Chapter 5: The Mask Slips
At twelve weeks, Seraphina's sabotage attempts intensified.
"I made your favorite — ginger and lemon tea!" She appeared in my room with a porcelain cup, smiling like a saint.
I took it. Sniffed. Pennyroyal. An abortifacient herb masked by the ginger. She was getting desperate.
"Thank you, Sera." I held the cup and waited for her to leave.
She didn't. She sat down, watching me with those sweet, patient eyes. Waiting for me to drink.
So I brought the cup to my lips, pretended to sip, and set it down. "It's lovely. I'll finish it later — the nausea makes it hard to drink too fast."
Her smile tightened. "Of course. Take your time."
The second she left, I poured the tea into a sample vial and locked it in the false bottom of my suitcase.
That was specimen number seven. Seven separate attempts to kill my baby.
That afternoon, Dominic summoned me to his study. He was on the phone, pacing, his voice clipped and aggressive.
"What do you mean the algorithm is malfunctioning? That system generates forty percent of our quarterly revenue. Fix it. NOW."
I stood in the doorway, my hands folded over my stomach, watching him unravel.
He noticed me and covered the phone. "What are you standing there for? Sit."
I sat. He finished his call, slamming the phone onto his desk.
"Technical issues," he muttered, rubbing his temples. Then he seemed to remember I existed. "Your twelve-week scan is tomorrow. Be ready at seven."
"Of course."
He paused, studying me. "You've been... quiet lately."
"Is that a problem?"
"No." He leaned back in his chair. "It's just different. Most surrogates I've heard of get emotional. Clingy. You're like a ghost."
I met his eyes. "You told me not to forget what I am. I haven't."
Something shifted in his expression — was it discomfort? He looked away first.
"Good. Keep it that way."
That night, the algorithm I'd built went dark for exactly forty-seven minutes. Ashford Group lost twelve million dollars in automated trades before the backup kicked in.
Dominic didn't sleep. I knew because I heard him pacing above me until 4 AM.
In the morning, his under-eye circles were brutal. He barely glanced at the ultrasound screen during my appointment.
But I watched. I watched my baby's tiny heartbeat flutter on the monitor, and something fierce and protective roared to life in my chest.
This child would never be a bargaining chip. Never be a pawn in Seraphina's game or a trophy on Dominic's shelf.
This child was mine.
After the appointment, Callum drove me back to the estate. In the rearview mirror, our eyes met.
"Phase Two?" he asked quietly.
"Phase Two," I confirmed.
That evening, the first anonymous tip reached Northgate City's financial regulatory board. Ashford Group's offshore accounts — the ones Seraphina used to siphon Laurent family funds — were now under investigation.
The dominos were starting to fall.
---
"I made your favorite — ginger and lemon tea!" She appeared in my room with a porcelain cup, smiling like a saint.
I took it. Sniffed. Pennyroyal. An abortifacient herb masked by the ginger. She was getting desperate.
"Thank you, Sera." I held the cup and waited for her to leave.
She didn't. She sat down, watching me with those sweet, patient eyes. Waiting for me to drink.
So I brought the cup to my lips, pretended to sip, and set it down. "It's lovely. I'll finish it later — the nausea makes it hard to drink too fast."
Her smile tightened. "Of course. Take your time."
The second she left, I poured the tea into a sample vial and locked it in the false bottom of my suitcase.
That was specimen number seven. Seven separate attempts to kill my baby.
That afternoon, Dominic summoned me to his study. He was on the phone, pacing, his voice clipped and aggressive.
"What do you mean the algorithm is malfunctioning? That system generates forty percent of our quarterly revenue. Fix it. NOW."
I stood in the doorway, my hands folded over my stomach, watching him unravel.
He noticed me and covered the phone. "What are you standing there for? Sit."
I sat. He finished his call, slamming the phone onto his desk.
"Technical issues," he muttered, rubbing his temples. Then he seemed to remember I existed. "Your twelve-week scan is tomorrow. Be ready at seven."
"Of course."
He paused, studying me. "You've been... quiet lately."
"Is that a problem?"
"No." He leaned back in his chair. "It's just different. Most surrogates I've heard of get emotional. Clingy. You're like a ghost."
I met his eyes. "You told me not to forget what I am. I haven't."
Something shifted in his expression — was it discomfort? He looked away first.
"Good. Keep it that way."
That night, the algorithm I'd built went dark for exactly forty-seven minutes. Ashford Group lost twelve million dollars in automated trades before the backup kicked in.
Dominic didn't sleep. I knew because I heard him pacing above me until 4 AM.
In the morning, his under-eye circles were brutal. He barely glanced at the ultrasound screen during my appointment.
But I watched. I watched my baby's tiny heartbeat flutter on the monitor, and something fierce and protective roared to life in my chest.
This child would never be a bargaining chip. Never be a pawn in Seraphina's game or a trophy on Dominic's shelf.
This child was mine.
After the appointment, Callum drove me back to the estate. In the rearview mirror, our eyes met.
"Phase Two?" he asked quietly.
"Phase Two," I confirmed.
That evening, the first anonymous tip reached Northgate City's financial regulatory board. Ashford Group's offshore accounts — the ones Seraphina used to siphon Laurent family funds — were now under investigation.
The dominos were starting to fall.
---