Chapter 3 - The Nursery
The third floor of the Voss estate was quiet, illuminated only by soft, warm nightlights plugging into low wall sockets.
Roman opened a set of double doors at the end of the hall, stepping quietly onto thick plush carpeting.
Pamela followed him inside, her hand pressed against her throat to choke back her sobs.
The nursery was massive, decorated in soft creams, pale blues, and natural wood. In the center of the room stood three heavy wooden cribs, spaced two feet apart.
Pamela walked toward the first crib as if she were walking on glass.
She leaned over the wooden rail.
Inside lay a little boy, fast asleep on his stomach, his thumb tucked into his mouth. His hair was dark and wavy, curling softly around his tiny ears.
Beside him, in the middle crib, sat the second boy, sleeping on his back with his arms spread wide like a starfish.
And in the third crib, the little girl was curled around a soft knitted blanket, her long eyelashes casting delicate shadows over her rosy cheeks.
Pamela fell to her knees beside the first crib, her hand reaching through the wooden slats to gently touch the little boy’s tiny, warm fingers.
He shifted in his sleep, his little hand automatically curling around her index finger.
“Mom...” he murmured softly in his sleep.
Pamela let out a strangled, weeping laugh, pressing her forehead against the cool wood of the crib rail.
“My babies,” she whispered into the quiet room. “My sweet, beautiful babies...”
Roman stood by the doorway, watching her from the shadows. His arms were crossed over his chest, his face unreadable, but his eyes were dark with a complex storm of emotion.
For fourteen months, he had rocked these children when they were sick. He had held them through fevers, learned their sleep schedules, bought them everything money could buy. He had loved them as his own flesh and blood.
And now he was looking at the woman who actually owned their lives.
Pamela stood up slowly, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. She looked at Roman.
“I’m taking them home,” she said, her voice unexpectedly strong.
Roman didn't move. “No.”
Pamela’s jaw set. “They are my children! You bought them! You paid a criminal doctor for stolen babies!”
“I did not know they were stolen!” Roman snapped, taking a step into the room, his voice dropping into a harsh whisper so he wouldn't wake the triplets. “I believed my wife died giving birth to them! I believed I was protecting what was left of my family!”
“And now you know the truth!” Pamela said, stepping closer to him, her eyes burning with fierce, maternal fury. “So give them back to me!”
“To what?” Roman asked, gesturing toward her stained apron. “To a cold apartment in Pilsen? To a mother who works sixteen hours a day at a diner and can’t afford health insurance? To a landlord who’s about to evict you?”
Pamela flinched as if he had struck her. “I will figure it out! I survived without them, I can survive with them!”
“You cannot protect them,” Roman said coldly. “Not from the people who are going to find out about this. Vance didn't work alone. The people who helped him fake these birth certificates are powerful, and if they realize I know the truth, those children become targets.”
Pamela turned back toward the cribs, her heart breaking all over again. “I won't leave them with a stranger.”
Roman walked up behind her. He didn't touch her, but his proximity felt overwhelming, radiating heat and absolute authority.
“I am not a stranger to them,” Roman said softly. “I am the only father they have ever known. And you are the mother they have been crying for since the day they were born.”
Pamela turned to look at him. “What are you saying?”
“You’re not going back to Bella Rosa,” Roman said. “You’re not going back to your apartment. You are staying here, in this house, as their mother.”
May you like
Pamela stared at him in disbelief. “You want me to live with you?”
“I want my children to have what was stolen from them,” Roman said, his grey eyes locking onto hers with terrifying intensity. “And right now, that is you.”
