it.

Celeste knew it.

Nora learned it by accident.

Three nights before Adrian tore away the duvet, she had been in the nursery after midnight, unable to sleep.

Rain tapped the windows.

A half-painted moon hung from the mobile above the crib.

She had left the door cracked because the fumes from the varnish made her uneasy.

From the hallway came Celeste’s voice.

“Once the child is born, Adrian will have the votes.

After that, no court will unwind it quickly enough.”

Nora stilled, brush suspended over the rocking chair.

Pierce answered, lower, impatient.

“Then get her to sign before she delivers.”

“She refused.”

“Make her refuse in a way that looks irrational.”

Nora’s heart began pounding so hard she felt it in her throat.

Celeste continued, almost bored.

“Dr.

Markham has already written that she is anxious, suspicious, and emotionally volatile.

If she contests guardianship after the birth, we use it.”

Nora set the brush down without a sound.

On the small table beside her lay her phone, face down, still recording a voice memo of the nursery sounds for her sister, who had asked to hear the rain at the mansion.

Nora turned the phone slightly, praying the microphone caught the hallway.

She should have stayed hidden.

She knew that later.

But fear for herself was one thing.

Fear for her child was another.

She stepped into the corridor and said, “What guardianship?”

Both of them turned.

Pierce’s expression changed first.

Irritation, then calculation.

Celeste did not flinch.

That frightened Nora more.

“My dear,” Celeste said, “you should be resting.”

Nora’s palm closed around her phone.

“You were talking about taking my baby.”

Pierce moved toward her.

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Stay away from me.”

She tried to walk past him toward the main stairs.

If she could reach the west wing, she could find Marta, the housekeeper.

If she could reach the library phone, she could call Adrian.

She got three steps before Pierce caught her arm.

He squeezed hard enough that her fingers opened.

The phone hit the runner.

Pierce’s shoe covered it.

Nora twisted away.

“Let go.”

“You don’t get to walk around making accusations in this house,” he snapped.

Celeste’s voice cut through the hallway.

“Pierce.”

He loosened his grip, but Nora had already pulled back.

Her heel caught the edge of the stair runner.

She stumbled sideways, striking the carved railing with her hip and ribs.

Pain flashed so hot the walls blurred.

She did not fall down the staircase, though later Pierce would say she did, because that sounded like an accident.

She collapsed against the landing and folded around her belly.

For one terrible second the house was silent.

Then Nora whispered, “Hospital.

Please.”

Celeste crouched beside her, arranging her silk robe away from the floor.

“No hospital.

Not until we understand what you intend to say.”

That sentence frightened Nora more than the pain.

Dr.

Markham arrived through the service entrance forty minutes later.

He had served the Vale family for years, discreet and expensive.

He checked the baby’s heartbeat with a portable monitor while Nora lay rigid on the bed.

The sound filled the room in fast, watery beats.

Alive.

Nora cried then, silently, because relief could hurt too.

Markham wrapped her side, told Celeste she should be observed, and