The baby had been screaming for eighty-seven minutes when Clare Jensen realized everyone in first class was solving the wrong problem. She knew because she had spent seven years listening to babies cry.

The next morning, the sun broke over Miami in a blaze of brilliant gold and indigo.

Clare woke up early, her body still humming with residual tension. She found Maya sitting on the plush rug in the nursery, playing happily with a set of wooden building blocks that Elena had brought up for her.

Downstairs, the house was alive with quiet, disciplined activity.

Clare walked down the main staircase to find Domenico standing in his spacious glass-walled office, surrounded by three men in sharp suits. Sitting on a leather couch across from him was Julian Vance, reviewing a series of legal documents on an iPad.

"Ah, Clare," Julian said, standing up immediately and offering a warm, professional smile. "Good morning. How did you sleep?"

"Better than I have in months," Clare admitted, stepping into the room. "Thank you, Mr. Vance."

"Call me Julian," he said, turning the iPad toward her. "We have news regarding Richard Jensen. He filed an emergency motion in New York District Court at seven o'clock this morning, alleging that you are mentally unstable and seeking an immediate warrant for the recovery of your daughter."

Clare's chest tightened. "Can he do that?"

"He tried to do that," Julian corrected with a thin smile. "However, before his attorney could present the petition to the judge, my firm filed a cross-jurisdictional transfer motion, moving all custody proceedings to Florida based on your temporary restraining order. Furthermore, we submitted certified medical affidavits regarding your employment history and psychological fitness."

Clare let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Thank you... thank you so much."

"Don't thank me yet," Julian said, his expression sobering. "Richard knows he lost the legal ambush. Which means he's going to attempt a physical one."

Right on cue, Domenico's chief of security, a broad-shouldered former Special Forces officer named Marcus, stepped into the office.

"Boss," Marcus said, his voice flat. "We have a situation at the main gate."

Domenico turned slowly from the window. "What kind of situation?"

"A black sedan just pulled up to the security intercom," Marcus reported, checking a tablet in his hand. "A man identifying himself as Richard Jensen is demanding entry. He's accompanied by two private investigators and a local process server."

Clare gasped, grabbing the back of a leather armchair for balance. "He's here?"

Domenico didn't flinch. His expression remained terrifyingly calm, like a calm sea right before a hurricane strikes.

"Julian," Domenico said smoothly. "Are the security cameras on the gate recording both audio and video?"

"Class-one federal compliance standard," Julian answered. "Every word is being archived directly to our cloud servers."

"Good," Domenico said, unbuttoning his sleeves and folding them back neatly over his wrists. "Clare, stay upstairs with Maya."

"No," Clare said suddenly, her voice surprising even herself.

Domenico paused, looking at her. "Clare—"

"No," she repeated, stepping forward, her chin lifted, her green eyes blazing with a fierce, quiet courage that had been buried for years under layers of fear. "I'm not hiding in a bedroom anymore, Mr. Salvatore. That's what I did for five years. That's how he kept me small. If he's at your gate, I want him to see me standing next to you."