The police didn't come to arrest the aunt who pushed my daughter off the balcony—they came with handcuffs for me after my husband handed them a altered medical report.

The hallway fell dead silent.

Even the nurses at the station stopped typing. Every set of eyes turned to me, filled with horror, disgust, and condemnation.

"You threw your own child off a balcony?" the second police officer muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening in revulsion.

"NO! NO, THAT IS A LIE!" My screams echoed off the ceiling, bouncing between the linoleum and glass. "Declan, you know that’s a lie! Tell them! Sutton was on the balcony! The photographer saw it! Look at the photographer's camera!"

"Mr. Higgins provided sworn video testimony thirty minutes ago, ma'am," Detective Miller said, closing the folder with a sharp snap. "He testified that Miss Sutton Vance was downstairs when the commotion began, and that he observed you alone on the upper terrace with your daughter immediately preceding the fall."

"They paid him!" I cried, grabbing at Detective Miller’s trench coat. "They bought him off! Don't you see who these people are? They own the city!"

"Turn around and place your hands behind your back," Detective Miller commanded, his voice cold as an iron grave.

"No! Please! Let me see Nola! She’s waking up, she can tell you! Nola will tell you what happened!"

"Elena Vance, you are under arrest for aggravated child abuse, assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted second-degree murder."

The metallic click of handcuffs ratcheting shut over my right wrist sounded like a gunshot in the sterile corridor.

The officer wrenched my left arm back, forcing the cold steel over my skin, pulling the ratchets tight until the teeth bit into my bone. They shoved me against the wall, flattening my cheek against the cold institutional paint.

"Declan!" I sobbed, tears blinding me. "Declan, look at me! You know what you're doing to her! She’s your daughter!"

Declan stood behind the detective, completely dry-eyed now. The fake grief was gone, replaced by a terrifying, crystalline satisfaction. Beside him, Arthur Sterling closed his leather briefcase and gave a curt nod of approval.

"I’m having the court issue an emergency ex-parte protection order, Elena," Arthur said calmly, tucking his pen into his breast pocket. "You are prohibited from contacting Nola Vance, directly or through third parties. Any attempt to access her medical records or enter this facility will constitute a felony breach."

"You won't get away with this," I choked out as the officers dragged me backward toward the elevators. "The truth always comes out! God will punish you, Declan!"

As the silver elevator doors slid open, Rowena Vance stepped out. She wore an immaculate charcoal coat over her evening gown, not a single hair out of place.

She looked at me in handcuffs. Then she leaned in, her perfume—heavy, suffocating tuberose—filling my nose.

"A stray dog should never bite the hand that fed it, Elena," she whispered, her voice a razor dipped in honey. "Enjoy your cage."