The door didn't just open; it flew inward with a force that rattled the frame.
Eleanor Sullivan stood there. She wasn't wearing her usual pearls. She was wearing a grim expression that promised sanitized violence. Two men in white medical scrubs stood behind her like silent sentinels.
"It’s time to end this charade," Eleanor said.
I scrambled backward until my spine hit the headboard. "What are you talking about?"
"The baby," she said, her voice flat. "We can’t risk a paternity suit later. We can’t have a bastard child claiming Sullivan money. It goes. Today."
My blood ran cold. "No. You can't."
"I can do whatever I want," Eleanor snapped. "You are mentally incompetent. I have your parents' signatures. We have a doctor right here."
One of the men stepped forward, opening a medical bag. I saw the sterile glint of metal instruments laid out on a tray.
"Get away from me!" I screamed.
I grabbed a heavy glass vase from the nightstand and smashed it against the wall. Shards rained down, but I held a jagged piece in front of me like a dagger. "I will kill anyone who touches me."
The men hesitated, glancing at Eleanor for instruction.
"Gabe!" I screamed his name, praying he had returned from the Hamptons. "Gabe!"
"He can't hear you," Eleanor sneered. "He knows what needs to be done."
But then, there was movement in the hallway. Gabe appeared behind his mother.
He looked tan, rested. He looked like he had just come from a spa while I was fighting for my life. He looked at the broken glass in my hand and frowned with annoyance, not concern.
"Charlotte, put that down," he said.
"They want to kill our baby," I sobbed, my chest heaving. "Gabe, please. Tell them to stop."
Gabe looked at his mother, then at me. He looked tired. "Mother, not here. Not like this. If she fights, she’ll get hurt. It will leave marks."
"She needs to be dealt with," Eleanor said icily.
"Let me talk to her," Gabe said. He walked into the room, staying carefully out of reach of the glass shard. "Charlotte, you're being irrational. You need to calm down."
"Give me my phone," I said. My voice was shaking, but my hand was steady. "Let me call my doctor. If you want me to calm down, let me hear a professional tell me I'm safe."
Gabe rolled his eyes, checking his watch. He pulled my phone out of his pocket. "Fine. Five minutes. Then you do what Mother says. We need this problem gone before the IPO."
He slid the phone across the floor.
I dropped the glass and scrambled for it. My fingers fumbled over the screen. I didn't call my doctor. I didn't call the police; the Sullivans owned the police chief.
I dialed a number I had memorized from a letter I found in my adoption file ten years ago. A number I had been too afraid to call. A number that belonged to a man the Jennings told me was dangerous.
*Ring.*
*Ring.*
"Give it back," Eleanor barked, stepping forward impatiently.
*Ring.*
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end was deep. Rough. It sounded like gravel and authority.
"Anthony," I choked out. "Anthony Dean."
The line went silent for a heartbeat.
"Who is this?"
"It’s Charlotte," I whispered, tears streaming down my face as the men in scrubs moved closer. "Charlotte Jennings. Your daughter. They’re going to kill my baby. Please. I’m at the Sullivan estate. Please."
"Don't hang up," the voice said.
The tone changed. It wasn't rough anymore. It was terrifyingly calm, a quiet before a massacre.
"I’m coming."
