The mansion was still a battlefield, shards of glass scattered across the floor like the remnants of sothing beautiful that had been destroyed without rcy. The silence that followed the chaos was heavy, almost sacred, like the calm after a bomb drops.
Ethan sat on the floor, one knee bent, the other leg stretched in front of him. Blood from his arm dripped slowly into the cracks between the tiles. Valerie had gone to find the first aid kit, but his thoughts were too loud for him to care.
Then ca the intercom.
Three firm rings. Ethan blinked, not really hearing it at first—until it ca again.
He rose with a slow breath, muscles still tight, grief wrapping itself around his spine like a cold chain. He opened the door, and there stood Steph.
Steph, always the calm one, the fixer, the quiet shadow behind the empire. But today his face was pale, his expression tight with sothing between sorrow and rage.
"You need to sit down," Steph said simply. Ethan didn’t move. "What is it?"
Steph hesitated, then held out a manila envelope. No flourish. No ceremony. Inside were the DNA results.
Ethan took it with shaking hands. The paper rustled as he pulled it out, eyes scanning quickly, then again, slower, like he didn’t trust what he was reading.
MARA SHEPHERD: 99.9999% probability of maternity
ETHAN ANDERSON: 99.9999% probability of paternity
LUCY LANE: 0% probability of maternity
He froze.
His chest heaved with breath, and still he couldn’t breathe. His vision blurred as the weight of it hit him—not just the proof, not just the betrayal, but the truth.
"Lucy," he whispered, rage rising again, "lied about everything. She took Mara’s baby... our baby... and made the world believe he was hers."
Steph nodded grimly. "We have it all. Hospital records in Alcester were tampered with. The doctor’s signature on the birth certificate was forged. I’ve got people confirming the tiline. It’s airtight."
Ethan clenched the report in his fist. His knuckles turned white. "I’m going to court."
"I’ve already arranged it. Ergency hearing by Monday morning. But Ethan—" Steph paused. "She won’t go down quietly. She’s desperate. And dangerous, you can’t let Andrew stay with her."
"I’m more dangerous and I know that, make sure she doesn’t get to leave the country," Ethan said, voice low.
He walked back into the main hall, ignoring the sting of glass underfoot, his only focus now the picture on the wall—one of the few untouched things left.
It was a picture of Andrew laughing, his smile wide and eyes bright. His phone buzzed on the floor, screen lighting up.
MARA SHEPHERD — 8 Missed Calls
He hadn’t even noticed. His fingers hovered above the screen, hesitating.
He could almost hear her voice—soft, anxious, waiting for a truth she didn’t know she was part of. "God," he whispered, a tremor in his voice, "she doesn’t even know." Steph stepped closer. "Tell her."
Ethan nodded slowly, picking up the phone with both hands like it was a lifeline and a ticking bomb all at once. His thumb hovered over Call Back.
"I’ll tell her," he said, more to himself than anyone else. But first... he turned to Steph, eyes hard again.
"Let’s get our son from Lucy."
—
MARA
Mara’s hand trembled slightly as she held the phone to her ear. Again. For the ninth ti.
Voicemail.
She let out a quiet, breathless curse and hung up, staring blankly out the passenger window of Rafael’s sleek black car. The city lights flickered against the windshield as they drove, weaving through the quiet hills that led up toward the Anderson estate.
"He’s not answering," she said, her voice a mix of worry and sothing deeper—sothing maternal.
Rafael gave her a quick side glance. "He’s probably just caught up in it. We’re almost at the mansion. You’ll see, everything will be alright."
Mara didn’t respond. Her gut said otherwise. There was sothing off—sothing in the air, the tightness in her chest that hadn’t gone away since she woke that morning.
Just then, her eyes locked on a car turning ahead. A black SUV she didn’t recognize, but sothing about it made her skin crawl.
She leaned forward. Squinted.
Lucy.
The woman behind the wheel was partially obscured by dark glasses and tension in her face, but Mara would know her anywhere. And nestled in the back seat, in a child’s car seat, was—
"Rafael," Mara breathed, voice sharp with urgency. "Turn around. Now. Follow that car."
He didn’t ask questions. One look at her face was enough. With a quick spin of the wheel, he shifted lanes, trailing the SUV with practiced ease.
LUCY
Lucy gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Andrew hadn’t stopped crying since she took him.
The sound gnawed at her nerves—high-pitched, relentless. Not the cry of a fussy child, but sothing deeper, more wounded. The kind of cry that said: I don’t belong here.
"Shhh," she said sharply over her shoulder. "You’re with your mother now. Why won’t you just stop crying?"
He didn’t.
He wouldn’t.
By the ti she turned off the main road and followed the long, winding path to the private villa Celeb had secured for them, her head was pounding. This place was nowhere near her apartnt. It was new, discreet, gated. A small fortress wrapped in expensive silence.
As the security gates opened, Lucy let out a breath and muttered, "Finally."
Celeb was waiting on the steps, shirt unbuttoned, eyes glowing like a man who thought the universe had just delivered him everything he ever wanted. He stepped forward eagerly as Lucy parked and got out.
"There’s my family," he grinned, scooping Andrew into his arms as the boy wailed louder. "God, he’s loud today."
"He hasn’t stopped," Lucy snapped. "He won’t eat, he won’t sleep, he keeps calling for Ethan. I’m losing my mind."
Celeb bounced Andrew awkwardly in his arms, smiling even as the child squird. "He just needs ti to adjust. He’ll be fine. We’re a family now—, you, and my son. We’ve got nannies. Cooks. A fresh start."
He didn’t notice the way Lucy winced at the word my son.
The truth was becoming harder to keep down. But with Celeb still believing the lie, Lucy still had access to his wealth, his protection, his delusion.
She needed that.
"Nanny!" Lucy barked toward the villa, and a young woman in a pale uniform rushed out. "Take him. Make him stop crying. I don’t care how."
The nanny hesitated, then gently reached for Andrew, who scread louder as he was passed along.
Lucy turned away, breathing hard, heart racing. Guilt was beginning to creep up her spine like cold water, but she shoved it down.
Celeb ca up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. "You did good, baby. You’ve given everything. A son. A ho. You and ? We’re untouchable now."
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
ANWHILE
At the gate, Rafael parked discreetly near the back entrance of the villa. He knew how to move unseen—it was part of who he was. The security systems may have been tight, but Rafael had already found the weak points.
"This is it," he whispered to Mara, nodding. "Stay behind . Don’t make a sound."
But Mara was already out of the car.
She moved like she was drawn by instinct, not logic. Like every nerve in her body had tuned itself to a single frequency—the sound of her child crying.
And then she heard it.
Faint, distant. But it was him.
Andrew.
The cries carried over the trimd hedges and marble walls. They weren’t just crying—they were calling. And her body moved before her mind could catch up.
He’s here. My son is here.
They crept along the back edge of the villa, bypassing two distracted guards who were chatting near the garage. Rafael slid open a side door with silent ease.
Mara stepped into the house like a ghost returning to the place where she was stolen.
And in the next room beyond the arched hallway, beyond the soft hum of luxury her baby cried in the arms of a stranger.
She was just seconds away.
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