Chloe stared, transfixed, at the ultrasound monitor, her terror temporarily eclipsed by the life blooming inside her. “That’s her?” she whispered.

The technician’s stiff posture softened into a genuine, maternal slump. “Yes, ma’am. That’s your little girl. Exceptionally strong heartbeat.”

As if to prove the point, my granddaughter delivered a sharp, visible kick to the uterine wall.

Then the heavy oak door swung open with a dramatic, arrogant flair. The air pressure in the room shifted. I slipped the black phone back into the shadows of my handbag and slowly turned my head.

The trap was set. The bait was in the cage. And the predator was about to realize he was actually the prey.

Chapter 3: The Coldest Cut

Julian Thorne strode into the ultrasound suite in a tailored navy suit beneath a pristine, starched-white medical coat. His silver Rolex flashed under the fluorescent lights—a beacon of his manufactured success.