A grieving baker agreed to breastfeed a billionaire’s starving newborn—three days later, the baby started screaming and a strange blue residue on his lips revealed someone inside the mansion wanted him dead.

Adrian ran first.

I followed before anyone could stop me.

Behind us, Reeves shouted orders into his radio. Detective Monroe cursed. Celeste cried out Adrian’s name, but he did not look back.

All I knew was the medical suite was two corridors away, and Lucas was not there.

My legs moved faster than thought.

I had never run like that after Grace was born. There had been nowhere to run. No villain to chase. No door to kick open. Just doctors with soft voices and machines that stopped trying.

But Lucas was somewhere in this house.

Alive.

Taken.

And I would tear the mansion apart with my bare hands before I let another child disappear into silence.

We reached the medical suite, and the first thing I saw was the bassinet.

Empty.

The blanket still warm.

One of the nurses sat on the floor, holding a cloth to her forehead where blood seeped between her fingers. Another nurse was crying. The third stood frozen by the medication cabinet, her hands trembling uncontrollably.

Dr. Bennett grabbed the injured nurse’s shoulder. “Who took him?”

“I don’t know,” she sobbed. “I don’t know. The lights flickered. The monitor alarm went off. I turned, and someone was behind me.”

“Man? Woman?”

“I didn’t see. They wore a mask.”

Adrian looked at the ceiling.

“Cameras.”

Reeves was already checking his tablet. “Medical suite camera went out for ninety seconds.”

“Ninety seconds?” Adrian’s voice was deadly.

“Power surge.”

“In my house?”

Reeves said nothing.

Because everybody in that room knew the truth.

This was not panic.

This was planning.

Detective Monroe entered behind us, one hand resting near his weapon.

“Lock interior zones. Nobody moves alone. Mr. Vale, how many exits?”

“Main doors, service entrances, garden doors, underground garage, tunnel to the guesthouse.”

Monroe stared at him. “Tunnel?”

Adrian’s jaw flexed. “Old estate.”

“Seal it.”

“Already done,” Reeves said, then froze.

Adrian turned. “What?”

Reeves looked at the tablet.

“The tunnel camera is offline.”

I was already moving.

“Hannah!” Adrian shouted.

I did not stop.

I did not know the estate, not really. But I knew babies. I knew a newborn who had just been poisoned could not survive cold, stress, or delay. Whoever took Lucas would need somewhere hidden, somewhere close, somewhere a person could reach in ninety seconds without crossing the main hall.

A tunnel.

I heard footsteps behind me—Adrian, Monroe, Reeves—but the panic inside me was louder.

A guard at the end of the corridor pointed left. “Service stairs!”

I took them down, one hand on the railing, almost slipping twice. The lower level smelled of stone, laundry soap, and old air. Pipes ran along the ceiling. The lights buzzed.

Then I heard it.

Not a cry.

A hiccup.

So small I almost missed it.

I stopped.

Adrian slammed into the wall behind me to avoid knocking me down.

“What?”

“Quiet.”

Everyone froze.

There.

Again.

A tiny, wet breath.

I turned toward a narrow door half hidden behind a shelf of folded linens.

“What’s in there?”

Reeves frowned. “Storage.”

Adrian reached for the handle.

Monroe caught his wrist. “Let me.”

He opened the door slowly.

Darkness.

A narrow stone passage stretched ahead, colder than the hallway, sloping downward beneath the estate. Somewhere far off, water dripped.

And on the floor, twenty feet inside, lay Lucas’s blue blanket.

My heart stopped.

“Lucas,” I whispered.

Adrian pushed past Monroe.

The detective grabbed him. “Wait.”

“No.”

“You rush in blind, you may get him killed.”

That stopped him.

Barely.

Monroe drew his weapon. Reeves did the same. One guard handed me a flashlight, though I did not remember asking for it.

“You stay behind us,” Monroe said.

I ignored him and stepped into the tunnel.

“Hannah.”

I looked back at Adrian.

His face was torn open with terror.

“I heard him,” I said. “He needs me.”

No one argued after that.

We moved through the tunnel slowly. The air grew damp. My shoes slid on old stone. I clutched Adrian’s jacket around my shoulders, the fabric still carrying the clean, expensive scent of him and the panic sweat beneath it.

Twenty steps.

Thirty.

Then a sound ahead.

A lullaby.

Soft.

Female.

Humming.

Adrian went rigid.

I whispered, “Do you know that song?”

His lips barely moved. “Isabel used to sing it.”

The flashlight beam shook in my hand.

At the end of the passage, light glowed beneath another door.

Monroe signaled us to stop.

The humming continued.

Then a woman’s voice whispered, “Poor little prince. Poor weak little prince.”

Adrian made a sound in his throat that did not sound human.

Monroe raised one finger.

Wait.

The voice continued.

“They brought you a milk mother, didn’t they? A sad little cow from a dying bakery. They thought that would save you.”

My stomach turned.

Lucas whimpered.

The woman shushed him.

“Don’t cry. Crying makes the heart work harder. We don’t want that, do we?”

Adrian lunged.

Monroe barely caught him.

But the door opened before anyone moved.

A woman stood there holding Lucas.

She wore a nurse’s blue scrubs now, not Isabel’s dress. Her dark hair framed a face that matched the camera footage: beautiful, thin, familiar in a way that made the dead seem possible.

Marina Bell.

Alive.

Her eyes went first to Adrian.

She smiled.

“Hello, Adrian.”

He stared at her as if the floor had vanished beneath him.

“You’re dead.”

Her smile widened.

“People believe what grief needs them to believe.”

Lucas lay against her chest, too pale, his mouth slack with exhaustion.

Every part of me strained toward him.

“Give me the baby,” I said.

Marina’s gaze shifted to me.

Her smile changed.

“You must be Hannah.”

I stepped forward.

Monroe warned, “Don’t.”

Marina tightened her grip on Lucas.

I stopped.

“That’s right,” she said softly. “You understand babies, don’t you? They’re so easy to hurt by accident.”

“Give him to me.”

“You fed him poison.”

“No.”

“Oh, but you did. It was in your supplements. Your blood. Your milk. Such a tragic story.” She tilted her head. “A grieving mother loses one baby, then smothers another with desperation.”

Adrian’s voice shook with rage. “Marina, I swear to God—”

“You swear to God?” she snapped.

The sweetness vanished so violently Lucas startled.

“You married Isabel while I was still breathing your name into pillows. You let her wear the diamonds that should have been mine. You let her carry your heir.”

“She was my wife.”

“She was weak.”

“She was kind.”

“She lied to you!”

Marina’s eyes blazed.

“She knew that child could be born broken. She knew and she still trapped you with him.”

Adrian took one slow step forward.

“My son is not broken.”

Marina laughed, but tears streamed down her face.

“He is a liability. Your board knows it. Your enemies will know it. A sick heir makes a weak dynasty.”

Monroe kept his gun trained low. “Marina, place the baby on the floor and step back.”

She looked at him with contempt.

“Detective, you’re standing in a house built by men who bought judges before your grandfather was born. Don’t pretend your badge means something here.”

Then her eyes flicked to me again.

“You should have stayed in your bakery.”

I held her gaze.

“I know.”

That surprised her.

“I should have stayed with my ovens and my unpaid bills and the empty nursery above the shop. I should have said no when Adrian asked me to come here. I should have been afraid of women like you.”

I stepped closer.

“But Lucas latched onto me like he wanted to live. And I don’t care whose blood he has, whose money he inherits, or what name is carved over the gate. He is a baby. Give him back.”

For half a second, Marina’s face flickered.

Not remorse.

Recognition.

Then Lucas made a tiny rooting movement, his mouth searching weakly.

She looked down.

And in that moment, her grip loosened.

I moved.

So did Adrian.

Marina screamed.

Monroe shouted.

The tunnel erupted.

I reached Lucas first, my hands sliding under his small body just as Marina tried to jerk him back. Adrian caught Marina’s wrist. She twisted, clawing at him. Lucas cried once, thin and sharp. I pulled him into my chest and turned away, shielding him with my body.

Something shattered against the wall.

Reeves tackled Marina.

She hit the stone floor screaming Adrian’s name.

But I barely heard her.

Lucas was breathing.

Too fast.

Too shallow.

But breathing.

I pressed my cheek to his head.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Adrian dropped to his knees beside us.

His hands hovered, afraid to touch.