A billionaire’s baby was trapped inside a boiling hot car—and the only person who knew was a housekeeper's four-year-old daughter with a plastic stethoscope.

Evelyn Whitmore backed up until her heels hit the edge of the stone fountain.

Charles Vane, the family attorney, stepped forward quickly, putting himself between Roman and Evelyn. "Roman, calm down! Let's not make any rash accusations before we review the footage. Evelyn is Claire’s sister! She loves that child!"

"She tried to cook him alive in a Mercedes, Charles," Roman said, his voice dangerously low. "Move out of my way before I put you through that fountain."

Vane swallowed hard, looking at the blood dripping from Roman’s knuckles onto the gravel, and wisely stepped aside.

Evelyn straightened her posture, desperately trying to reassemble her mask of aristocratic indignation. "You're delusional, Roman! You're suffering from post-traumatic stress! I didn't leave him in the car to hurt him! I was... I was packing his things! I was taking him away from this death trap!"

"Taking him?" Rachel asked, coming up behind Roman, her arm wrapped protectively around Sophie. "You were stealing him!"

"I was saving him!" Evelyn shrieked, her voice echoing across the courtyard. "Look at this place! It's run by criminals! Roman's dangerous associates are constantly circling the gates! My sister died because of his paranoia! And now he hires a common street maid and lets her dirty little brat play doctor with a Bellini heir!"

Sophie tucked herself behind Rachel’s skirt, holding her plastic stethoscope tight.

"You left a six-month-old baby in a closed car in one hundred degree heat, Evelyn," Roman said, taking another step forward. "That isn't saving a child. That's execution."

"It was an accident!" Evelyn cried, her composure finally shattering into desperate sobbing. "I got distracted by Charles in the study! I forgot the keys were in my bag! I was going to come back for him!"

"You were in the study signing custody papers," Roman said.

He gestured toward the open window of his office, where the three pages lay on his walnut desk.

Emergency guardianship.

Parental neglect.

Unsafe domestic environment.

"You brought those papers here today for me to sign," Roman continued, the horrifying puzzle pieces locking together in his mind. "You knew I’d never sign them voluntarily. But if my son was found on the verge of heatstroke on my property... if the paramedics arrived and found a neglected child in a hot car while his father was locked in his study... you’d have your emergency order signed by a judge before sunset."

Evelyn went deathly quiet. The weeping stopped instantly. The look on her face was no longer that of a grieving aunt, but of a cornered predator.

"You don't deserve him, Roman," Evelyn hissed, her voice cold as marble. "You killed my sister. You drove her to her grave with your paranoia and your dirty business. You don't deserve Claire's child. That baby belongs with the Whitmore family! The trust belongs to us!"

"Ah," Roman whispered, a dark, terrifying smile touching his lips. "There it is. The trust."

Claire’s father had left a $40 million real estate trust that transferred automatically to Claire’s living children upon her death. If Nicholas died or was placed under the legal guardianship of Evelyn Whitmore, Evelyn became the sole trustee of the $40 million portfolio.

"Charles," Roman said, without looking away from Evelyn.

"Y-yes, Roman?" the attorney squeaked.

"You drafted those custody papers for her?"

"I... I was merely representing Mrs. Whitmore’s legal inquiries—"

"You're fired," Roman said. "And if you aren't off my property in sixty seconds, I’ll call Detective Miller and give him the offshore banking records I found in your firm’s audit last month."

Charles Vane didn't argue. He turned on his heel, grabbed his leather briefcase from the porch, and sprinted toward his car like a man escaping a burning building.

Roman looked at Evelyn. "You have thirty seconds to get off my land before I have my men remove you. If you ever set foot within five miles of my son again, I won't call the police. I’ll handle it myself."

Evelyn glared at Roman, then at Rachel, and finally at four-year-old Sophie.