“She’ll simply believe it was a complicated birth,” his mother said. I found his go-bag with a fake passport and called the one person who could help: my estranged, ex-spy father. But as I tried to board a private jet to freedom, a security guard stopped me.
“Your husband bought this airline last night,” he smirked. “He’s waiting for you.” But he had no idea who was standing just a few feet away…
The Thorne estate was a gilded cage, and I, its prettiest bird. For two years, I had lived within its marble walls, a life of silent, suffocating luxury.
Now, eight months pregnant, the cage felt smaller than ever, the air thinner. The baby, my baby, was a constant, rolling reminder that this life was no longer just my own. He was my reason to endure, and as I would soon discover, my reason to run.
I was in the vast, two-story library, the scent of old leather and lemon polish thick in the air. A sudden, sharp cramp seized my lower back, a common discomfort in these final weeks. I pushed myself up, heading for the adjoining study where Julian kept a decanter of iced water.
As my hand touched the ornate brass handle, I heard their voices from within—Julian and his mother, Genevieve. I froze, instinctively pulling my hand back and shrinking behind a heavy velvet curtain. They hadn’t seen me.
Genevieve’s voice was crisp, clinical, like a CEO discussing a hostile takeover. “The induction is scheduled for the tenth. Dr.
Marcus assures me the sedation will leave no lasting memory. She’ll simply believe it was a complicated birth.”
“And the settlement?” Julian asked, his tone devoid of any emotion. “Is it enough to ensure her silence?”
“It’s more than enough for a woman of her background,” Genevieve replied with a dismissive sigh.
“She’ll see it as a windfall, not a payoff. A clean break. It’s cleaner this way.
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