Chapter 3

I waited until 2:00 AM.

Dominic always slept in the master bedroom on the west wing—far from me. He said it was because my "tossing and turning" disturbed his sleep. Now I knew the real reason: he couldn't stand being near the woman he was slowly trying to kill.

His study door was locked, but I'd watched Mrs. Crane use the spare key from the hallway cabinet enough times to know where it was hidden.

My hands trembled as I turned the key. The door clicked open.

The study smelled like him—expensive cologne and old leather. I moved quickly to his desk and pulled open the bottom drawer.

Inside was a Manila envelope, thick and worn at the edges, as though it had been opened and resealed many times. My name was written on the front in handwriting I didn't recognize.

I opened it.

The first document was a birth certificate. My birth certificate. But the names on it were wrong.

Mother: Catherine Sinclair.

Father: Edward Sinclair.

I didn't recognize those names. My mother's name was Helen Voss. She had raised me alone in a tiny apartment above a laundromat, working double shifts until her body gave out. She died when I was seventeen.

Or at least, that's what I'd always believed.

The second document was a DNA test. It confirmed that I was not Helen Voss' biological daughter.

The third was a letter, handwritten and dated eighteen years ago.

To whoever finds this child—

Her name is Elara Sinclair. She is the sole heir to the Sinclair estate. We are hiding her to protect her from those who murdered her parents. When she turns twenty-five, the inheritance activates automatically. Protect her until then.

—M.W.

I read it three times, convinced I was hallucinating. The Sinclairs were one of the wealthiest families in the country—old money, the kind that built hospitals and funded universities. They had been killed in a home invasion almost twenty-five years ago. It was national news. Their infant daughter was never found and presumed dead.

That infant was me?

My head was spinning. I flipped to the last document in the envelope—a legal brief from Ashford Pharmaceuticals' attorneys.

RE: Sinclair Estate — Estimated Value: $4.7 Billion

Strategy: Subject (Elara Voss/Sinclair) must remain legally married to Dominic Ashford at time of inheritance activation. Upon her death, spousal inheritance laws grant automatic transfer of 60% of estate assets to surviving spouse. Recommended timeline: eliminate subject post-delivery, pre-25th birthday.

My twenty-fifth birthday was in six weeks.

They weren't just going to let me die in childbirth. They had planned it—timed it down to the week.

I photographed every document with shaking hands, then put everything back exactly as I found it.

Back in my room, I couldn't sleep. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the photos on my phone.

My entire life had been a lie. The mother I mourned wasn't my biological mother. The husband I trusted was engineering my murder. And somewhere out there, I had an inheritance worth billions that powerful people were willing to kill for.

The anonymous texter had saved my life twice now. I needed to know who they were.

Who are you? I typed. Why are you helping me?

The reply came instantly.

Because I failed to save your parents. I won't fail to save you.

Before I could respond, I heard footsteps in the hallway. Heavy, deliberate footsteps—heading toward my room.

The door opened. Dominic stood there, silhouetted by the hallway light.

"Why is the study light on, Elara?"

My blood turned to ice. I'd forgotten to turn off the desk lamp.

"I couldn't sleep. I went to get a book."

He stared at me for a long, terrible moment. Then his eyes dropped to my phone, still clutched in my hand.

"Give me your phone."

"What? Why?"

"Because I asked." He stepped closer. "Give me the phone, Elara."

My baby kicked—a sharp, urgent jab, as if screaming at me to run.

Dominic's hand closed around my wrist.