The elevator slowed, the sudden deceleration making Allegra's stomach drop. The doors slid open to the hospital's main lobby.

Four men in identical black suits immediately stepped forward, forming a tight semicircle around the elevator doors. Kyler's private security.

A second later, the adjacent elevator chimed. Kyler marched out, his face like thunder. He had used his override key to follow her down.

Allegra's grip on the scissors tightened until her fingers went numb.

We can't fight four armed gorillas, Mom, Rosalie's voice sighed. Time to play dumb.

Kyler stopped in front of the wheelchair. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out his phone to call his medical team. He moved too fast.

A folded piece of crisp white paper slipped from his pocket and fluttered to the polished floor tiles.

Allegra's eyes darted down. The bold, red text at the top of the document burned into her retinas: Urgent Extradition & Transfer Protocol - Neonatal ICU. It had no hospital header.

She pushed the wheelchair forward half an inch, trapping the paper beneath her bare, bloody heel.

"Did you see that? It's a transfer order to a private lab! Oh, and by the way, your premature labor wasn't an accident. I tasted the bitter powder in your prenatal vitamins!"

The metallic taste of blood rushed back into Allegra's mouth. Murder. Someone had tampered with her vitamins. Could it really be Kyler? The man who held her while she cried? Her mind violently rejected the thought, spiraling into a chaotic vortex of denial and terror.

She bit down on the soft flesh inside her cheek, tearing the skin, using the sharp physical pain to anchor herself to reality. If she lost control now, she was dead.

Kyler dialed a number, his voice devoid of emotion. "Bring the sedatives down to the lobby. My wife needs to rest."

Allegra opened her hand. The surgical scissors clattered loudly against the floor.

She threw both hands over her face and let out a guttural, agonizing wail. Her whole body convulsed. She sobbed, the sound echoing off the high ceiling, raw and broken.

"I'm sorry!" she choked out, her words slurring with fake hysteria. "I'm so sorry, Kyler! I was just so scared! She was still warm, I swear she was..."

The sight of her completely shattered, weeping uncontrollably, worked like a drug on Kyler. His massive ego fed on her submission. The tension drained from his shoulders.

He ended the call and slipped the phone away. A look of supreme, condescending pity washed over his face.

He bent down and wrapped his arms around Allegra, pulling her and the baby against his chest. He stroked her hair, reveling in the return of his power.

Allegra pressed her face into his expensive lapel. The scent of Candice's floral perfume clung to the fabric. It made her want to vomit, but her eyes, hidden against his chest, were dry and dead.

The bodyguards parted. Kyler pushed the wheelchair toward the underground parking garage. A black Maybach idled near the VIP exit.

Gus, Kyler's personal driver, stood by the open rear door. He wore white gloves. His dark eyes flicked to the blood on Allegra's gown for a fraction of a second.

Don't look at the driver, Rosalie warned. He's Kyler's bagman for the cartel. He's got bodies on him.

Allegra closed her eyes, playing the exhausted victim, and let Kyler lift her from the chair and place her onto the soft leather seat of the Maybach.

The heavy door slammed shut, sealing them inside. The cabin smelled of rich leather and the coppery tang of Allegra's blood.

Kyler reached across the seat, his fingers pulling at the edge of the blanket. "Let me see her, Allegra. I need to confirm..."

Allegra shrank back against the door, clutching the bundle to her chest. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and pleading.

"Please," she whimpered, her voice trembling perfectly. "Let me hold her for one night. Just tonight. Tomorrow... tomorrow I'll let them take her. Please, Kyler."

Kyler stared at her pale, pathetic face. He knew the baby was dead. The stem cells would remain viable in the cold body for another twenty-four hours. And in his penthouse, she was trapped. He could afford to play the benevolent husband.

He slowly pulled his hand back. "Alright. One night."

The Maybach pulled out of the garage and merged into the heavy traffic of Fifth Avenue.

Allegra turned her head, watching the blurred neon lights of Manhattan slide across the tinted glass. Beneath the blanket, her thumb stroked her daughter's warm cheek. I am going to find out the truth, she vowed silently, her heart breaking into a thousand jagged pieces.

The car descended into the private garage of their penthouse building. The nightmare was only just beginning.

Allegra staggered out of the private elevator, leaning heavily against the penthouse foyer wall. Sweat beaded on her forehead as the fresh surgical incision screamed with every movement. She ignored Nigel's stiff bow, dragging herself down the hallway toward the nursery like a wounded animal.

She collapsed against the nursery door, fumbling the deadbolt into place. Not enough. Her eyes darted to the velvet armchair—impossible to move in her state. Instead, she hooked her foot around the leg of a lightweight vanity stool and scraped it across the floor. It wedged pitifully under the handle, but the metal-on-wood scrape sent white-hot agony through her abdomen.

Safe. Barely.

Gasping, she crawled to the crib and lowered Rosalie onto the silk sheets.

Mom, Rosalie's mental voice pierced through the pain. Two bugs. Chandelier crystal. Teddy bear's left eye.

Allegra bit back a whimper. She hauled herself up using the crib rail, leaving bloody fingerprints on the polished wood. The oversized bear mocked her from the rocking chair. Digging her nail into the plastic eye, she pried it loose. A red light blinked.

She didn't smash it. Limping to the dresser, she slapped the white noise machine on. Static roared, drowning the thud of her own heartbeat.

Gathering Rosalie, she stumbled into the walk-in closet. Darkness swallowed them, the soundproofing a tangible relief.

Look.

Images detonated in Allegra's mind: FBI swarming Bartlett Tower. Preston on a bridge ledge. Cordelia in prison orange.

Poisoned terror seized her nerves. She dropped to her knees, dry heaves wracking her torn body. Bile burned her throat as she choked into her palm.

Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, her eyes hardened. Contact Preston. Now.

Kyler confiscated her phone weeks ago. The bedroom landline was tapped.

Crawling to the closet's depths, she tore at a stack of luggage. Her trembling fingers found the old iPad and power bank in a dusty duffel—hurricane prep from another life.

She pressed the power button. Light bloomed.

Bypassing secured networks, she caught a faint signal from the café below.

Browser open. URL entered: the encrypted Ivy League forum. Dormant thread. Direct message to a ghost profile.

Blue bird grounded in Manhattan. Requesting nest.

Their childhood spy code. Unused in thirty years.

Ten seconds. The screen flashed. Unknown VoIP call.

"Preston. It's me. Don't hang up. Don't call police."

"Ally?" Preston's voice was calm steel. "Kyler called. Said you lost the baby. Said you're psychotic. Sedated."

Allegra bit her lip until copper flooded her tongue. "Lies. He's killing Rosalie. Draining Bartlett accounts."

Silence. Preston needed proof, not panic.

Tell him Texas dirt holes, Rosalie projected—oil rigs, forged stamps. Daddy faked papers.

"Preston," Allegra rasped, "the Texas energy deal. Core samples... Kyler faked the reports. Set you up."

A ceramic mug exploded through the speaker. Only three executives knew.

Preston's voice turned arctic. "What do you need?"

"PI. Zero ties to Camacho."

"Done. Cordelia's en route. Sunrise."

The screen died.

Thud. The nursery door shuddered. The stool scraped.

"Allegra." Kyler's voice iced through the wood. "What are you doing?"

The elevator chime pierced the penthouse at 6:00 AM. Nigel smoothed his lapels, ready to intercept intruders.

Steel doors slid open.

Cordelia Bartlett strode out, trench coat swirling. Four Blackwater-tier guards flanked her. Nigel raised a hand: "Mr. and Mrs. Camacho are—"

Alex Stone slammed his shoulder into the butler's chest. Nigel skidded across marble.

Allegra emerged from the hallway, clutching Rosalie. She leaned against the doorframe, surgical incision burning beneath her silk robe. Sweat beaded on her pale forehead.

Cordelia ripped off her sunglasses. The CEO mask shattered. She rushed forward—then froze, noticing her sister's wince. Gentle. Her hug became a careful cradle, avoiding the bandaged abdomen.

Whoa, Rosalie's mental voice chirped. Auntie who loses a kidney to a crypto bro?

Allegra flinched. Coffee sloshed over her hand—but the real pain was the vision of Cordelia bleeding out in a Bangkok alley.

"Ally!" Cordelia dabbed the burn, eyes narrowing at Allegra's tremor. "What did that bastard—"

"Julian." Allegra gripped her sister's wrist. "The crypto returns... check the IP. Now."

Cordelia went statue-still. She hadn't told a soul about Julian.

"The baby—" Nigel wheezed from the floor, fumbling for his walkie-talkie. "Mr. Camacho said she was—"

Alex snatched the radio and dunked it into a Ming vase. Bubbles rose in the murky water.

Cordelia didn't glance at Nigel. Her gaze locked on Rosalie—alive, breathing, staring. Kyler's lie crystallized: psychotic break over a dead child. Rage ignited in her eyes.

She whipped out her phone. "Freeze the twenty-million wire to Julian Vanguard. Flag it as fraud." Hanging up, she stared at Allegra: "How?"

"Mother's intuition." Allegra pressed Rosalie's warm cheek to Cordelia's palm—proof of life. "Now we're even."

Cordelia trembled. From her bag's hidden lining, she produced a matte-black phone. "Military encryption. Kyler's bugs are deaf to this."

Allegra clasped the cold metal. A loaded gun.

The master bedroom door clicked open. Kyler emerged in silk pajamas, feigning sleepiness. His smile died at the armed guards.

"Cordelia! What a—"

"I'm taking Ally shopping." Cordelia slid into her spoiled heiress persona, but venom laced every word. "This mausoleum reeks of incompetence."

Kyler stepped closer, oozing false concern. "Her doctor ordered bed rest."

"Funny." Cordelia's laugh was ice shards. "Doctors also declared my niece dead last night." She nodded at Rosalie's stirring form. "Your incompetence spans life and death, Kyler."

His face purpled. The guards shifted, hands brushing jacket hems where weapons bulged. Kyler's fists clenched—powerless in his own domain.