Chapter 3 - An Impossible Offer
Adrian led Maya into the private dining suite at the back of the restaurant. He had removed his charcoal blazer and draped it over Maya’s shoulders to ward off the chill of the air conditioning. Nora was still perched on Maya’s lap, her head resting on Maya’s chest, her tiny fingers twirling a strand of Maya’s dark wavy hair.
For the first time in eighteen months, Nora’s breathing was completely peaceful. She wasn’t grinding her teeth. She wasn’t rocking back and forth in silent agony.
She looked like a child who had finally arrived home after being lost in the dark.
“Drink this,” Adrian commanded softly, placing a cup of hot chamomile tea in front of Maya.
Maya shook her head, unable to take her hands off the little girl. Every maternal instinct she had buried deep within the graveyard of her soul was clawing its way to the surface. Her chest burned with milk that had dried up two years ago. Her heart pounded in sync with Nora’s small pulse.
“I was told my daughter was dead,” Maya whispered, tears streaming freely down her face. “They said her lungs failed. The nurse… a woman named Brenda… she gave me a box of footprints and told me the hospital had handled the cremation because I couldn't afford the funeral costs. I was nineteen. I had no family. My boyfriend had abandoned me the second I got pregnant. I had nothing.”
Adrian sat across from her, his long fingers laced together on the polished mahogany table. His face was an unreadable mask of cold fury.
“Elena Vance was my wife,” Adrian began, his voice dangerously level. “Two years ago, our marriage was on the verge of dissolution. Our prenuptial agreement stated that if Elena bore me an heir, she would receive forty million dollars in a blind trust, along with twenty percent of my mother’s estate upon the child’s second birthday.”
Maya’s eyes widened in horror. “What are you saying?”
“Elena told me she was pregnant in November of that year,” Adrian continued, the veins on his temples pulsing. “She spent seven months at a private wellness retreat in Vermont, refusing to let me visit, claiming her pregnancy was high-risk and that stress from our failing marriage would kill the baby. When she supposedly gave birth on July fourteenth, she checked into a clinic called St. Jude’s in upstate New York. Or so she told me.”
Adrian paused, leaning forward. “Do you know who owns Crestview Memorial, Miss Rowan?”
“No,” Maya said, her voice shaking.
“The Vance Family Healthcare Foundation,” Adrian stated coldly. “Elena’s uncle is the chief medical director. And Elena’s younger sister, Victoria Vance, sits on the board of trustees.”
The pieces of a horrific, grotesque puzzle slammed together in Maya’s mind.
*They stole my baby.*
*They told me my daughter was a corpse, put her in a designer blanket, and handed her over to a billionaire’s wife for forty million dollars.*
Maya squeezed Nora so hard the little girl let out a soft murmur. “You can't take her from me,” Maya cried, her voice cracking with fierce, untamed panic. “If she is mine… you can’t take her!”
“I don’t know anything for certain yet,” Adrian said, standing up and towering over the table. “Coincidences happen in medicine. Birthmarks can be anomalies. But I am not a fool, Miss Rowan. I see what my daughter sees in you. I hear the word she refused to speak for two years.”
Adrian pulled a platinum business card from his wallet and set it on the table.
“Tomorrow morning at eight, the head of genetic testing at NYU Langone will meet us at my penthouse on Park Avenue. We will run an expedited DNA swab. Six hours later, we will have our answer.”
“And until then?” Maya demanded, clutching Nora closer. “You expect me to just let you walk out of here with her?”
Adrian looked down at his daughter. Nora had fallen asleep, her tiny hand gripping the lapel of Maya’s uniform with an iron grip. When Adrian reached out to touch her arm, Nora flinched in her sleep, whimpering softly: *“Mommy… no go…”*
Adrian’s chest tightened with an emotion he rarely allowed himself to feel: vulnerability.
“Nora will scream until her throat bleeds if I tear her away from you,” Adrian said quietly. “My car is downstairs. You are coming with us to the penthouse tonight, Miss Rowan.”
“I’m not a hostage,” Maya shot back, defiance sparking in her tear-filled eyes.
May you like
“You’re not a hostage,” Adrian agreed, his silver eyes flashing with profound intensity. “You are the woman who just gave my daughter back her voice. Come to my home. Sleep in the guest suite. Tomorrow, we discover if the monster who raised Nora was my wife, or if the woman who gave birth to her is sitting in front of me.”
***
