He didn’t question me. Not once. He didn’t ask for explanations or details.
All he said was, “Where are you?”
And the moment I heard his voice, something inside me finally broke.
I lost it right there.
Fifteen minutes later, the sky above the building split with the roar of helicopter blades. A private chopper descended onto the rooftop, its doors already sliding open before it fully settled. A team of doctors rushed out, calm-faced and precise, moving like every second had already been accounted for.
They got to me quickly and lifted me aboard.
Inside, it wasn’t just a helicopter—it was a full medical unit. Bright lights, monitors, equipment already running, everything prepared like a moving operating room.
For the first time since I became part of the Valcourt family, I allowed myself to believe I might actually make it out alive.
The doctors worked without hesitation, their hands steady as they operated, cutting through the tension—and through my body—while pain still lanced through me despite the anesthesia.
Everything around me started to blur.
Minutes or hours, I couldn’t tell anymore.
Then I heard it.
A doctor let out a breath. “She’s out.”
I waited.
I waited for crying. For movement. For anything.
But there was nothing.
Silence.
My heart dropped so violently it felt like I’d been struck. My voice barely came out through my tears.
“Is my baby… alive?”
One of the doctors gently pressed me back down. “We can’t say she’s stable. We need immediate transfer to the island facility. That’s the only chance.”
I nodded faintly, too exhausted, too empty to argue. My body trembled from everything it had endured, like it no longer knew how to stop shaking.
As the helicopter lifted higher into the sky, I reached weakly for my father’s aide beside me.
“Dante…” I whispered. “He’ll come after us, won’t he?”
His grip on my hand was steady, reassuring. “Relax. Your father has already handled everything.”
I wanted to believe that.
I really did.
That was when I saw him.
Dante Valcourt stood outside the operating area like a shadow carved into the hallway, eyes sharp and scanning everything like nothing could escape him. He didn’t even flinch when the doors opened.
His first words were already waiting, cold and mocking.
“So… Aurora’s fine, right? Can’t have anything happening to my little princess.”
He walked in without hesitation, lifted her into his arms, and held her close like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. A satisfied smile crossed his face.
“There you are, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Perfect as always. Just like your mother. Not like the rest.”
His gaze darkened slightly as he looked away, his voice turning amused and sharp.
“Too bad the other one couldn’t keep up.”
He chuckled under his breath. “I wonder what Aria’s child would’ve even looked like. Probably fragile like her. A shame—born to someone who couldn’t even survive a heater room.”
After a moment, he gently settled the baby back and straightened his coat, already shifting his attention elsewhere. His mind had moved on as if nothing else mattered.
Tomorrow, he would deal with the rest.
That was when his secretary appeared at the edge of the corridor, frozen stiff, as if afraid to breathe. Dante tossed him the car keys without even looking.
“Go,” he ordered flatly. “Bring my wife and the child. I don’t want delays.”
The secretary didn’t move.
Fear had locked him in place.
Dante’s expression sharpened. “What now? You’re scared to take a step? Don’t tell me you’re going to disappoint me too.”
The secretary finally forced the words out, his voice breaking under the weight of it. “Sir… Mrs. Valcourt… and the baby… they didn’t make it.”
A pause.
Then Dante laughed.
Low. Cold. Disbelieving.
“That’s your report?” he said with a faint smirk. “What is this, some kind of joke? Even she can’t manage to do something properly?”
But the secretary’s face crumpled.
“Boss…” he choked out, holding out the file with shaking hands. “It’s confirmed. They’re dead.”
