Bye Loser! Love, Daddy's Heiress - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
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My pulse hammered against my ribs as I studied him. Should I test him? See if I still meant anything—if even a shred of him would pick me over Alessia?
The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
"Lothario. I'm pregnant."
Deafening silence. I stopped breathing, waiting for any reaction—a flicker of emotion, a single word.
Nothing. Just the clink of his fork against china as he kept eating like I hadn't shattered our world. No joy. No anger. Not even fake concern. Just... nothing.
The lump in my throat turned to stone. My trembling fingers fumbled for the wine glass—then I was choking, coughing violently, tears burning behind my eyelids.
Still. Not. A. Word.
That silence screamed louder than any rejection.
The dining hall doors burst open before I could process the knife twisting in my chest.
"Babe?" Alessia's honeyed voice floated in.
She glided through the doorway—red dress clinging to every curve, stilettos tapping like a countdown to my demise. Lothario transformed instantly, rising with a warmth in his eyes I hadn't seen in months.
Then—right in front of me—he cradled her face and kissed her.
My world stopped. The wet smack of their lips echoed louder than my ragged breathing. I gripped the table edge, my body going numb.
They kissed like I was air. Like our years together meant less than dust.
Their voices blurred as they discussed floral arrangements and seating charts for their engagement party. I stood paralyzed, tears streaking my makeup—too gutted to care if it was heartbreak or humiliation drowning me.
Alessia finally noticed me, nose wrinkling. "Who's that? Why's she crying like a jilted lover?" Her laugh tinkled. "And why is your maid eating with you?"
Maid? My lips quivered.
Lothario sighed like I was a stain on his shoe. "New hire. I'll handle it." He yanked me up by the wrist, dragging me toward the door. "I'll call you tonight," he muttered, thumb brushing away a tear with cruel irony before—
SLAM.
The door hit my face with finality.
No sobs. No screams.
I walked away with my spine steel-straight that night. But this wasn't over. If they wanted a spectacle? I'd give them a party they'd remember forever.
The engagement party glittered with crystal and false smiles when I arrived—black dress sinfully tight, blood-red lips curved in vengeance. No invitation needed. Every head swiveled as I entered; champagne flutes froze mid-sip.
There he stood—Lothario De Luca.
My Lothario.
No—hers now.
Arm slung possessively around Alessia's waist, they looked like royalty. The fairytale couple. And me? The cautionary tale.
But tonight, I'd remind him exactly what he'd discarded.
The crowd's murmurs died as I stalked forward. Lothario's body locked up when he saw me, icy blues flashing with warning.
"Pearl?" His voice held disbelief edged with threat.
I smiled sweetly. "Miss me?"
Alessia twirled around, fake recognition dawning. "Oh! You're the help, right? Lothario's little... housekeeper?" Tittering laughter rippled through her sycophants.
My nails bit my palms. "Cute. But maids don't spend six years in their employer's bed."
The room gasped. Alessia's smile cracked.
Lothario's jaw turned to granite. "Get out."
Instead, I reached into my clutch and rained truth down on them—pregnancy tests, ultrasound photos, medical records. The miscarriage report fluttered against his chest before landing at his designer shoes.
A champagne glass shattered.
Alessia's shrill laugh cut through the silence. "This is pathetic! Forging documents to trap him?" She sneered. "As if Lothario would knock up some nobody."
"Nobody." The word tasted like ash.
Lothario finally moved—but not to me. Toward her. For one heartbeat, uncertainty flickered across his face. Then it vanished, replaced by glacial detachment.
His verdict shattered what remained of my heart: "She's lying."
The oxygen left my lungs.
Alessia smirked. "Security! And if this delusional bitch shows up again?" She leaned into Lothario. "We'll sue for defamation."
Laughter lashed at me like whips. Through the roaring in my ears, I grabbed the nearest steak knife.
The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
"Lothario. I'm pregnant."
Deafening silence. I stopped breathing, waiting for any reaction—a flicker of emotion, a single word.
Nothing. Just the clink of his fork against china as he kept eating like I hadn't shattered our world. No joy. No anger. Not even fake concern. Just... nothing.
The lump in my throat turned to stone. My trembling fingers fumbled for the wine glass—then I was choking, coughing violently, tears burning behind my eyelids.
Still. Not. A. Word.
That silence screamed louder than any rejection.
The dining hall doors burst open before I could process the knife twisting in my chest.
"Babe?" Alessia's honeyed voice floated in.
She glided through the doorway—red dress clinging to every curve, stilettos tapping like a countdown to my demise. Lothario transformed instantly, rising with a warmth in his eyes I hadn't seen in months.
Then—right in front of me—he cradled her face and kissed her.
My world stopped. The wet smack of their lips echoed louder than my ragged breathing. I gripped the table edge, my body going numb.
They kissed like I was air. Like our years together meant less than dust.
Their voices blurred as they discussed floral arrangements and seating charts for their engagement party. I stood paralyzed, tears streaking my makeup—too gutted to care if it was heartbreak or humiliation drowning me.
Alessia finally noticed me, nose wrinkling. "Who's that? Why's she crying like a jilted lover?" Her laugh tinkled. "And why is your maid eating with you?"
Maid? My lips quivered.
Lothario sighed like I was a stain on his shoe. "New hire. I'll handle it." He yanked me up by the wrist, dragging me toward the door. "I'll call you tonight," he muttered, thumb brushing away a tear with cruel irony before—
SLAM.
The door hit my face with finality.
No sobs. No screams.
I walked away with my spine steel-straight that night. But this wasn't over. If they wanted a spectacle? I'd give them a party they'd remember forever.
The engagement party glittered with crystal and false smiles when I arrived—black dress sinfully tight, blood-red lips curved in vengeance. No invitation needed. Every head swiveled as I entered; champagne flutes froze mid-sip.
There he stood—Lothario De Luca.
My Lothario.
No—hers now.
Arm slung possessively around Alessia's waist, they looked like royalty. The fairytale couple. And me? The cautionary tale.
But tonight, I'd remind him exactly what he'd discarded.
The crowd's murmurs died as I stalked forward. Lothario's body locked up when he saw me, icy blues flashing with warning.
"Pearl?" His voice held disbelief edged with threat.
I smiled sweetly. "Miss me?"
Alessia twirled around, fake recognition dawning. "Oh! You're the help, right? Lothario's little... housekeeper?" Tittering laughter rippled through her sycophants.
My nails bit my palms. "Cute. But maids don't spend six years in their employer's bed."
The room gasped. Alessia's smile cracked.
Lothario's jaw turned to granite. "Get out."
Instead, I reached into my clutch and rained truth down on them—pregnancy tests, ultrasound photos, medical records. The miscarriage report fluttered against his chest before landing at his designer shoes.
A champagne glass shattered.
Alessia's shrill laugh cut through the silence. "This is pathetic! Forging documents to trap him?" She sneered. "As if Lothario would knock up some nobody."
"Nobody." The word tasted like ash.
Lothario finally moved—but not to me. Toward her. For one heartbeat, uncertainty flickered across his face. Then it vanished, replaced by glacial detachment.
His verdict shattered what remained of my heart: "She's lying."
The oxygen left my lungs.
Alessia smirked. "Security! And if this delusional bitch shows up again?" She leaned into Lothario. "We'll sue for defamation."
Laughter lashed at me like whips. Through the roaring in my ears, I grabbed the nearest steak knife.
End of Bye Loser! Love, Daddy's Heiress Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to Bye Loser! Love, Daddy's Heiress book page.