At eight months pregnant, Nora Hale came home and found her suitcases already lined up beside the marble doorway of the apartment she had shared with her husband for five years. Rowan stood inside with his assistant, Elise Garner, who was drinking champagne from the crystal glasses Nora had chosen for their anniversary. He did not shout, argue, or even look nervous when he glanced at Nora’s swollen belly and said his lawyer would prove the baby was not his. Then he gave his pregnant wife ten minutes to leave.

The silence inside the elevator shaft was broken only by the rhythmic clicking of the cooling ceiling lights and Nora’s ragged, disciplined gasps.

“Focus,” she whispered to herself, her hands clasped tightly over the peak of her swollen stomach. “In through the nose... out through the mouth.”

She had spent months attending lamaze classes alone while Rowan was attending late-night strategy meetings with Elise. She had memorized every chart, every breathing pattern, every stage of labor, preparing for a scenario where Rowan might be late because of work. She had never prepared for a scenario where he had thrown her out of his life entirely.

Another contraction hit—shorter this time, barely ninety seconds apart.

The baby was coming. Her body was giving her no choice.

Above the carriage, far up the reinforced concrete shaft, a heavy metal hatch banged open.

“Nora!”

The voice descended through the darkness, muffled by distance and metal, but entirely unmistakable.

Rowan.

Nora didn't answer. She pulled her knees up, adjusting her position on the plush wool carpet of the elevator floor, saving her breath for the work her body was demanding.

“Nora! Can you hear me?”

Light broke through the cracks of the elevator’s top emergency ceiling hatch. A flash of bright halogen shone down through the glass panels, illuminating the dust motes floating in the still air.

Rowan was hanging from the maintenance ladder inside the shaft, his expensive tailor-made suit jacket discarded, his crisp white shirt stained with black machine grease from the cable pulleys. Behind him, the building’s chief engineer was shouting warnings about uncalibrated brake pads.

Rowan ignored the engineer. He dropped five feet onto the roof of the elevator car with a heavy metallic thud that echoed down the shaft.

“Get the hatch unlocked!” Rowan shouted upward, his voice cracked with a panic Nora had never heard from him in seven years of marriage. “Get the override keys!”

He dropped to his knees on top of the car, clawing at the manual security latches of the ceiling hatch. His fingers bled as he forced the rusted iron latch back. With a loud snap, the square panel opened downward into the car.

Rowan peered through the opening.

The bright beam of his flashlight cut through the dim interior, landing directly on Nora.

She lay on her side, her hair soaked with sweat, her face pale, holding her belly as another contraction racked her frame.

“Nora!” Rowan gasped, his breath hitching in his throat. He lowered himself through the opening, dropping six feet into the carriage, landing heavily on his knees beside her. “My God, Nora... stay still. Don't move. The paramedics are on their way.”

He reached out to grab her shoulders, his hands shaking violently.

Nora dragged herself back two inches, pushing his hands away with terrifying, quiet coldness.

“Don't touch me,” she rasped, her voice dry as paper.

“Nora, listen to me—”

“You gave me ten minutes, Rowan,” she said, looking straight into his eyes with absolute clarity despite the sweat pouring down her face. “Your ten minutes are up. Get out.”

Rowan flinched as if she had struck him across the jaw.

“I didn't know the elevator would stop—”

“You didn't care if I died in the street,” she replied flatly.

Another contraction struck. Nora closed her eyes, her body going rigid as she gripped the brass rail behind her head, letting out a long, low moan of absolute agony.

Rowan looked down at her trousers, seeing the deep soak of amniotic fluid on the ivory carpet. His face drained of all color.

“She’s in full labor!” Rowan screamed up toward the open ceiling hatch. “Gideon! Where are the paramedics? She’s bleeding!”

“The main lobby doors are locked by the security failure, Mr. Vane!” the engineer called down from thirty feet above. “The fire department is cutting through the street gate! It’s going to take twenty minutes!”

“We don't have twenty minutes!” Rowan roared back, his hands hovering over Nora, completely helpless, completely terrified.

He turned back to her, dropping to his knees again. “Nora, please. Tell me what to do. Tell me what you need.”