Chapter 3

I didn't move.

"I'm not going anywhere until someone tells me where my children are."

Helen studied me with the detached precision of someone accustomed to controlling rooms. "That's exactly what we need to discuss — privately. Not here."

She glanced at Dr. Ellis, who looked like he wanted to dissolve into his chair.

"This clinic's cooperation has been... noted," she said. It sounded like a threat dressed in silk.

Against every instinct screaming at me to run, I followed her. Because she had answers, and answers were worth more than safety.

The black sedan took us to a glass tower downtown — the kind of building I'd only ever seen from the outside. Helen led me to a private office on the 40th floor, offered me water I didn't touch, and sat across from me.

"Three years ago, my client entered a legal surrogacy agreement through Whitebridge Clinic," she began. "He was told the egg donor was a willing, anonymous participant. All documents appeared legitimate."

"They weren't," I said. "My husband forged everything."

"We're aware of that — now." She paused. "Eight months ago, during a routine background audit, discrepancies surfaced in the paperwork. My client launched a private investigation. That investigation led to your husband."

My stomach turned. "So your client knows what Derek did?"

"He knows your husband committed fraud. He also knows that the biological mother of his children was deceived." Helen folded her hands. "Which is why he wants to meet you."

"Who is he?"

"Ethan Blackwell."

The name hit me like cold water.

Ethan Blackwell — CEO of Blackwell Industries. His face was on magazine covers, financial news, tech summits. He was one of the wealthiest men on the eastern seaboard.

And he had my children.

"He has both of them?" I whispered.

Helen shook her head. "He has your son, Oliver. Your daughter..." She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Your daughter was placed through a separate arrangement. Mr. Blackwell has spent the last eight months trying to locate her."

The room tilted. One child found. One still missing.

"Where is she?" My voice cracked.

"We believe your husband arranged a private adoption — off the books — and kept the payment. We're still tracing the family."

Derek hadn't just sold my eggs. He'd sold my daughter to strangers and pocketed the money.

I couldn't breathe. The walls pressed in. Helen pushed the glass of water toward me, and this time I drank.

"Mrs. Voss — Nora — Mr. Blackwell isn't your enemy. He wants to help you find your daughter. But he needs to verify your identity first. A DNA test."

"Fine," I said immediately. "When?"

"Now, if you're willing."

A nurse appeared within minutes. The swab was quick. Clinical. Nothing like the last time a doctor had touched me in a sterile room.

As the nurse left, Helen handed me a card with a handwritten number on the back.

"Mr. Blackwell will contact you personally once the results are confirmed. In the meantime, I strongly advise you not to return to your husband. If he discovers what you know—"

"He'll destroy the evidence," I finished.

She nodded. "Or worse."

I pocketed the card and stood. "I need to go back. Just once. There are documents in that house — financial records, clinic papers. If Derek moved money for my daughter's adoption, there's a trail."

Helen frowned. "That's extremely risky."

"My daughter is out there with strangers. Risk doesn't mean what it used to."

She studied me for a long moment, then picked up her phone.

"I'll have a security detail follow you at a distance. You'll have one hour. Get in, get what you need, and get out."

I was almost at the door when she called after me.

"Nora."

I turned.

"When the DNA results come back, everything changes. Be ready."

I took the elevator down alone. My reflection stared back at me in the polished doors — gaunt, exhausted, wearing a coat two sizes too big.

But my eyes were different.

For the first time in three years, they looked alive.

I stepped outside, and my phone buzzed. An unknown number.

I opened the message.

"I've been looking for you for eight months. — E.B."