"Alright, go home."
Mrs. Crawford held my hand, her expression tight with reluctance. She didn't want to leave, but she had to.
"Katherine, listen to me," she insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Video call me every single day. I need to see your face."
I nodded, squeezing her hand back. "I will."
With that settled, she finally departed.
Days blurred together. Under the supervision of the new housekeepers, my life finally resembled something normal. I was eating five meals a day, and color was gradually returning to my cheeks.
But peace in the Crawford household was always an illusion.
One night, I woke up parched. I crept out of my room to get water but froze when I heard hushed voices drifting from the kitchen. Bianca and one of the housekeepers.
"You can't stop the dosage," Bianca hissed. "Since she likes eating so much, put in more."
Through the crack in the door, I saw the housekeeper smile—a sickening, fawning expression.
"Don't worry, Miss Winters. We add it to every meal, just as you instructed."
A chill radiated from my chest, freezing my blood.
Poison.
No wonder the baby's heartbeat had been growing fainter over the last month. It wasn't stress or poor health—they were actively killing my child.
Bianca counted out a thick stack of cash and shoved it into the housekeeper's hand.
"When the time comes, if she delivers a stillborn, the Crawfords will see her as cursed. Bad luck. They'll kick her out immediately."
The housekeeper pocketed the money, nodding eagerly.
I backed away, trembling so hard my teeth chattered. I had to get back to my room. I had to think.
What do I do?
Mrs. Crawford. I would tell her everything during tomorrow's video call. I just had to survive the night.
I kept the lights off, navigating the darkness by memory, desperate to crawl back into bed and barricade the door.
Suddenly, my foot hooked around something hard.
I pitched forward, unable to catch myself, and slammed onto the floor.
A thermos cup. Someone had placed it directly in my path.
The impact was immediate. Searing pain tore through my abdomen, followed by a warm, terrifying gush of fluid soaking my legs.
No.
My water had broken.
"Help!" I screamed, clutching my stomach. "Someone, help me!"
Footsteps thundered down the hall. The housekeeper appeared in the doorway, flipping on the light. When she saw me lying in a pool of fluid, her face drained of color.
"It's... premature labor."
She didn't help. She spun around and ran, shouting for Bianca and Damien.
Moments later, Damien stormed in. He didn't look concerned. He looked furious.
"Why is it happening now?" he demanded, glaring at me as if my labor was an inconvenience.
Bianca followed, her eyes darting to the overturned thermos on the floor. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Maybe she tripped on that cup. Too careless." She looked at Damien, her eyes hardening. "But the timing is perfect. Shall we proceed with the plan?"
Pain radiated through me in waves, cold sweat drenching my forehead, but my mind was razor-sharp.
"Hospital," I gasped, reaching for Damien. "Send me to the hospital... please..."
Damien crouched down. He didn't take my hand to comfort me—he pinned it to the floor.
"Katherine, don't blame me," he said, his voice void of warmth. "This child shouldn't have existed in the first place."
"He's your son..."
"I don't need him."
He stood and turned to Bianca. "Call my parents. Tell them Katherine fell and the situation is critical. Let them come watch the show."
"Understood."
Bianca pulled out her phone, but before leaving, she leaned down, bringing her lips close to my ear.
"Katherine," she whispered, her breath hot against my skin. "You should go down and keep your parents company."
I froze.
"They died miserably. And it was all because of you."
My pupils dilated. The yacht accident. The missing ladder.
It wasn't an accident.
If my parents had been murdered, then I refused to let her kill me too. I could not die here.
A violent contraction seized my body, making me curl up on the floor.
"Baby... Mommy is sorry..." I sobbed.
Suddenly, a strong movement rippled through my belly. The connection sparked, though the voice was faint.
[Mom, hold on...]
[Grandpa and Grandma are almost here... breathe... just wait for them...]
Tears streamed down my face. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to focus. I began the Lamaze breathing exercises I had practiced in secret.
Hee, hee, hoo.
I had to delay the labor. I couldn't give birth now. If the baby came while Damien and Bianca were in charge, my son wouldn't survive the night.
Time stretched, agonizing and slow. Every second was a battle against my own body.
Finally, the screech of tires on asphalt shattered the silence.
"Katherine! Katherine, where are you?"
Mrs. Crawford's frantic voice echoed from the entryway.
Damien's demeanor shifted instantly. The cold monster vanished, replaced by a mask of panic.
"Dad! Mom!" he shouted, rushing into the hallway. "Katherine is in the bedroom! She fell! She's bleeding heavily!"
Mr. and Mrs. Crawford burst into the room. When they saw me lying on the floor, soaked in amniotic fluid and gasping for air, their faces turned pale.
"Call an ambulance!" Mr. Crawford roared.
"I already called them," Damien lied smoothly, his voice trembling with fake anxiety. "But there's a traffic jam. They aren't here yet."
I watched him through half-lidded eyes. His acting was truly first-rate.
My world dissolved into gray haze. I tried to speak, but my throat was paralyzed. Desperation fueled my arm—I clawed blindly until my fingers snagged Mrs. Crawford's sleeve.
"Mom..."
My lips barely formed the word.
Mrs. Crawford leaned in instantly, her ear brushing my mouth. "Katherine? I'm listening."
Summoning every last ounce of adrenaline, I forced the truth past my teeth.
