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

The roaring fire cast a warm, golden glow across the mahogany bookshelves of the grand sitting room, dancing against the stone walls and painting long, comforting shadows across the floor. Outside, the sun was beginning its slow, dramatic descent toward the jagged horizon of the Pacific, setting the ocean ablaze with streaks of brilliant orange, deep purple, and molten gold. I stood by the towering arched window, the small iron key to the Vancouver Island foundation resting safely in the palm of my hand, while Roman’s arms were wrapped securely around my shoulders, his hands resting gently over my growing belly. "A foundation for mothers and children," I murmured softly, feeling the baby give a gentle, reassuring kick against my palm. "We could actually do it, Roman. We could build something that heals instead of destroys." "We already are, sweetheart," Roman whispered against my ear, pressing a tender kiss to my cheek. "We’re building our family. Everything else is just the canvas." Just as the last sliver of the sun dipped below the ocean horizon, plunging the coastline into the tranquil blue of twilight, my phone buzzed once more on the mahogany table. I glanced over my shoulder, expecting another legal notice or a courier update. But the screen displayed a simple, unregistered video call request. I frowned, exchanging a questioning look with Roman. Hesitantly, I walked over to the table and tapped the accept button. The screen flickered, the camera loading a live feed from a secure, encrypted satellite channel. The image cleared, revealing a sleek, ultra-modern boardroom in Zurich. Sitting at the head of the polished glass table was a young woman I had never seen before—sharp-eyed, elegant, and wearing a familiar, uncompromising expression that looked terrifyingly like Margaret’s. She stared straight through the camera lens, looking directly at me. "Clara Rossi," the young woman said, her voice crisp, confident, and carrying the unmistakable weight of unyielding authority. "It’s time we discussed the second half of the Zurich portfolio. The part my grandmother didn't write in the notes." My breath hitched in my throat as Roman stepped up beside me, staring at the screen in absolute shock. The screen flickered again, displaying a confidential bank routing number and a single phrase flashing across the bottom of the encrypted feed: *“Project Genesis — The True Heir.”* To be continued...