When my pregnant daughter's blouse slipped, boot-shaped bruises covered her back—and her terrifying confession sent a chill down my spine.

I had less than four seconds.

I ripped the flash drive from the USB port, shoved it into my pocket, and closed the laptop lid. The room was bathed in pitch darkness except for the sliver of moonlight cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The doorknob turned.

I pressed my back against the wall directly behind the heavy oak door. The door swung inward, shielding me by a fraction of an inch as Julian stepped inside.

He didn't turn on the overhead lights. He simply stood in the doorway, his silhouette imposing and broad. He exhaled a long, ragged sigh, then walked straight toward his desk.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a caged bird, but I kept my breathing entirely soundless. Military training never truly leaves your bones; when danger enters the room, you become a ghost.

Julian reached into his pocket and placed something metallic on the glass desk.

*Clink.*

A vial of clear liquid, alongside a pre-loaded syringe.

He sat down in his leather executive chair, leaned his head back, and dialed a number on speakerphone. The line rang twice before a raspy voice answered.

"Did you secure the alternate anesthesiologist for next Friday?" Julian asked, his voice chillingly flat.

"Yes, Dr. Thorne," the voice replied. "Dr. Vance is on the schedule. He understands the dosage requirements. The mother will suffer respiratory distress during the spinal block. It will be documented as an unforeseen allergic reaction."

"Good," Julian murmured. "And the baby?"

"Healthy. The nursery team has orders to transfer the infant directly to your private ward. No outside visitors."

"Ensure Eleanor Vance is barred from the building. If the mother’s family creates a scene, have hospital security detain them under psychiatric hold. I want Chloe isolated before she even realizes what happened."

"Consider it handled."

Julian hung up. He picked up the syringe, twirling it between his long, surgical fingers in the moonlight. "Such a pity, Chloe," he whispered to the empty room. "You should have known better than to challenge me."

He stood up, grabbed the vial, and walked out of the study, leaving the door ajar.

I waited until his footsteps faded down the hall toward the master bedroom. In the dark, a cold, predatory rage settled deep into my gut.