Claudia spent the rest of the afternoon at her father's bedside. He was still unconscious, the rhythmic whoosh of the ventilator the only sound in the room. She sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, her hand resting protectively over her abdomen, praying that the impact with the desk hadn't harmed the tiny life inside her.

At 6:00 PM, her phone rang. The screen displayed Unknown Number, but she knew who it was. Only one person called from a blocked line with such punctuality.

She answered. "Hello?"

"Dinner. Tonight. The Estate."

Granddame Sanford's voice was like cracking parchment-old, brittle, but commanding absolute authority.

"Granddame, I can't," Claudia said tiredly. "My father is-"

"I know where your father is. The car is downstairs. Be in it."

The line went dead.

Claudia looked out the hospital window. Sure enough, a sleek black Rolls Royce was idling at the curb, a shark in a sea of minnows.

She sighed, kissed her father's cold forehead, and went downstairs.

The driver, a man named Thomas who had worked for the Sanfords for thirty years, opened the door for her. The interior of the car smelled of rich leather and a heavy, musk-based air freshener.

As soon as the door closed, sealing her in, her stomach lurched. The scent was suffocating. She rolled the window down, gulping in the exhaust-filled city air just to keep from retching.

The drive to Long Island took an hour. They pulled through the iron gates of the Sanford Estate as the sun began to set over the ocean. The house was a monstrosity of stone and ivy, looming against the darkening sky like a fortress.

Mrs. Higgins, the housekeeper, was waiting at the massive front doors. She was a severe woman with grey hair pulled back so tight it pulled her eyes into a perpetual squint.

"You're late," she sniffed. Her eyes dropped immediately to Claudia's midsection, lingering there for a fraction of a second too long.

Claudia's heart skipped a beat. Did she know? Mrs. Higgins saw everything. She counted the silverware, the linens, and probably the bathroom trash.

Claudia walked past her into the main hall. Granddame Sanford was seated in her high-backed velvet chair near the fireplace, a cane resting against her knee. She was eighty years old, draped in pearls, looking like a queen on a throne.

She didn't offer a greeting. She just pointed a gnarled finger at Claudia's face.

"You look terrible," she stated. "Pale. Gaunt. And Higgins tells me you've been vomiting in the mornings."

Claudia froze. "I... I have a stomach bug. The stress... with my father..."

"Higgins also mentioned she found a receipt from a pharmacy in your trash," Granddame continued, her eyes narrowing. "And she saw you coming out of the obstetrics wing at the hospital today."

Panic flared in Claudia's chest. She opened her mouth to lie, to deny it, but the front door slammed open behind her.

Ezequiel strode in.

He looked exhausted. His tie was undone, his hair slightly messy. He had clearly come straight from Alexa's bedside.

He stopped when he saw them. "What is this? An inquisition?"

"We were discussing the future of the family," Granddame said, her voice sharp. "Something you seem to have forgotten about."

Ezequiel walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink, ignoring his wife completely. "There is no future for this family, Grandmother. Not with her."

"Is that so?" Granddame turned her gaze back to Claudia. "Tell him, Claudia. Tell him why you're really sick."

Ezequiel turned slowly, glass in hand. He looked at Claudia, really looked at her, for the first time in weeks. His gaze traveled down to her stomach.

"You're not," he said. It was a statement of disbelief. He let out a short, cruel laugh. "Don't be ridiculous, Grandmother. We haven't slept together in months. And when we did..." He waved his hand dismissively. "We took precautions."

"Accidents happen," Granddame said softly. "Miracles happen."

"This isn't a miracle," Ezequiel sneered. "It's a lie. She's desperate. She'll say anything to stop the divorce."

He walked toward Claudia, stepping into her personal space. The smell of whiskey was on his breath.

"Well?" he challenged, his eyes cold. "Are you pregnant? Or is this just another one of your pathetic schemes to stay attached to my wallet?"

Claudia dug her fingernails into her palms, the pain grounding her. She looked straight into Ezequiel's eyes, summoning every ounce of acting ability she possessed.

"I am not pregnant," she said, her voice steady and hard. "I have acute gastritis from stress. Because my husband is trying to bankrupt my father while sleeping with his ex-girlfriend."

The lie hung in the air.

Ezequiel let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. His shoulders relaxed. A smirk touched his lips.

"See?" He turned to his grandmother. "She's not pregnant. Just sick. Sick with jealousy."

Granddame stared at Claudia. Her eyes were intelligent, probing. She didn't look convinced, but she nodded slowly.

"Very well," she said. "Dinner is served."

They moved to the long dining table. It was set for three, the distance between them vast. The silverware gleamed under the crystal chandelier.

Servants appeared silently, placing plates in front of them.

"Trout Meunière," the chef announced.

The smell hit Claudia like a physical blow. The scent of warm butter and fishy oil wafted up from the plate. Her stomach convulsed violently. Saliva flooded her mouth-the precursor to vomit.

She grabbed her water goblet and downed it in one go, trying to wash away the nausea. She breathed through her mouth, staring at the fish's dead eye.

Ezequiel was watching her, a frown creasing his forehead. He noticed the sweat beading on her upper lip.

"So," Granddame said, slicing into her fish. "I hear the actress is back in town."

Ezequiel's knife screeched against his plate. "Alexa is not an actress. She is a victim."

"A victim?" Granddame let out a dry chuckle. "That woman is no victim, Ezequiel. She is a survivor, I'll give her that. But she is the type who knows exactly when to jump ship. She left when the water got rough, didn't she?"

The room went deadly silent.

Ezequiel stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. His face was red with rage.

"That is a lie!" he shouted. "You forced her out! You threatened her family!"

"I offered her a choice," Granddame said calmly, buttering a roll. "I told her what life would be like if the company failed. I told her there would be no parties, no jewels, just hard work. And she made her decision. She chose the easy way out."

"You poisoned her against me!" Ezequiel slammed his fist on the table. The silverware jumped. "She told me everything. She told me how you tormented her. And now I'm going to make it right. I'm going to marry her."

"Over my dead body," Granddame said. "You will not bring that gold-digger into this house."

Ezequiel spun toward Claudia, his eyes wild. "Did you tell her? Did you tell Grandmother that Alexa was back?"

Claudia looked up, startled. "No. I didn't say anything."

"Who else would it be?" He pointed a finger at her. "You're the only one who gains from this. You're poisoning my family against her!"

"I didn't!" she cried.

"You are a snake, Claudia. A quiet, manipulative snake."

Granddame's hand moved faster than Claudia thought possible. She grabbed the heavy silver napkin ring from beside her plate and hurled it.

It flew across the table and struck Ezequiel squarely on the temple.

"Enough!" she screamed. "You ungrateful boy! Do not speak to your wife that way!"

Ezequiel stumbled back, his hand flying to his head. When he pulled it away, his fingers were stained red. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face.

The servants gasped. Claudia stood up, her hand over her mouth.

"Ezequiel!" She took a step toward him, her instinct as a doctor kicking in. "Let me see."

He slapped her hand away. "Don't touch me."

Granddame stood up, her face purple with rage. She opened her mouth to shout again, but no sound came out. Her hand clawed at her chest.

Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed.

"Granddame!" Mrs. Higgins screamed.

The old woman fell backward, her chair tipping over with a crash.

Ezequiel forgot his bleeding head instantly. He vaulted over the fallen chair and caught her just before her head hit the floor.

"Call 911!" he roared at the staff.

Claudia was already moving. She pushed past the paralyzed maids and dropped to her knees beside the old woman.

"Lay her flat," she commanded, her voice sharp and authoritative. "Undo her collar."

Ezequiel looked at her, surprised by the sudden change in her demeanor. He hesitated.

"Do it!" she yelled.

He obeyed, fumbling with the high lace collar of her dress. Claudia placed two fingers against her carotid artery.

"No pulse," she muttered. "She's in cardiac arrest. Get the AED from the medical room. Now!"

She interlocked her fingers, placed the heel of her hand on the center of Granddame's chest, and began compressions.

One, two, three, four.

"Stay with us," Claudia whispered, her hair falling into her face as she pumped. "Come on, Granddame."

The house doctor arrived two minutes later with the crash cart. He took over compressions while Claudia grabbed the ambu-bag to ventilate. They worked in tandem, a seamless medical unit, while Ezequiel stood pressed against the wall, pale and useless.

By the time the paramedics arrived to transport her to the on-site medical suite-the estate was equipped like a mini-hospital-they had a rhythm back. It was weak, but it was there.

Ezequiel stood in the hallway outside her room, pressing a handkerchief to the cut on his forehead. The blood had dried into a dark crust.

He stared at the closed door, then turned his gaze to Claudia.

"If she dies," he said, his voice shaking, "it's on you."

"On me?" Claudia laughed, a hysterical, bubbling sound. "You're the one who screamed at her. You're the one who defended the woman who abandoned you."

Ezequiel stepped forward, towering over her. "Don't you dare talk about Alexa."

"The doctor said she needs absolute calm," Dr. Evans emerged from the room, interrupting them. He looked grave. "Her heart is operating at thirty percent capacity. Any shock, any stress, any emotional upheaval could be fatal. Do you understand?"

He looked pointedly at Ezequiel. "No arguments. No bad news."

Ezequiel swallowed hard. He nodded.

The doctor left. Ezequiel leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

"We can't divorce," he said.

The words hung in the air.

"What?" Claudia asked.

He opened his eyes. They were dull, defeated. "Grandmother thinks we're still married. If I tell her I'm leaving you... if I introduce Alexa now... it will kill her."

Claudia's heart hammered against her ribs. This was a trap. If she stayed, living in the same house with him, how long could she hide the pregnancy? Her belly would start to show in weeks.

But she had no choice.

"Fine," she said. "We pause the divorce."

"Until she recovers," he added quickly. "Three months. Maybe four."

"And the loan?" she asked. She saw her opening and took it. "The divorce is paused, but Valentine Group still needs that money tomorrow."

Ezequiel looked at her with renewed disgust. "Is that all you care about? Money?"

"It's all you've left me," she shot back. "I'll play the loving wife. I'll live here. I'll hold your hand in front of her. But you transfer the two hundred million to my father's company account by 9:00 AM."

He stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to reconcile the woman bargaining with him with the silent wife he thought he knew.

"Done," he spat. "Sterling will handle it."

He pushed himself off the wall and walked away toward the guest wing. He didn't look back.

Claudia slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor. She had won the money. She had saved the company. But she had just locked herself in a cage with the man who wanted to destroy her.