A WEALTHY WOMAN PUSHED A PREGNANT WOMAN IN A WHEELCHAIR TOWARD A DEADLY CLIFF—BUT HER BROTHER RISKED HIS LIFE TO SAVE HER! WHAT HAPPENED NEXT WAS EVEN MORE TERRIFYING...

Three days passed. The penthouse suite of St. Jude's had become an opulent prison.

Julian Sterling stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his tailored suit hanging off his frame. He looked exhausted, haunted. His eyes flickered between the wife he adored and the mother who dominated his existence.

"Em," Julian whispered, kneeling beside her bed, taking her cold hands into his. "Mom says you're having nightmares. She says you're blaming her for what happened on the mountain because your mind can't accept Daniel's recklessness. Emily, talk to me. What really happened out there?"

Emily stared at her husband. She loved Julian—or at least, she had loved the gentle, artistic architect she met before his father died and Victoria pulled him back into the family's blood-soaked corporate arena. But looking into his eyes now, she saw only weakness. Julian was an innocent lamb who refused to believe his mother was a slaughterhouse butcher.

"Julian," Emily said, her voice a delicate, calculated whisper. "If I told you the truth, would you choose me? Or would you choose the Sterling name?"

Before Julian could answer, the door clicked open. Victoria entered, flanked by two private nurses wearing uniforms that did not belong to the hospital staff.

"Julian, darling," Victoria purred, stepping between them with practiced grace. "The board of directors is waiting in the boardroom downstairs. The quarterly earnings call begins in twenty minutes. You cannot be seen neglecting the company during a family crisis. It looks bad for the stock."

"Mom, can't it wait? Emily looks terrified—"

"I will look after Emily," Victoria said, placing a firm, manicured hand on Julian's cheek. Her touch lingered just long enough to be controlling. "Go, son. Be the CEO your father raised you to be."

Julian hesitated, kissed Emily's forehead, and walked out. The heavy mahogany door clicked shut behind him.

The moment the lock engaged, Victoria turned to the lead nurse.

"Prepare the oxytocin drip," Victoria commanded.

Emily sat up, panic surging through her veins. "What? No! I'm only thirty-one weeks! The baby isn't ready!"

"The baby will be delivered via emergency C-section tonight," Victoria said, stepping toward the bed, her eyes gleeful and merciless. "You are unstable, Emily. The medical board has already granted me temporary medical guardianship due to your 'psychiatric break.' Once the child is extracted and placed in an incubator under my private specialists, you will suffer a tragic postpartum embolism. Perfectly natural. Perfectly fatal."

"You're insane!" Emily screamed, thrashing against the sheets.

The two nurses grabbed Emily's wrists, holding her down as the syringe approached her IV line.

Suddenly, the lights in the entire wing flickered and died.

The emergency alarms blared. Red strobe lights bathed the sterile room in crimson shadows.

From the ceiling ventilation grate, a metallic canister dropped onto the floor with a hollow *clatter*.