“I told you I had a plan.”

Victoria looked toward the fetal monitor.

“You also told me he would not become violent.”

Ava swallowed.

“That was the part I got wrong.”

For the first time, Victoria’s face softened.

Only a little.

Enough to hurt.

Ava looked away.

She did not want sympathy yet.

Sympathy made people lie down.

She needed to sit up.

She needed to stay clear.

She needed to remember the order of events.

The whisper.

The accusation.

The grip.

The fall.

The refusal to call an ambulance.

The threat.

The camera.

Savannah’s fear.

Especially Savannah’s fear.

Because Ava had spent eight months studying Grant’s empire, and she knew one thing with absolute certainty.

Grant Huxley loved money.

Savannah Vale loved access.

But neither of them loved each other enough to risk prison.

So why had Savannah whispered that lie tonight?

Why provoke him?

Why now?

The answer arrived at 1:17 a.m.

Not through the door.

Through Ava’s phone.

It buzzed on the rolling tray beside the bed while Denise adjusted the IV line.

Ava saw the blocked number and felt the room shrink.

Victoria saw her face.

“What is it?”

Ava picked up the phone with her good hand.

The message contained no greeting.

No threat.

No name.

Just a photograph.

Ava stared at it.

At first, her pain medication made the image swim.

Then it sharpened.

A small white crib.

A nursery painted pale green.

A silver mobile with moon and stars.

And on the wall above the crib, in gold wooden letters, one name.

HUXLEY.

Ava’s blood turned cold.

Her baby kicked once beneath the monitor belt.

Another message appeared.

Your husband has two heirs now.

Then another.

Only one gets the trust.

Ava’s grip tightened around the phone.

Victoria leaned in.

The senator’s face changed when she saw the screen.

Not fear.

Recognition.

“Where did that photo come from?” Ava asked.

Victoria did not answer fast enough.

Ava turned her head slowly.

“Mom.”

Victoria stood.

“Ava, listen to me.”

“No.” Ava’s voice stayed low. “Tell me.”

The door opened before Victoria could speak.

A marshal stepped in.

“Senator.”

Victoria looked at him.

He glanced at Ava, then back to Victoria.

“We found Savannah Vale.”

Ava’s heart began to pound harder than the baby monitor.

Victoria’s voice was calm.

“Where?”

The marshal’s jaw tightened.

“In the hospital parking garage.”

Ava pushed herself up despite the pain.

Denise tried to stop her.

“Ava—”

The marshal continued.

“She wasn’t alone.”

The room went silent.

Grant’s voice was no longer outside the door.

The hallway had gone too quiet.

Victoria asked the question Ava could not.

“Who was with her?”

The marshal looked at Ava.

Then at her belly.

Then at the phone in her hand.

“A newborn,” he said. “Wrapped in a Huxley Foundation blanket.”

Ava stopped breathing.

The phone buzzed again.

This time, the message came from Grant.

Ava opened it with shaking fingers.

I can explain.

Then a second message appeared.

Before she could read it, every light in the hospital room went out.

The fetal monitor screamed into the dark.