't deserve you," I continued, my voice rough. "I know I've been a complete bastard. But I'm not letting you go. You're mine. You've always been mine."

Josephine made a sound—something between a sob and a laugh. "Still making demands. Still trying to control everything."

"It's not about control." I looked up at her. "It's about—"

"Love?" She raised an eyebrow. "Don't insult my intelligence, Mr. Sterling. You don't love her. You just can't stand losing something you think belongs to you."

Maybe she was right. Maybe I was just a possessive bastard.

But as I sat there, my hand on her stomach, feeling the faint warmth of her skin through the wet fabric, I knew one thing with absolute certainty:

I wasn't letting her go. Not now. Not ever.

Whatever it took. Whatever I had to do.

She was mine. The baby was mine. And I'd burn the whole world down before I let anyone take them from me.