Morning sunlight spilled across the Persian rug. Carissa shot up from the impossibly soft king-size bed, gasping for air.
Her hand instinctively reached under the pillow for her knife. Her fingers brushed cold silk sheets, and reality crashed back in. She was at the Gates estate.
Her phone vibrated violently on the nightstand. An unsaved number, but she recognized Isiah's digits immediately.
She took a slow breath, hit the record button, and answered. She didn't speak.
"Did you send the mob to put my guys in the hospital last night?!" Isiah roared through the speaker.
Carissa let out a dry laugh. "Those were Gates family security. They clean up garbage."
Isiah choked on his words. His tone shifted to a slimy whine. "Since you're back with the billionaire, you owe us two million. We sold that brat three years ago to make your life easier! You should be thanking me!"
Bile rose in Carissa's throat. "I'm recording this call."
Dead silence. Then Isiah exploded. "I'll go to the press! I'll tell them you abandoned your family!"
"Go ahead," Carissa snapped, her voice like cracking ice. "And I will hand this recording to the police. Extortion and human trafficking. I'll use the Gates legal team to bury you so deep you'll never see daylight again. Do not ever contact me."
She hung up and blocked the number. Her hands weren't shaking anymore.
She walked into the marble bathroom and splashed freezing water on her face. She stared at her reflection in the gold-framed mirror. Dark circles under her brown eyes. Cheekbones too sharp. She couldn't afford to be weak here.
As she dressed, her phone rang again. Her landlord.
"Your thug family destroyed my hallway!" the man screamed. "You owe me five grand in damages or I'm calling the cops!"
Yesterday, Carissa would have panicked. Today, she felt nothing.
"I'm currently staying at the Gates estate in Long Island," Carissa said, her voice tight, mimicking the cold authority she'd been subjected to since arriving. "Any bills you have? You can take them up directly with their lawyers."
The landlord's aggressive breathing stopped. "G-Gates? Oh. Uh, my apologies, Miss Molina. I'll handle it." He hung up.
Carissa smirked. Power was a useful weapon.
She stepped out of her room, determined to see Isadore. At the end of the hall, Alistair stepped into her path, holding a silver tray.
"Madam Essie has decreed you may only visit the young master for one hour at three PM," Alistair said, his chin tilted up, his thin lips pursed.
Carissa didn't back down. She stepped into the butler's personal space. "Whose house is this, Alistair?"
Alistair blinked, caught off guard. "Mr. Guilford's, of course."
"Exactly," Carissa sneered. "And Mr. Guilford brought me here to fulfill a medical contract. If my mood is ruined and it affects my ability to conceive, will you take responsibility when his son dies?"
Alistair's face turned a mottled red. He opened his mouth. No words came out. The threat of Guilford's wrath was absolute.
Carissa shoved past him, her posture radiating the authority of a woman who knew exactly what her body was worth to them.
She walked up the stairs, pushed open the nursery door, and saw Isadore sitting up slightly, holding a small stuffed rabbit.
When he saw her, his dull eyes lit up. "Mommy," he breathed.
