Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
The man in the doorway was Damian's security chief, Marcus Vale.
He was perhaps fifty, silver beginning at his temples, his expression controlled in the way only dangerous people and experienced surgeons seemed able to manage.
His eyes went immediately to the monitor.
“Turn that off.”
Damian looked at him.
“Why?”
Marcus didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
Damian moved so quickly I barely saw it.
He crossed the room and seized Marcus by the front of his jacket.
“Why?”
“Boss—”
“You knew.”
“I knew there were recordings.”
My stomach tightened.
Damian shoved him backward.
“Get out,” I said.
Both men looked at me.
“The babies.”
Leo and Luca were crying again.
Damian released Marcus.
I closed the bedroom door.
“Whatever this is,” I said, “you deal with it somewhere else.”
Damian looked ready to argue.
Then Luca hiccupped between sobs.
His father's anger disappeared.
“Five minutes,” Damian told Marcus.
Marcus left.
Damian followed.
I remained with the twins.
But I kept the monitor.
I shouldn't have.
That was the first rule I broke.
The second was pressing play.
Natalia's voice returned.
“If you're listening to this, I don't know who you are. Maybe you're one of Damian's people. Maybe you're a nurse. Maybe you're the person I prayed would eventually notice.”
I looked at the babies.
Leo's eyes were fixed on me.
“My sons cry because they remember my voice.”
My chest tightened.
“They heard me every night before they were born. I talked to them at 2:17 every morning because that was when they became restless.”
So the crying wasn't pain.
It was recognition.
Grief without language.
I sat beside them.
Natalia continued.
“There are things Damian doesn't know.”
Footsteps sounded outside.
I stopped the recording.
Damian returned alone.
“Marcus has been with me seventeen years.”
“You think he betrayed you?”
“I think everyone is capable of betrayal.”
“Comforting philosophy.”
“It keeps you alive.”
“It also keeps you alone.”
He stared at me.
I shouldn't have said it.
But something in his expression told me nobody else would.
“What did the recording say?”
I hesitated.
“You listened.”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“You told me nobody interferes while you work.”
“That doesn't mean—”
“The monitor is connected to the babies. Therefore it's part of my work.”
For several seconds we stared at each other.
Then, unexpectedly, he sat.
Not like a crime boss.
Like a tired father.
“What did Natalia say?”
I told him.
His eyes closed briefly.
“She used to wake me sometimes,” he murmured. “During the pregnancy.”
“At 2:17?”
“I never looked at the clock.”
“She talked to them.”
He nodded.
“She thought babies understood everything.”
“Maybe they understood more than you thought.”
His gaze went toward Leo and Luca.
“What else?”
“She said there were things you didn't know.”
His face hardened again.
“That part I heard.”
“Who was Natalia afraid of?”
“Everyone.”
“That's not an answer.”
“In my world, it is.”
I folded my arms.
“Then I'm leaving.”
He looked at me sharply.
“I won't work inside a mystery where nobody tells me the rules.”
“You don't need to know my business.”
“Your business is apparently transmitting through a baby monitor into a nursery.”
That silenced him.
Finally he said, “Natalia became frightened during the last month of her pregnancy.”
“Of what?”
“She wouldn't say.”
“Did you ask?”
“Every day.”
“And?”
“She told me I was safer not knowing.”
I looked at him.
“Did that make sense to you?”
“No.”
“Yet you accepted it?”
His eyes turned cold.
“I loved my wife, Claire. Don't mistake restraint for indifference.”
That shut me up.
A moment later, Leo began fussing.
I lifted him.
Damian watched the ease with which the baby settled against me.
“You're good at that.”
“I've had practice.”
“You have children?”
“No.”
He sensed the boundary and didn't push.
That surprised me.
“Why did the other nurses leave?” I asked.
He stood.
“They heard things.”
“The recordings?”
“I thought they were imagining them.”
“All six?”
“Not all.”
“What happened to the others?”
“One said someone entered the nursery while she slept.”
“Someone?”
“She never saw who.”
“Another?”
“She found the twins downstairs at four in the morning.”
My blood chilled.
“What?”
“They were supposed to be sleeping upstairs.”
“How old?”
“Seven weeks.”
“They couldn't move themselves.”
“I know.”
“And you didn't tell me this before bringing me here?”
“You wouldn't have come.”
“Correct.”
He almost looked ashamed.
Almost.
“Security cameras?”
“Went offline.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
The bedroom suddenly felt less luxurious and more like a locked room in a puzzle I had never agreed to solve.
“Who has access?”
“Family. Staff. Security.”
“How many?”
“Too many.”
I looked at the twins.
“You need fewer people.”
“I need people I trust.”
“That's not the same thing.”
Damian's phone buzzed.
He checked it.
His expression changed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
He handed me the phone.
Security footage.
A hallway.
Timestamp: 2:17 a.m.
The nursery door was visible.
The video showed Damian entering.
Then me.
Then nobody.
But at 2:16, the image flickered.
One second vanished.
At 2:17, the door moved slightly.
No person appeared.
“Someone edited it,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Can Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else?”
“Three people.”
“Who?”
“My sister Sofia. My attorney Victor Hale. And my head of household, Elena.”
“People close to you.”
“The only people with access.”
A thought occurred to me.
“Where did Natalia die?”
“St. Catherine's.”
“During delivery?”
“Complications afterward.”
“Did you see her?”
His face became unreadable.
“I saw her body.”
“You're certain it was her?”
He looked almost offended.
Then the offense faded.
Because he understood why I asked.
“Claire.”
“You've got recordings appearing four months after her death. Someone entering a nursery without appearing on camera. Babies reacting to a dead woman's voice. I'm not suggesting ghosts.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That somebody worked very hard to make you believe one version of events.”
Silence.
Then a soft sound came from the monitor.
Not Natalia.
A man's voice.
“Test sequence three.”
Damian snatched it.
Another voice answered.
“Both infants confirmed.”
I stared at him.
The recording continued.
“Paternity documentation has been replaced.”
Damian's fingers tightened.
Then:
“Moretti must never request another test.”
The recording stopped.
Damian looked at his sons.
His face had become terrifyingly blank.
“Did you have a paternity test?”
“At birth.”
“And?”
“Ninety-nine point nine percent.”
“Who arranged it?”
He didn't answer immediately.
“Victor.”
His attorney.
The house suddenly became very quiet.
Then someone knocked.
Damian opened the door.
Marcus stood outside holding a sealed envelope.
“We found this behind the nursery wall.”
Damian tore it open.
Inside was a photograph.
Natalia.
Pregnant.
Standing beside a man whose face had been scratched out.
May you like
On the back, one sentence had been written:
THE FATHER IS STILL ALIVE.
