My husband stood outside the hospital waiting for me with his mistress and his mother, as if I were still supposed to walk back into the life they had helped tear apart. They had no idea I was carrying something that would change what happened next. And they knew even less about the discovery I had made less than two hours before leaving my hospital room.

At 10:00 a.m. the following morning, Dr. Harrison walked into Room 402, accompanied by Daniel.

Daniel was dressed impeccably in a charcoal wool suit, a white silk tie, and a dark blue wool scarf draped neatly around his neck. He looked relaxed, confident—a man who believed he had successfully crushed every obstacle standing between him and absolute wealth.

"Good news, Emily," Dr. Harrison said, his voice brimming with false, professional cheerfulness. "Your vitals have stabilized enough for discharge. Daniel has arranged for a private nurse to monitor you at home until the delivery."

"At home," I repeated flatly, staring at Daniel.

"Yes, darling," Daniel said, walking over to the bed, offering me a fake, warm smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Mother and I have prepared everything. The nursery is set up. You won't have to lift a finger."

A private nurse, I thought. A paid guard to keep me locked in a bedroom until they force labor and take the baby.

"I need my clothes," I said calmly.

"They're right here," Daniel said, pointing to a small duffel bag on the chair. "I'll wait outside while you change. The discharge papers are signed. We're ready when you are."

He turned and walked out with Dr. Harrison.

The moment the door closed, Clara stepped into the room from the side bathroom. She brought a pair of flat winter boots, my heavy coat, and my leather shoulder bag.

"Your phone was in the duffel bag," Clara whispered, handing me my personal device. "Daniel removed the SIM card, but I put a fresh prepaid card inside. The internet connection is active."

"You're an angel, Clara," I said, taking the phone and slipping it into my coat pocket.

"Are you sure you can walk?" Clara asked, looking at me nervously as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. "The placental abruption..."

"The abruption was fake, remember?" I said, standing up.

My body was sore, my lower back burned with a dull ache, and my hip was heavily bruised from the fall, but as my boots touched the cold linoleum floor, a surge of adrenaline wiped away every trace of physical weakness.

I walked to the mirror hanging on the wall.

I looked at my reflection.

My face was pale, dark circles shadowed my eyes, and my hair was pulled back into a loose braid. I looked like a woman who had been through hell.

But my eyes... my eyes were burning with an intensity I had never seen before.

I reached into my duffel bag and pulled out my vinyl folder—the folder containing my signed personal estate documents, my father’s old legal power of attorney forms, and the printed summary of the timed email release.

I slid the folder into my leather shoulder bag.

"Clara," I said, turning to the young nurse. "If anything happens to me outside those doors... the auto-send timer is set for 2:00 p.m. Make sure the task force gets the secondary physical drive in your pocket."

"I will," Clara promised, her eyes shimmering with tears. "Be safe, Emily."

I took a deep breath, smoothing down the front of my coat over my belly.