Z

Emergency lights turned the room red.

Vanessa screamed.

I reached beneath my desk for the weapon locked there, then stopped when Miles’s voice came through my earpiece.

“West corridor breach. Stay inside.”

Vanessa stared at me.

“You keep guns in your desk?”

“Not relevant.”

“It feels relevant.”

The security system had failed simultaneously with the power.

That did not happen accidentally.

My phone vibrated.

Ariana.

I answered instantly.

“Are you safe?”

Her voice trembled.

“What happened?”

“How do you know something happened?”

“Margaret’s power just went out.”

My blood froze.

Two locations.

Same time.

A distraction.

“Ariana, listen carefully. Lock every door. Move away from the windows.”

“Adrian—”

“Do it now.”

I was already running.

Miles intercepted me in the hallway.

“You’re not leaving until we clear the grounds.”

“My wife’s house lost power too.”

His face changed.

“That’s the target.”

We were in the car forty seconds later.

The drive to Bridgeport took fourteen minutes.

It felt like fourteen years.

When we arrived, the front door was open.

I stopped breathing.

“Ariana!”

I entered despite Miles shouting behind me.

A chair had been overturned.

Glass from the back door covered the kitchen floor.

Then Margaret appeared holding a fireplace poker.

“If you’re one of his security men, say something before I kill you.”

“Where’s Ariana?”

“Upstairs.”

I took the stairs three at a time.

I found her sitting on the floor beside the bed, one arm wrapped around her stomach.

There was blood on her palm.

The world disappeared.

“Ariana.”

She looked up.

“It’s not mine.”

I dropped beside her.

“What?”

“I cut the man who came through the window.”

She pointed toward a small kitchen knife near the doorway.

My knees almost gave out.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“The baby?”

“She’s moving.”

I put my hand out, then stopped before touching her.

“May I?”

Ariana stared at me.

Then she took my wrist.

Placed my palm against her stomach.

For three seconds, nothing happened.

Then something pushed gently beneath my hand.

My daughter.

The sensation was tiny.

Almost nothing.

I had never felt anything more powerful.

My eyes closed.

Another movement.

“She does that when I’m scared,” Ariana whispered.

I looked at her.

“You shouldn’t have to be scared.”

“Neither should she.”

“No.”

Sirens approached outside.

Miles entered.

“The intruder fled through the alley. He left blood on the fence. We’ll get DNA.”

I stood.

“Find him.”

Ariana’s hand caught mine again.

“Legal.”

I looked down at her.

“Legal.”

The police took statements for two hours.

By dawn, Margaret’s house was a crime scene.

The intruder had disabled an exterior camera and cut the utility line before entering.

He had searched the downstairs office.

Not valuables.

Documents.

Specifically Ariana’s medical files.

When the detective said that, Ariana looked at me.

We understood the same thing.

Someone wanted information about the baby.

Not money.

Not jewelry.

The baby.

“You can’t stay here,” I said.

Ariana’s face hardened.

“No.”

“Not Vale House.”

She blinked.

“I own an apartment in Streeterville. No staff. Private elevator. You can control access.”

“I’m not moving into one of your properties.”

“Then choose a hotel.”

“Also yours.”

Despite everything, Margaret laughed.

Ariana glared at her.

Margaret shrugged.

“He does own an unreasonable amount of Chicago.”

I almost smiled.

Almost.

Ariana finally agreed to a furnished condominium rented under Miles’s name.

No Vale employees inside.

Two female security agents downstairs.

One unmarked car outside.

Nothing more.

I accepted every condition.

For the next four days, I did not ask Ariana to come home.

I did not ask whether she loved me.

I did not ask if there was any chance for us.

Instead, I learned.

Her doctor’s name.

The vitamins she took.

The fact that our daughter became unusually active after orange juice.

The fact that Ariana had severe nausea during the first trimester and had spent several mornings vomiting into the guest bathroom because she did not want me to hear.

That discovery nearly destroyed me.

“You were sleeping three rooms away,” she said.

We sat in the temporary apartment eating takeout.

“You could have woken me.”

“You were usually gone before seven.”

“I would have stayed.”

“Would you?”

She wasn’t being cruel.

That made it worse.

I had no answer.

Ariana set down her fork.

“When did we become strangers?”

The question was quiet.

I looked toward the windows.

“After my father died.”

She nodded.

Two years earlier.

Richard Vale’s death had handed me full control of the empire.

I had told myself everything depended on me.

Every company.

Every employee.

Every deal.

I had worked eighteen-hour days and praised myself for sacrifice.

I never asked what Ariana was sacrificing to stay beside me.

“I thought if I stopped moving, everything would fall apart,” I said.

“So you let us fall apart instead.”

“Yes.”

She looked surprised by the lack of defense.

I continued.

“Vanessa wasn’t the reason our marriage failed.”

Ariana’s eyes lifted.

“She was an opportunity.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“I know.”

I forced myself to keep going.

“She represented something simple. A wife who understood the board, the press, the family expectations. A merger everyone wanted. I convinced myself that choosing her was efficient.”

Ariana laughed softly, painfully.

“You replaced your marriage because it was inefficient.”

“When you say it that way…”

“How else should I say it?”

“There isn’t another way.”

Silence filled the room.

Then Ariana touched her stomach.

“She’s moving.”

I looked automatically.

Ariana watched me.

“Come here.”

I did not breathe.

She took my hand and placed it against the side of her belly.

The baby kicked almost immediately.

A helpless laugh escaped me.

Ariana’s eyes filled.

I looked at her.

“What?”

“You used to laugh like that.”

My throat tightened.

“When?”

“When we had nothing.”

I remembered.

A one-bedroom apartment over a bakery.

A broken heater.

Secondhand furniture.

Ariana dancing barefoot while pasta boiled.

Me believing the next deal would change everything.

It had.

Just not the way I intended.

My phone rang.

Miles.

I answered.

“We got the DNA.”

“Name?”

“Nolan Reese.”

The private investigator Vanessa’s assistant had paid.

Ariana heard.

Her face paled.

“Where is he?”

“Police found his rental car abandoned near Pilsen. But there’s more.”

“What?”

“He wasn’t working alone.”

Miles hesitated.

“The security codes used to disable Margaret’s alarm came from Vale Protective Services.”

I stood slowly.

“Impossible.”

“It came from an executive-level credential.”

Only six people had access.

I was one.

Miles was another.

My mother.

Two security directors.

And my cousin, Grant Vale.

My father’s favorite nephew.

My company’s chief operating officer.

The man who had stood beside me at my wedding.

The man who had personally handed Ariana her suitcase three days earlier because I was too cowardly to do it myself.

Ariana stared at me.

“Who?”

I didn’t answer immediately.

Because the truth had opened a new door.

And behind that door was something worse than Vanessa Harrington.

“Someone in my family.”