Chapter 3 - Room 709They did not deliver her that night.
They almost did.
For seventeen minutes, my daughter’s heartbeat hovered low enough that every person in the room moved like one wrong breath could end us both. Then, slowly, impossibly, the rhythm climbed back.
Not strong.
But steady enough.
Dr. Sloan stood beside the hospital bed long after the crisis passed, her hair pulled loose from its clip, her face pale with exhaustion.
“You bought time,” she said.
I looked down at my stomach. “How much?”
Her silence answered before she did.
“Hours,” I whispered.
“Maybe days. But Sienna, we are not leaving you pregnant much longer. The exposure, the fetal distress, your clotting numbers—everything points in the same direction.”
“My body is failing her.”
“No.” Rebecca took my hand. “Someone hurt you. There is a difference.”
I turned my face toward the window.
Chicago glittered below, unaware that my entire life had narrowed to one hospital room and the tiny heartbeat on a monitor.
Room 709.
A private maternity suite under another name, on a floor Adrian had somehow emptied in less than an hour. Nurses came and went through guarded doors. No visitors. No announcements. No hospital bracelet with Moretti printed anywhere.
But hiding no longer felt possible.
Not after the photo.
Not after the message.
Congratulations on the heir.
A soft knock came at the door.
Rebecca looked at the guard through the glass. He nodded.
Adrian entered alone.
No coat. Sleeves rolled up. Tie gone. His hair was disheveled, like he had been running his hands through it for hours. I had seen him walk into rooms full of dangerous men without a flicker of concern.
Now he stopped three feet from my bed like I might ask him to leave.
“How is she?” he asked.
I knew he meant the baby.
But his eyes moved over my face first.
“Stable,” I said. “For now.”
His shoulders eased slightly.
Rebecca closed the chart. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”
Before she left, she looked at Adrian. “No stress. No interrogation. No mafia theatrics.”
He blinked at her.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
When the door closed, Adrian came closer.
“Can I sit?”
I nodded.
He sat carefully in the chair beside my bed, leaving space between us.
That small distance hurt more than it should have.
For months, I had told myself I hated him. It was easier that way. Easier than remembering the man who brought me coffee during late-night storms. Easier than remembering the way he used to rest his hand on my back in crowded rooms, not to control me, but to remind me I was not alone.
Then the divorce papers arrived.
Cold.
Final.
Signed.
No phone call. No explanation. Just legal language and a settlement so generous it felt like hush money.
“I need to ask you something,” I said.
“Anything.”
“Did you send the divorce papers?”
He looked down.
My chest tightened.
Then he said, “Yes.”
Something inside me sank.
“But not the way you think.”
I turned away. “That sounds like something guilty men say.”
“I signed documents after my attorney told me you had already signed a separation agreement.”
I looked back at him.
“What separation agreement?”
His eyes sharpened.
“You didn’t sign one?”
“No.”
He stood.
“Adrian.”
He crossed to the window, then stopped himself. I watched him fight the instinct to become violence.
“My attorney brought me papers with your signature,” he said. “You said you wanted out. You said you were afraid of my life. You refused to speak to me except through counsel.”
“I never said that.”
“I called you for two weeks.”
“My phone was disconnected because someone emptied my account.”
His head turned slowly.
“What?”
I laughed bitterly. “You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“The week after you left for New York, my cards stopped working. My phone shut off. Your housekeeper told me I had twenty-four hours to leave the penthouse because ‘Mrs. Moretti was no longer welcome.’”
Adrian’s face drained of color.
“I never gave that order.”
“I slept in a motel that night.”
He closed his eyes.
The silence between us filled with every month we had lost.
When he opened them, they were no longer cold. They were devastated.
“I thought you left me,” he said.
“I thought you threw me away.”
He sat back down slowly, like his legs could no longer hold him.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded paper.
“I found this two hours ago.”
He handed it to me.
It was a copy of a wire transfer.
Five million dollars.
From a Moretti trust account.
To someone named Elaine Porter.
I stared at it. “Who is Elaine Porter?”
“My former attorney’s assistant.”
“Former?”
“She disappeared three months ago.”
I looked at him.
He continued, “The same day my attorney died in a car accident.”
A chill moved through me.
“Adrian…”
“There’s more.” His voice lowered. “The white roses. The message. The forged papers. None of it points to a street rival.”
“Then who?”
Before he could answer, a sound came from the hall.
Not loud.
A tray rattling.
Then a guard spoke sharply.
“Stop there.”
Adrian stood.
The door handle moved.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
A nurse I did not recognize appeared behind the glass, pushing a medication cart.
Adrian moved between the door and my bed.
The guard checked her badge.
For one second, everything looked normal.
Then the nurse looked up.
Our eyes met through the glass.
She smiled.
I had seen her before.
Not in the clinic.
Not in the hospital.
In the lobby of my second apartment building, holding a bouquet of white roses.
“Adrian,” I whispered.
He was already moving.
The woman dropped the medication tray and ran.
The hallway erupted.
Nico shouted.
The guard lunged.
The woman reached into her pocket.
Adrian slammed the door shut and locked it from inside.
“Get down,” he ordered.
This time, I did not argue.
A second later, something hit the glass hard enough to spiderweb it.
I covered my stomach with both hands.
Outside, Adrian’s men dragged the woman to the floor. She fought silently, viciously, until Nico pinned her wrist and kicked something away.
A syringe rolled across the hall.
Adrian stared at it.
Then he turned back to me.
May you like
The look on his face told me what I already knew.
Whoever wanted our daughter gone had just walked into a locked hospital floor to finish the job.
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