The ultrasound pictures were still warm from my fingers when my mother-in-law threw them into the kitchen trash.

The afternoon sun was struggling to pierce through the heavy coastal clouds when the sound of a roaring motor shattered the tranquil silence of Cliffwood Manor. I was sitting at the massive mahogany desk in the third-floor study, reviewing the preliminary asset distribution reports from Project Omega, when Mrs. Gable appeared silently at the open door. "Madam," Mrs. Gable said, her voice taut with a controlled edge of warning. "We have uninvited visitors at the front gates. Two vehicles. Seattle plates." I slowly closed the manila folder, my heart beating a steady, rhythmic drum of adrenaline. I stood up, smoothing down the fabric of my emerald-green maternity dress, and walked over to the arched window. Down in the gravel courtyard, two sleek black SUVs had just parked. The doors flew open, and out stepped Julian Rossi, flanked by his corporate lawyer Henderson and two burly, suited men who looked suspiciously less like legal aides and more like professional enforcers. Julian stepped out, adjusting his expensive Italian wool coat and squinting up at the towering stone facade of the manor with a look of undisguised contempt and covetousness. "Stay here, Mrs. Gable," I instructed calmly, my voice carrying an absolute, unshakeable authority that surprised even myself. "Let’s go see what my dear cousin wants." I descended the grand spiral staircase, my heels clicking rhythmically against the stone floor, just as the heavy oak front door began to rattle under a sharp, demanding series of knocks. I didn't rush. I walked with deliberate, unhurried grace, letting them wait on the porch the exact way Margaret used to make her petitioners wait. When I finally reached the door, I turned the brass handle and pulled it open wide. Julian was standing with his hand raised to knock again. His fist froze mid-air as his eyes landed on me. For a split second, shock registered on his face—the sight of me, glowing, heavily pregnant, and completely unflustered, standing in the doorway of a multi-million-dollar estate completely caught him off guard. Then, the slick, condescending smirk returned to his mouth. "Well, well, well," Julian drawled, taking a deliberate step across the threshold without an invitation. "Look at Cinderella in her castle. I must admit, Clara, I thought you’d be living in a trailer park by now. Imagine my surprise when I found out you inherited my aunt’s favorite sanctuary." I didn't move an inch. I stood planted firmly in the doorway, blocking the entrance, my eyes narrowing coldly as I looked down at him. "You’re trespassing, Julian," I said, my voice ice-cold and utterly steady. "Turn around, get back in your SUVs, and get off my property before I have the island sheriff escort you off in handcuffs." Julian laughed—a harsh, barking sound that lacked any genuine humor. He took another step forward, trying to intimidate me by sheer physical presence, but I held my ground, staring straight into his calculating eyes. "Your property?" Julian scoffed, spreading his arms wide. "Clara, sweetie, you don't even know what you're holding. That deed was obtained under undue influence while my aunt was out of her mind. We’re here to take back what rightfully belongs to the Rossi family—starting with those keys, and ending with every single document in that third-floor safe." Behind Julian, Roman’s heavy footsteps echoed suddenly from the hallway. Roman had just walked in through the side entrance carrying bags of groceries, and the moment he saw Julian standing in our foyer, his face hardened into stone. "Get your hands off the door frame, Julian," Roman’s voice cut through the air like a razor, cold, deep, and dripping with lethal menace as he set the grocery bags down on the console table and stepped smoothly into my line of sight. "Before I break every bone in your body and throw you off this cliff myself."