“My baby is gone, but my body still thinks she’s alive.” The words barely left my mouth as I pressed a cold washcloth against my chest inside a restroom at St.

At 9:00 PM, Vance returned to Gabriel’s private study on the third floor. I sat on the leather sofa near the fire, while Gabriel stood by the window, a glass of scotch untouched in his hand.

Vance dropped a printed lab report onto the desk.

“The oil on the glass rim and the bottle nipple was concentrated Aconite extract,” Vance reported, his voice heavy. “Identical to the compound found in the hospital donor milk.”

Gabriel didn't react with anger this time. The absolute certainty of the betrayal seemed to settle into his bones like lead.

“Julianna,” Gabriel said quietly. “My late wife’s sister.”

“Why would she do it?” I asked, leaning forward on the sofa. “She’s their aunt. Why would she want to harm innocent babies?”

Vance pulled up a financial spreadsheet on his tablet. “Because of Isabella’s will, Miss Vance. Before Isabella married Mr. Moretti, her family held a thirty percent stake in the Moretti Logistics fleet. When Isabella died, her share was inherited automatically by her biological children—Anthony and Lucia.”

“And if the twins died?” I whispered, horror sickening my stomach.

“If the twins died before turning one year old,” Vance explained, “their share of the logistics fleet reverted back to Isabella’s next of kin: her sister, Julianna. That share is worth roughly two hundred and fifty million dollars.”

Gabriel slammed his scotch glass down onto the desk, shattering the heavy crystal into a dozen sharp fragments. Amber liquid pooled over the dark wood.

“She murdered her own sister’s memory for a corporate share,” Gabriel snarled, his chest heaving.

“We can call the police now,” I said, standing up. “We have the lab report! We have the fingerprints on the glass!”

“No,” Gabriel said, turning to me, his face illuminated by the firelight. “The local police can be bought. Julianna’s high-society lawyers will claim the glass was contaminated by hospital staff or that you planted it to frame her.”

“Then what do we do?”

Gabriel walked over to me, stopping inches away. He reached up, gently tucking a strand of dark hair behind my ear. His touch was warm, commanding, and filled with a silent vow.

“We force her to confess,” Gabriel said softly. “Tomorrow night is the reading of Isabella’s estate trust. The entire board will be here. Julianna thinks she’s winning because she believes you are just an uneducated girl from Queens who doesn't know what poison looks like.”