Chapter 1: The Woman in the Nursery
Hunter pushed the nursery door open with two trembling fingers.
The night nurse did not move.
The woman’s name was Elaine Mercer. Hunter had seen her downstairs earlier that evening, dressed in a spotless white uniform, complaining to the cook that the Rossi family expected miracles from people who were “only human.”
Now Elaine slept beside a dying child, wine on her breath and one hand hanging limply over the arm of the chair.
Leo made another sound from the crib.
It was barely more than air.
Hunter crossed the room before fear could stop her.
The baby lay beneath a pale blue blanket, his tiny body surrounded by wires. A feeding tube had been taped against his cheek, but the machine attached to it was silent. His lips were dry. His fists rested open beside his head because he no longer had the strength to close them.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Hunter whispered.
Leo turned toward her voice.
The movement was so small that another person might have missed it.
Hunter did not.
She had spent months speaking to Lily inside her womb. She knew the instinctive way a baby searched for warmth. She knew the little turn of the head, the trembling mouth, the helpless rooting motion.
Her body answered him painfully.
Milk soaked through the bandages beneath her uniform.
Hunter looked at the sleeping nurse.
Then at the camera mounted in the corner.
She knew someone could be watching.
She also knew the doctors had said Leo might not survive another night.
Hunter reached into the crib.
The baby weighed almost nothing.
When she lifted him, his head fell weakly against her wrist. His skin felt cool beneath her palm. Hunter gathered him against her chest, and for one terrible moment she remembered Lily—the unbearable stillness of her daughter’s body, the silence that had swallowed the hospital room.
Her knees nearly gave way.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she did not know whether she was speaking to Lily or Leo. “I’m so sorry.”
Leo’s mouth moved against the fabric of her uniform.
Hunter closed her eyes.
Then she made her decision.
She carried him into the attached washroom, locked the door, and removed the painful bindings from around her chest. Red marks crossed her skin. Milk ran down her body, wasted and warm.
Hunter held Leo carefully.
“At least try,” she begged. “Please, little man. Just try.”
At first, he did nothing.
His lips brushed her skin without strength.
Hunter supported his head and stroked one finger gently along his cheek.
Leo opened his mouth.
One weak pull.
Hunter stopped breathing.
Another.
Then a third.
The baby’s throat moved.
He swallowed.
A sob rose inside Hunter so violently that she had to bite her lip to keep it silent.
“That’s it,” she whispered. “You remember how. Your body remembers.”
Leo drank again.
The heart monitor in the nursery changed rhythm.
Hunter did not hear the nursery door open.
She did not hear the footsteps approaching.
She only sensed danger when the washroom door handle turned.
“Open the door.”
The voice on the other side was low, controlled, and deadly.
Hunter froze.
Leo continued nursing.
“Open it,” Lorenzo Rossi repeated.
Hunter looked at the locked door.
Then at the fragile baby against her chest.
“I can’t,” she said.
Silence followed.
It was more frightening than shouting.
A moment later, the lock shattered.
The door swung inward.
Lorenzo stood there barefoot, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt open at the throat. His hair was disordered, and his face looked carved from exhaustion. In one hand, he held a pistol.
Behind him stood two armed guards.
Hunter tightened her arms protectively around Leo.
Lorenzo raised the gun.
“What are you doing to my son?”
Hunter’s fear was so intense that her vision blurred.
But Leo swallowed again.
The sound was soft.
Lorenzo heard it.
His eyes dropped from Hunter’s face to the baby.
The gun remained raised, but the rage in his expression faltered.
Leo’s tiny hand had closed against Hunter’s skin.
For the first time in days, the child was not crying.
He was feeding.
Dr. Halloran rushed into the room seconds later, followed by another nurse. He stopped in the doorway.
“My God.”
Lorenzo did not look away from his son.
“Explain.”
The doctor approached slowly, staring at the monitor.
“His oxygen level is improving.”
“Explain why.”
“I don’t know yet.”
Hunter found her voice.
“He was hungry.”
Lorenzo’s gaze snapped to her.
“Twenty doctors knew that.”
“They treated his stomach,” Hunter replied, still shaking. “Nobody asked what he needed to feel safe enough to eat.”
The room went still.
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“You think my son refused food because he did not feel safe?”
Hunter looked around the enormous nursery filled with machines, strangers, and cold polished furniture.
Then she looked at the gun in his hand.
“Yes.”
One guard inhaled sharply.
No one spoke to Lorenzo Rossi that way.
Hunter expected the bullet.
Instead, Leo released her and made a soft protesting sound.
Hunter adjusted him instinctively.
The baby latched again.
Lorenzo slowly lowered the weapon.
Dr. Halloran checked Leo’s pulse and stared at the numbers.
“He’s feeding effectively,” the doctor said. “Mr. Rossi, this may be the first substantial intake he has kept down in days.”
Lorenzo’s face remained unreadable.
Then his eyes moved to the red marks around Hunter’s chest.
“To produce milk,” he said quietly, “you recently gave birth.”
Hunter looked down at Leo.
“Yes.”
“Where is your child?”
Her throat closed.
“She died.”
Something changed in Lorenzo’s face.
Not softness.
Recognition.
Two people stood in that room holding different halves of the same grief.
Behind them, the sleeping nurse finally stirred.
Elaine opened her eyes, saw Lorenzo, and immediately went pale.
“Mr. Rossi, I can explain.”
Lorenzo turned toward her.
The coldness returned to his face.
“You were drinking.”
“It was only one glass. The baby had been medicated, and I—”
“You slept while my son starved.”
Elaine rose too quickly and knocked over the wineglass.
It shattered against the floor.
Lorenzo handed his gun to one of the guards.
“Take her downstairs.”
Elaine began to cry.
“Please. I have children.”
Lorenzo looked at Leo.
“So do I.”
The guards dragged Elaine from the nursery.
Hunter flinched at the sound of her pleading fading down the hall.
Lorenzo noticed.
“I will not kill her,” he said.
Hunter looked up, uncertain whether to believe him.
“She will be questioned,” he continued. “Then she will leave this house.”
Dr. Halloran glanced at the baby.
“We need to weigh him, monitor his digestion, and determine whether this can continue safely.”
Lorenzo’s eyes settled on Hunter.
“How long can you feed him?”
Hunter’s heart twisted.
Milk had been the last physical proof that Lily had existed.
Giving it to Leo felt like betrayal and salvation at the same time.
“I don’t know.”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
Hunter fought the urge to recoil.
“You will remain in this house,” he said. “You will be paid whatever you ask.”
“I’m not selling you my body.”
The guards stared at her.
Lorenzo’s expression darkened.
“I am trying to save my son.”
“So am I.”
Leo’s breathing had become deeper.
Hunter looked down at him.
“For tonight,” she said. “I’ll stay for tonight.”
Lorenzo studied her for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
But in the hallway outside, Elaine Mercer was no longer crying.
As the guards escorted her toward the stairs, she slipped one hand into her pocket and pressed a hidden button on a small black device.
Miles away, a phone vibrated.
May you like
A message appeared on the screen.
The maid interfered. The baby is feeding. We may have a problem.
