The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed twelve times. The house was silent, a heavy, breathing beast.

Anona walked barefoot down the corridor, her shoes in her hand. She knew where the cameras were. She stuck to the shadows, a ghost in her own prison.

Harrison's study door was ajar. A sliver of amber light spilled onto the carpet.

She pushed it open.

Harrison sat in a wingback leather chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He wasn't reading. He was waiting.

Sit, he said.

Anona placed a small USB drive on the desk. It's all there. Alexander moved fifty million over the last two years.

Harrison picked up the drive. He plugged it into his laptop. His eyes scanned the data streams, reflecting the scrolling numbers.

His eyebrows lifted. You compiled this? This isn't just accounting. This is forensic auditing.

I have my CPA, Mr. Sterling, Anona said, sitting on the edge of the chair. Before I was Alexander's wife, I was the best.

Harrison closed the laptop. Good. But it's not enough to bury him. We need to know where the money went.

Anona hesitated. She twisted her wedding ring.

I'm still tracing it. But... I think it's connected to the clinic.

Harrison's hand froze on his glass. Which clinic?

Sterling Fertility. Where we did the IVF.

Harrison stood up abruptly. The ice in his glass clinked.

What did he do at the clinic, Anona?

I don't know, she said, shrinking back slightly at his intensity. The records are encrypted. But he was obsessed with hiding something there.

Harrison turned away, running a hand through his hair. He knew exactly what Alexander was hiding. The mix-up. The baby.

Keep digging, Harrison commanded, turning back to her. Whatever you find, you bring to me first.

He was standing close now. Too close. Anona could smell the whiskey and the clean, sharp scent of his aftershave.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Heavy. Fast.

Harrison's eyes widened. He grabbed Anona's arm.

Hide.

Where?

He shoved her gently but firmly behind his massive mahogany desk. Down.

Anona crouched in the kneehole of the desk. It was tight. She pulled her knees to her chest. She risked a glance at his monitor before he sat. A file was open, titled 'Blanchard Contingency-Medical Asset Protection.' Her blood ran cold.

Harrison sat down in his chair and pulled it forward, his legs blocking her from view.

The door swung open.

Uncle? Alexander's voice. You're still up?

Anona held her breath. She was pressed against Harrison's legs. She could feel the heat radiating from him through the wool of his trousers.

I'm reviewing the European markets, Harrison said, his voice calm, bored. Do you need something?

Alexander stepped into the room. I thought I heard voices.

I'm on a call with Tokyo, Harrison lied smoothly. Do you want me to recap the meeting for you?

No, Alexander said. Christy said she saw Anona wandering around. I thought she might be bothering you.

Harrison scoffed. Your wife? She doesn't have the spine to knock on my door.

Anona bit her lip so hard she tasted copper. Harrison's calf muscle tensed against her side. It was an intimate, secret touch that made her skin burn.

Check the guest rooms, Harrison said. And close my door.

Alexander lingered for a second, then turned. The door clicked shut.

Harrison waited a beat, then rolled his chair back. He reached down and offered Anona his hand.

She took it. He pulled her up. She stumbled, her legs numb, and fell against his chest.

For a second, neither of them moved. His hands were on her waist, steadying her. Her palms were flat against his shirt.

Go, Harrison whispered, his voice rough.

Anona fled the room, her heart pounding louder than the storm outside.

The ballroom was a sea of diamonds and black ties. It was Anona's birthday, but the banner above the stage felt like a tombstone.

Anona wore the dress Harrison had sent anonymously. Emerald green silk that clung to her frame like liquid armor. Alexander had sneered at it, asking whose credit card she had stolen.

Christy Shaw took the stage. She tapped the microphone.

Good evening, everyone. Tonight, we celebrate Anona. But... we also have to share some difficult news.

The lights dimmed. The massive screen behind the stage flickered to life.

A video played. Grainy footage of Anona entering a motel room at 2 AM.

The crowd gasped.

It was footage of Anona meeting her private investigator last week. But edited, it looked like a sordid tryst.

Alexander walked onto the stage, looking devastatingly sad. Anona... we tried to help you. Your instability... it's hurting the company.

Flashes popped like gunfire. Anona stood at the foot of the stage, alone.

Christy walked down the steps, a look of faux concern plastered on her face. Anona, honey. Just admit you need help. Alexander has a bed waiting for you at Serenity Hills.

A trap. If she admitted to mental instability, the prenup voided her rights. They would take the baby. They would take her trust fund.

Anona looked at Christy. Then at Alexander.

She smiled. It was a terrifying, broken thing.

She walked up the stairs. She grabbed the microphone from Alexander's hand.

Since we're watching movies, she said, her voice echoing through the hall, let's watch the director's cut.

She walked to the AV podium, and with a move so swift no one registered it, she swapped a USB drive in the presentation laptop.

The screen glitched. The motel footage vanished.

In its place, high-definition security footage from Alexander's office appeared.

Alexander and Christy were on the couch. But it wasn't the sex that silenced the room. It was the audio.

As soon as we commit her, Christy's voice rang out, clear and sharp, the trust fund unlocks. We can pay off the debt to Vanguard.

She's weak, Alexander's voice replied. She'll fold.

The ballroom went dead silent.

Anona turned to Alexander. Is this the instability you were talking about?

Alexander's face drained of color. He lunged for the power cord, but the system was locked. He stared, not at the screen, but at her. This wasn't the work of a mastermind. She must have paid someone, stolen a file. A desperate, clumsy move. He had underestimated the threat.

You bitch! Christy shrieked, covering her face as the cameras turned on her.

Alexander grabbed Anona's wrist, his grip bruising. You ruined us!

You ruined yourself, Anona spat.

Security guards rushed the stage, unsure who to tackle.

A sharp pain ripped through Anona's abdomen. Stress.

She stumbled, her vision blurring. The floor rushed up to meet her.

She didn't hit it.

Strong arms caught her.

Harrison Sterling stood there. He had come out of the shadows.

He took off his tuxedo jacket and draped it over Anona's shoulders, shielding her from the cameras.

He looked at Alexander. The look was a death sentence.

This circus is over, Harrison said. I'm taking her.

Alexander opened his mouth, but Harrison's glare silenced him.

Harrison scooped Anona up against his side, guiding her through the stunned crowd.

Don't look at them, he murmured into her hair. Look at me.

Anona buried her face in his shirt, inhaling the scent of sandalwood and safety, as he walked her out of hell.

Anona woke up in a room she didn't recognize. The sheets were high thread count, gray. The walls were lined with art that cost more than her life.

Harrison's penthouse.

A doctor was packing up his bag by the door.

"The fetus is stable, for now," the doctor said to Harrison, who was standing by the window. "But her stress levels are a ticking clock. Any significant shock, physical or emotional, could be catastrophic."

Harrison nodded. Leave us.

He walked to the bed. Anona sat up, clutching the duvet.

Thank you, she whispered. For last night.

Harrison poured a glass of water from a crystal carafe. Don't misunderstand. I was protecting the stock price. Caldwell dropped fifteen percent this morning.

He handed her the glass. His fingers lingered on hers for a second too long.

Her phone rang on the nightstand. Father.

Anona picked it up.

You ungrateful wretch! Burrell Blanchard's voice was so loud Harrison could hear it. You destroyed the merger! Get home now!

Anona's hand shook. I'm not coming back.

If you don't, Burrell hissed, I'm calling the hospital. Your sister's ventilator gets turned off in an hour.

Anona dropped the phone.

Harrison stepped forward. What did he say?

Anona swung her legs out of bed. I have to go. They're going to kill her.

I'll drive you, Harrison said.

No. Anona stood up, swaying slightly. This is family business. If you get involved, the stock tanks further. Stay out of it.

She grabbed her purse and ran out.

Harrison watched her go. He pulled out his phone.

Vance, he said to his head of security. Follow her. And find out where her sister is hospitalized. Now.

The library at the Blanchard estate smelled of cigars and betrayal.

Anona walked in. Christy was there, crying into a handkerchief.

Burrell Blanchard threw a whiskey glass at Anona's feet. It shattered, shards flying.

Apologize to Christy! Burrell roared. And sign a statement saying you faked that video!

Anona looked at her father. She slept with my husband. And you want me to apologize?

Eleanor stepped forward. Christy brought the new funding agreement. If you cooperate, the family is saved.

Anona felt cold. So you're selling me. Again.

Christy looked up, her eyes dry and hard. It's not just money, Anona. It's for your sister. Sign the confession, or we stop the payments.

Anona lunged at her.

Burrell moved to shove Anona, but she sidestepped him, her body tense. A sharp pain exploded low in her abdomen from the sudden movement, making her gasp.

Sign it! Burrell pointed to a document on the desk. Admission of Mental Incompetence and Fabrication of Evidence.

Anona looked at the paper. If she signed, she lost her freedom. She lost her baby.

But if she didn't...

She picked up the pen. Her hand trembled violently.

She lowered the tip to the paper.