Chapter 3

I stared at the message until the screen blurred.

Then I screenshot it, forwarded it to my own email, deleted the evidence of my access, and slipped back through the hidden door.

By the time I reached my bedroom, my hands had stopped shaking. In their place was something harder, something colder—a clarity I hadn't felt in months.

Naomi thought she was clever. Liam thought I was controllable.

They had both made the same mistake: they assumed the woman who had sacrificed everything to save her sister would keep sacrificing until there was nothing left.

I pulled out the burner phone I'd purchased two months ago—back when I first noticed Liam locking his study, back when the instinct I'd honed through years of medical training told me something was deeply wrong.

I had one contact saved. Dr. Helen Ashford. My former professor, now a leading attorney specializing in reproductive rights and surrogacy law.

I typed a single message: They erased the contract. They're planning to list my twin as the biological mother. I need help.

Her reply came in under a minute: Do you have any evidence the pregnancy is yours?

I thought for a moment, then opened my medical files. Every ultrasound, every blood panel, every prenatal visit—all conducted under my name at the Carter family's private clinic. Liam had been meticulous about keeping the pregnancy secret from the public, which meant the medical records were filed discreetly, but they existed.

I have nine months of medical records under my name. Every scan, every test.

Good. Don't let them know you've contacted me. And Vivian—don't leave that house until I tell you to. If you run, they'll use it against you.

I set the phone down, exhaling slowly.

The next morning, I played my part.

I made breakfast. I cleaned the kitchen. I smiled when Naomi paraded through the living room in a silk robe that probably cost more than my monthly stipend used to be.

"You're in a good mood," she observed, suspicion flickering behind her eyes.

"The baby kicked a lot last night," I said, keeping my voice light. "It made me happy."

Naomi's gaze dropped to my belly, and for just a moment, something ugly flashed across her face—envy, maybe, or resentment that my body could do what hers couldn't.

Then the mask slid back into place. "You should enjoy it while it lasts. Once the baby's born, you won't have any reason to be here."

"I know," I said softly, and returned to washing dishes.

Behind me, I heard her heels click away, satisfied.

At noon, Liam summoned me to the living room.

He was seated on the sofa, Naomi tucked against his side, a tablet open on the coffee table displaying what appeared to be a revised legal document.

"Sit down, Vivian."

I sat across from them, my posture straight despite the weight of my belly.

"I've had the attorneys update the arrangement," Liam said, his tone businesslike. "After the delivery, you'll receive two million dollars instead of five. The remaining three million was used to cover Naomi's debts—debts, I should remind you, that you asked me to pay."

My jaw tightened. I had never asked him to pay Naomi's debts. The original advance—the $200,000—had come from my contractual payment.

"I didn't—"

"Naomi showed me the messages," he cut in, his voice flat. "You begged her to ask me for help. Don't deny it."

I turned to Naomi, who met my gaze with the most convincing expression of guilt I had ever seen.

"I'm sorry, Viv. I told him you asked me to keep it quiet, but he found out anyway. I didn't mean to cause trouble."

The lie was so smooth, so perfectly delivered, that even I almost believed it.

I looked back at Liam. "And the custody clause?"

"There is no custody clause," he repeated, slower this time, as if speaking to a child. "The child is a Carter. Naomi and I will raise him. You'll walk away with two million and your freedom. That's more than generous."

Naomi leaned forward, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Think of it this way, Viv. You'll be free. No baby to weigh you down, no responsibilities. You can go back to school, travel, do whatever you want. Isn't that what you always dreamed of?"

I stared at her—this woman who shared my face but none of my soul.

"And if I refuse?"

Liam's expression didn't change, but his voice dropped a degree colder.

"Then you'll leave with nothing. No money, no child, and no references. I'll make sure every hospital and every medical school knows you were an unfit surrogate who tried to extort the Carter family."

The threat settled between us like a stone dropped into still water.

I held his gaze for a long moment, letting the silence stretch.

Then I nodded. "Let me think about it."

Liam leaned back, satisfied, as if the matter were already settled.

Naomi's smile returned, wider than before.

That night, alone in my room, I forwarded the photos of the revised document to Dr. Ashford, along with a detailed account of the conversation.

Her response was swift and decisive:

This is coercion. We can build a case, but I need one more thing—proof that Naomi is not biologically related to the child. A DNA comparison between you and your sister, showing only YOUR markers match the prenatal samples on file.

I placed my hand on my belly, feeling the familiar rhythm of my son's heartbeat against my palm.

Getting Naomi's DNA would be easy. She shed hair on every surface like a cat marking territory.

Getting access to the prenatal samples would be harder—but not impossible.

Because the Carter family's private clinic had one critical flaw: the night-shift nurse, Margaret, was the same woman who had held my hand during my first terrifying ultrasound, who had whispered, "You're going to be a wonderful mother," when I couldn't stop crying.

Margaret remembered who the real mother was.

I picked up the burner phone and dialed her number.

It rang three times before she answered.

"Vivian? Is everything alright?"

"Margaret, I need your help. They're trying to take my baby."