The Westside land was the Wiley family's most critical strategic asset for the next decade—and Justin's one chance to prove his worth to Old Mr. Wiley.
He whipped around to face me. Fury. Resentment. And beneath it all, a flicker of wariness.
He drew a sharp breath and turned to Davina. "Be reasonable. The child... let Serena raise him. It's the only way to make this legitimate."
I turned to Anne Lambert, my housekeeper.
"Go. Bring that baby to my room."
I stepped out of the ward and dialed my assistant.
"Mia Harper, handle the hospital. This stays between us—no one else finds out. On the birth certificate, there's only one name under 'Mother.' Mine."
Soon, the room next door erupted—shouting, something shattering against the wall, and Davina's raw, gut-wrenching wails.
I looked down at the infant in the bassinet.
He was fast asleep, his tiny lips parting and closing with each breath.
A cold smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
Justin came to my room every day. Stayed a while. But his body was here; his mind was next door.
His phone screen never stopped lighting up. Message after message from Davina.
"Justin, I miss our baby so much. Can't you make her give him back to me?"
"I don't want anything else. I just want my child."
"Justin, I'm bleeding so much. The doctor says it's postpartum hemorrhaging. Am I going to die?"
Davina knew exactly how to work him.
She never attacked me directly. She just kept circling back to her suffering, her longing for the child.
Making me look heartless by comparison. Cruel.
Every time he read her messages, the crease between his brows deepened. Then he'd mutter some excuse and rush out.
Early one morning, Justin was gone. The nurses and Anne had taken the baby for his checkup.
Davina appeared at my bedside like a ghost. Her eyes glittered with venom.
"Don't think you've won, Serena."
"That unlucky baby of yours? I'm the one who made Justin get rid of it."
"That night, he'd been drinking. Kept calling me, over and over."
"I just... pouted a little. Told him the child in your belly would be an obstacle for me someday."
"Asked him to spend more time with me. Stop revolving around you."
"I didn't expect him to hang up and actually go back to you. What happened after that..."
"Your baby? You just weren't capable of keeping it. Don't blame anyone else."
"You're nothing but a surrogate raising my child. Don't celebrate too soon."
She turned and walked out.
Every word seared into me like a red-hot brand.
So that's how it happened.
I lay there, eyes closed, my hands trembling violently beneath the blanket. Blood crept back through the IV line, staining a section of the clear tube crimson.
I bit down on my lip until the taste of iron flooded my mouth.
I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just reached over and pulled the needle from my hand.
A bead of blood rolled down the back of my wrist, dripping onto the white sheets—a single, brutal plum blossom.
The door swung open.
Justin walked in.
He froze when he saw the blood on my hand, then strode over and grabbed my wrist.
"Why did you pull out the IV? Have you lost your mind?"
He snatched a cotton ball from the nightstand and pressed it hard against the wound, his brow furrowed. For a moment, he almost looked like he cared.
My whole body shook. I wanted to scream. To demand answers. To lunge at him and tear him apart.
But I had no strength left.
"Just go. Go be with Davina."
"Anne will be back soon. I don't need you here."
From next door came another burst of wailing. Davina, putting on her show again.
