Chapter 4
The private study on the third floor was lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves and smelled of old leather and rain. A fire crackled in the grate, throwing dancing shadows across the heavy Persian rugs.
I sat on the velvet sofa, holding Nora tightly against my chest. She had finally woken up, rubbing her sleepy eyes with the back of her hand, completely unbothered by the storm swirling around her. She was happily coloring a drawing of a green dog in the sketchbook Adrian had pulled from an antique drawer.
Adrian stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the sprawling estate grounds where sleek black towncars were beginning to arrive for the council dinner.
"Start talking, Maya," Adrian said, not turning around. "And remember: if I catch you in a single lie, I won't need the police to ruin your life."
I took a deep, shaky breath, smoothing down Nora’s curls.
"Three years ago, I wasn't a maid," I began, my voice steadying. "I was an emergency room nurse at St. Jude’s Memorial, sixty miles south of here."
Adrian’s shoulders tensed, but he didn't interrupt.
"It was a Tuesday night. A violent thunderstorm had knocked out the main power grid, and the backup generators were flickering. Around two in the morning, a woman stumbled through the ambulance bay doors. She wasn't an incoming patient from an ambulance. She came on foot."
Adrian turned slowly. His face was a mask of carved stone, but his hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides.
"Describe her," Adrian ordered quietly.
"She was terrified," I said, the memory as fresh as yesterday. "Drenched in rain. Bruised across her face and collarbone. Her clothes were torn, and she was clutching her stomach. She was heavily pregnant. She had an incision wound across her forearm—a defensive cut."
Adrian’s breath hitched. "Evelyn had a scar on her left forearm from fencing in college."
"This was fresh," I continued. "She refused to let triage register her name. She grabbed my wrist with superhuman strength. She whispered, 'They tampered with my brakes. They chased me off the road. If they find me, they will cut my baby out of me.' I thought she was delirious, having a psychotic break from trauma."
I paused, looking down at Nora, who was happily humming a cartoon theme song.
"Ten minutes later, her water broke. We rushed her into an unmonitored trauma room because she kept begging me not to enter her name into the digital system. She said the hospital's board was owned by Kane Global. She said the moment her name popped up on a screen, the men who ran her off the road would come to finish the job."
Adrian closed his eyes, his breathing shallow and rapid. "And then?"
"She delivered a healthy baby girl," I whispered. "It was the most difficult delivery I’d ever assisted with. There were complications. Postpartum hemorrhaging. We didn't have the blood supply ready because she wouldn't let us run the standard cross-match."
I felt a tear slip down my cheek.
"Evelyn knew she was dying. The bleeding wouldn't stop. Before she lost consciousness, she unclasped that silver locket from her neck and pressed it into my hand. She looked at me, crying, and said: *'Do not give her to Adrian yet. Adrian is surrounded by vipers. They will kill her to inherit Kane Global. Hide her. Call her Nora. When she is three, bring her to the house. Adrian will know her.'*"
The room fell dead silent, save for the crackle of the fireplace.
"She died forty minutes later," I said, wiping my face. "I was terrified. An hour after she flatlined, two men in dark suits arrived at the ER demanding to see the Jane Doe intake log. They weren't cops. They flashed Kane security badges. I saw them talking to the night administrator. That's when I realized Evelyn wasn't paranoid. She was telling the truth."
Adrian walked toward me, his movements slow, measured, like a man walking through a minefield. He stopped in front of the sofa, looking down at me with an intensity that burned.
"What did you do with the body?" he asked, his voice cracking.
"I didn't do anything," I answered honestly. "The two men had a private medical transport van. They loaded her body into the back without a death certificate and drove away into the storm. The next morning on the news, they reported that Evelyn Kane had died in an explosion on Route 9, her car incinerated beyond recognition. They staged the crash site using her dead body."
Adrian dropped to one knee in front of Nora.
His large hand hovered over the little girl’s head, trembling violently, before he gently rested his palm against her cheek. Nora stopped coloring, looked up at him with her enormous hazel eyes—eyes that were an exact, mirror replica of Adrian’s own—and gave him a gummy, innocent smile.
"Hi," Nora chirped.
"Hi, sweetheart," Adrian whispered, a single tear cutting a path through the dust on his cheek.
Just then, the heavy double doors of the study swung open.
Dr. Mercer, the family physician, walked in carrying a silver metallic case, accompanied by Julian Kane.
"Adrian," Julian said, his voice laced with false concern. "Mercer is here. We can run the rapid PCR blood panel. Results in twenty minutes. Let's put an end to this pathetic fairy tale so we can all go down to the dinner."
Adrian slowly stood up. The grief on his face hardened instantly into an expression of pure, unadulterated vengeance.
"Run the test, Mercer," Adrian commanded. "And Julian?"
Julian paused, narrowing his eyes. "Yes?"
May you like
"Don't leave the room," Adrian said softly. "Because when the test comes back positive, I'm going to ask you why my wife's body was taken from St. Jude's Memorial three years ago by men carrying your personal security clearance."
***
