Rosa brought an extra chair, and Caspian sat down to my left.

Margaret smiled that tight, bloodless smile she reserved for outsiders. “So, Mr. Gray. Seattle is quite a long way from Park Avenue. What line of work are you in again?”

“Corporate security and risk assessment, Mrs. Coleman,” Caspian said smoothly. He pulled off his wool coat and draped it over the back of his chair. “I help people protect what they can’t afford to lose.”

Wyatt laughed, a dry, dismissive sound. “Sounds thrilling.”

While Margaret leaned in to ask another pointed question, Caspian moved.

Under the table, out of sight beneath the dark mahogany rim, his hand found mine. His fingers were warm, rough, and steady. He pressed a small, cool glass vial into my palm.

Our fingers brushed for half a second.

We didn’t look at each other. My eyes stayed locked on the red ribbon on the mantle. His eyes stayed on the dealer’s button.

Then, deep in my gut, a sharp twitch hit.

The bourbon was wearing off.

*“Who’s the stray?”* the voice sneered inside my head. It was faint, but the venom was there, sharp as a needle. *“He smells poor. Fold your cards, incubator. Daddy’s getting impatient.”*

A sick chill rushed through my blood. I curled my fingers tight around the vial. The glass was cold and smooth.

*Just you wait,* I thought. *Just you wait.*

I slipped the vial into the deep pocket of my wool cardigan.

“All right,” Wyatt said, clapping his hands together. “New player at the table. Five-card draw? Or Texas hold ’em?”

“No-limit hold ’em,” Caspian replied, his voice calm and even. “If that’s fine with you.”

“Suits me,” Wyatt said.

Wyatt dealt the cards. Two to Caspian, two to Margaret, two to me, two to Lilith, two to himself.

I looked at my hand. King of hearts, ten of spades.

Under my ribs, the kicks started again. *Tap. Tap-tap.* A pause. Then three rapid shudders.

Wyatt tapped two fingers against the wood. *Tap, tap.*

Across from him, Lilith gave an almost invisible nod. Her crimson lips parted in a smug, quiet grin.

It was so obvious once I knew what to look for. The tapping matched the kicks. The kicks told Wyatt my high card. And Wyatt signaled Lilith so she knew when to bet and when to get out of the way.

They were stealing from me. Right at my own holiday table.

Beside me, Caspian picked up his two cards, glanced at them once, and laid them face down.

His gray eyes flicked to Wyatt’s hand on the table. Then to the slight movement beneath my sweater. Then to Lilith’s little nod.

Caspian didn’t flinch. His expression was completely blank. But I knew that look. I had seen it when we were teenagers playing in smoky backrooms in Seattle.

He had already solved the puzzle.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t flip the table. Instead, he just reached for his chips.

The flop came down. Queen of hearts, eight of spades, two of diamonds.

Wyatt smiled. “Check to the new guy.”

Caspian pushed out a clean stack of yellow chips. “Three hundred.”

Wyatt frowned. “Three hundred on a dry board?”

“Take it or leave it, Coleman,” Caspian said softly.

Wyatt glanced at my belly. But Caspian’s bet was too large, too sudden. Knowing my cards didn’t help Wyatt here. If Caspian had a pair of Queens, Wyatt was drawing dead.

Wyatt’s jaw shifted. He tapped the wood once, hard.

*Tap.*

He folded.

Lilith’s eyes flared with anger. She glared at Caspian, then down at her own cards. She had spent the last two hours winning every pot. She had Wyatt wrapped around her finger. She had his family’s approval. And she had her baby growing inside me.

She was drunk on power. And she hated losing control.

“Fold,” Margaret murmured, tossing her cards into the muck.

It was just Lilith and Caspian.

Lilith reached for her wine glass and took a long, slow sip. Her eyes were bright, glassy, and completely reckless.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you, Mr. Gray?” she purred.

Caspian didn’t answer. He just watched her, unblinking.

Lilith pushed her chips forward with both hands. The heavy clay clattered across the green felt. “I call. And I raise.”

“Lilith,” Wyatt warned in a low murmur. “Don’t get crazy.”

“I’m not crazy, Wyatt,” she snapped.

She turned her head and looked directly at me. Her smile was vicious. All the fake politeness was gone. Her eyes were feverish, wild with something dark and ugly.

“Let’s make this interesting, Mercy,” Lilith said. Her voice cut through the quiet room like a knife.

“Lilith, that’s enough,” Wyatt said, his voice tightening.

She ignored him completely. She leaned across the table, her gaze locked on mine.

“Chips are boring,” she whispered. “Let’s play for real stakes. When that boy is born... the first time he opens his mouth, he calls *me* Mommy.”

The room went dead silent.

The grandfather clock ticked in the hallway.

Margaret froze, her china teacup stopping an inch above the saucer. Slowly, carefully, she set it down with a sharp *clink*.

Wyatt tried to laugh. A weak, strangled sound that died instantly in his throat. “Lilith, come on. You’ve had too much pinot. That’s a bizarre joke.”

Lilith didn’t blink. She didn’t look at Wyatt.

Her eyes stayed glued to mine, burning with pure malice.

“I’m not joking,” she said.