Chapter 3
Forty-seven minutes later, the door to my hospital room opened.
Dominic Price walked in like a cold front — tall, dark-suited, and radiating the kind of authority that made people instinctively step aside.
Behind him was his paralegal carrying a leather briefcase, and behind *her* was Harper, who immediately rushed to my bedside.
"Oh, Lily." Harper gripped my hand. Her eyes were red. "I'm going to kill him."
Dominic stood at the foot of my bed, scanning the room — the manila envelope, my chart, the removed IV trailing on the floor.
His gaze settled on me. Those cold gray eyes softened — just barely, just for a moment.
"Tell me everything," he said. "From the beginning."
I told him. About the NICU lie. About Sienna's photo. About Ryan's visit, the documents, the psychiatric flag.
Dominic's expression didn't change, but his jaw went tight. When I finished, he pulled out his phone and made three calls in rapid succession.
The first was to the hospital's legal department.
The second was to Child Protective Services.
The third was to a judge whose name I recognized from the news.
Then he turned to me. "There was never a NICU admission for your son. I confirmed it with hospital records ten minutes ago. Ryan checked the baby out of the hospital the day after delivery using his parental rights as father."
I closed my eyes. Five days. My baby had been gone for five days.
"The psychiatric hold is baseless," Dominic continued. "There's no evaluation, no diagnosis — just a note from your husband requesting one. I've already had it removed from your file."
Harper squeezed my hand. "You're getting out of here tonight."
Dominic set his briefcase on the table and opened it. Inside were documents of his own — emergency custody motions, a restraining order draft, and what appeared to be a police report template.
"Lily." His voice was quiet but firm. "I need you to make a decision right now."
I looked at him.
"Do you want your son back? Because if you do, we move tonight. No hesitation. No mercy."
Three years of marriage. Three years of telling myself Ryan was a good man who just had a complicated history. Three years of ignoring the way he still looked at Sienna at dinner parties, the way he always answered her calls, the way he said "she's like family" whenever I questioned it.
I'd been so careful. So understanding. So *reasonable.*
And he'd repaid me by stealing my child while I lay unconscious in a hospital bed.
"Get him back," I said. "Whatever it takes."
Dominic nodded once.
Then he made one more call, and said six words that changed everything.
"We're moving now. Bring the police."
Dominic Price walked in like a cold front — tall, dark-suited, and radiating the kind of authority that made people instinctively step aside.
Behind him was his paralegal carrying a leather briefcase, and behind *her* was Harper, who immediately rushed to my bedside.
"Oh, Lily." Harper gripped my hand. Her eyes were red. "I'm going to kill him."
Dominic stood at the foot of my bed, scanning the room — the manila envelope, my chart, the removed IV trailing on the floor.
His gaze settled on me. Those cold gray eyes softened — just barely, just for a moment.
"Tell me everything," he said. "From the beginning."
I told him. About the NICU lie. About Sienna's photo. About Ryan's visit, the documents, the psychiatric flag.
Dominic's expression didn't change, but his jaw went tight. When I finished, he pulled out his phone and made three calls in rapid succession.
The first was to the hospital's legal department.
The second was to Child Protective Services.
The third was to a judge whose name I recognized from the news.
Then he turned to me. "There was never a NICU admission for your son. I confirmed it with hospital records ten minutes ago. Ryan checked the baby out of the hospital the day after delivery using his parental rights as father."
I closed my eyes. Five days. My baby had been gone for five days.
"The psychiatric hold is baseless," Dominic continued. "There's no evaluation, no diagnosis — just a note from your husband requesting one. I've already had it removed from your file."
Harper squeezed my hand. "You're getting out of here tonight."
Dominic set his briefcase on the table and opened it. Inside were documents of his own — emergency custody motions, a restraining order draft, and what appeared to be a police report template.
"Lily." His voice was quiet but firm. "I need you to make a decision right now."
I looked at him.
"Do you want your son back? Because if you do, we move tonight. No hesitation. No mercy."
Three years of marriage. Three years of telling myself Ryan was a good man who just had a complicated history. Three years of ignoring the way he still looked at Sienna at dinner parties, the way he always answered her calls, the way he said "she's like family" whenever I questioned it.
I'd been so careful. So understanding. So *reasonable.*
And he'd repaid me by stealing my child while I lay unconscious in a hospital bed.
"Get him back," I said. "Whatever it takes."
Dominic nodded once.
Then he made one more call, and said six words that changed everything.
"We're moving now. Bring the police."