Inside my leather handbag, the encrypted phone vibrated three consecutive times.

ACCOUNTS FROZEN. RECEIVERSHIP FILED. FEDERAL WARRANTS ACTIVE.

I looked past Julian’s perfectly groomed profile, focusing on the tiny, rhythmic pulsing of the baby’s heartbeat on the monitor. Fast. Stubborn. A war drum.

I slowly stood, smoothing the wrinkles from my skirt, and finally met Julian’s eyes. They were dark, flat, and completely devoid of empathy.

“You know, Julian,” I said, my voice conversational yet echoing loudly off the sterile tiles. “You really should have checked the deed to see who owned this room before you decided to threaten my child’s life inside of it.”

For the very first time since the day I met him, the arrogant golden smile vanished entirely from Julian Thorne’s face.