Chapter 3

Stacy POV

The night stretched out like an endless, suffocating abyss.

I lay rigid on the vast expanse of the mattress, my eyes fixed blindly on the shadowed ceiling while hot, silent tears carved continuous paths down my cheeks. The house was dead—wrapped in a heavy, unnatural stillness—but the cacophony inside my mind was deafening. Every time I blinked, I was trapped in a agonizing loop of phantom memories: my daughter's radiant smile, her tiny hands reaching out, the familiar patter of her bare feet echoing down the hallway.

*"Mommy! Mommy is home!"*

I could hear her voice so clearly it physically ached in my chest.

I rolled over, my hand instinctively reaching across the mattress. Ethan's side was empty, cold, and smooth. The sight of it drove a fresh stake straight through my heart. My husband had betrayed me. My sister had gutted me. But none of that monumental pain mattered in the face of the singular, agonizing truth that consumed my soul:

*My daughter was gone.*

My baby was out there somewhere in the dark, held captive by two monsters who had ripped her away from everything she knew. I crushed her abandoned pillow against my chest, burying my face in the fabric as a ragged sob tore out of my throat.

"Are you okay, baby?" I whispered into the empty air, the words shattering against the dark. "Are you scared? Do you want your mommy?"

My voice broke completely. I pressed my face harder into the pillow. *I want you, too. I'm coming.*

Hours bled together. The millions they had looted from my accounts, the hostile corporate takeover emails, the multi-billion-dollar empire I had built with my bare hands—all of it had evaporated into dust. I didn't care about any of it. I only wanted my child.

Then, like a bolt of lightning piercing the fog of my grief, a forgotten lifeline flashed in my mind.

*The phone.*

My eyes flew open in the dark.

Months ago, purely for her safety, I had purchased a specialized smart-device for my daughter—a secure, custom gadget embedded with a high-grade military tracking application. It was designed so I could always trace her location in an absolute emergency.

In the chaotic terror of the night, my panic-stricken brain had completely forgotten it existed.

My heart hammered against my ribs with violent, desperate hope. I threw off the covers and sprinted across the cold floor toward my study, my bare feet hitting the hard wood like rapid-fire gunshots.

Seating myself at my desk, my trembling hands nearly dropped my laptop. I forced my fingers to steady, booted up the system, and logged directly into the emergency family safety portal. I entered my daughter's unique secure identifier.

For a terrifying three seconds, the screen loaded a blank, spinning wheel.

I held my breath, chest locked tight.

Then, the digital map snapped into crystal-clear focus.

A single, blinking red dot pulsed brightly near the center of the screen.

My breath caught in my throat. I leaned so close my nose almost touched the glass display.

"She's here," I whispered, a hysterical laugh bubbling up through my tears. "She's right here."

My daughter was alive. She was close by. I zoomed in on the interactive map. The blinking coordinates pinned a well-known luxury hotel on the outskirts of the city.

Ethan and Tania hadn't fled the state yet. They had stopped there to rest, arrogant enough to believe I was cowering in my bedroom, blind, helpless, and broken.

They had severely underestimated me.

I whipped out my phone, capturing a clear screenshot of the address and room block. It was 3:00 AM. The dark of night offered no comfort, but it offered cover. I didn't care. I was going to get my baby back.

I didn't sleep a wink for the remainder of the night. By the time the first pale streaks of dawn began to bleed through the heavy silk curtains, I was already dressed in dark, functional clothing, my face carved from stone.

I walked straight out to the front drive. My loyal family driver was already standing by his vehicle, looking confused and exhausted by the early hour.

"Where are we going, ma'am?" he asked carefully.

"The police station," I replied, my voice chillingly flat.

He blinked, stunned. "The police station, ma'am?"

"Yes. Right now."

Thirty minutes later, I strode through the heavy glass doors of the metropolitan precinct.

My hair was pulled back into a harsh, tight knot, my eyes swollen and bloodshot, my clothes stiff from lack of sleep. I looked like a woman pushed to the absolute edge of sanity—and I was.

Ignoring the staring officers, I slammed my hands down onto the front reception desk.

"I need two plainclothes officers, right now," I demanded.

The duty sergeant looked up, frowning. "Ma'am, slow down. What is the nature of the emergency?"

"My husband kidnapped my daughter last night. I have tracked her exact GPS coordinates, and I know where they are holding her."

The sergeant raised an eyebrow, exchanging a skeptical look with his partner. "You tracked her? Ma'am, unless you have a formal—"

"Listen to me very carefully," I cut him off, leaning over the counter, my voice dropping into a lethal, commanding whisper. "I am Stacy Roberts. I don't have time for bureaucratic red tape. My child is with a kidnapper. You can either come with me right now and help me recover her legally, or I will walk into that hotel with a private security army and tear the building down brick by brick. Your choice."

The sheer, unfiltered terror and rage in my eyes told him I wasn't bluffing.

Ten minutes later, two seasoned detectives—stripped of their uniforms to avoid drawing attention—were riding in the back of my vehicle as I directed us straight toward the hotel coordinates flashing on my screen.

The drive felt like crawling through molten lead. Every second stretched into eternity as I stared down at the blinking red dot on my phone screen.

*Please stay there. Please don't move.*

When the sleek, modern facade of the hotel finally loomed into view, my pulse roared in my ears like a freight train.

"They're here," I muttered, turning back to the two officers in the backseat. "Stay close behind me. Do not let them see you coming."

We stepped out of the car and walked into the grand, quiet lobby. The morning sun was just beginning to spill through the high glass windows. I approached the front desk, where a bored receptionist was filing her nails.

"Good morning," I said, forcing my voice to remain frighteningly calm.

"Good morning, ma'am. Welcome. Are you looking to check in?"

"No. I'm looking for a party that arrived last night. A man, a woman, and a young child."

The receptionist's polite smile slipped just a fraction. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but hotel privacy policy strictly prohibits giving out guest information—"

"I don't care about your policy," I hissed, slamming my hand onto the counter. I pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from my bag and slammed them onto the mahogany wood. I added another stack right beside it. "Tell me their room number right now, or I will own this entire hotel by noon tomorrow."

Her eyes widened as she stared at the cash. Swallowing hard, her hand darted out, scooping the bills off the counter.

"Room 306," she whispered breathlessly. "They checked in late last night."

"Thank you."

I spun on my heel, the two detectives hot on my trail. We bypassed the elevators, taking the service stairs up to the third floor to maintain the element of surprise.

My heart hammered violently against my ribs as we crept down the plush-carpeted hallway of the third floor.

*Room 302... Room 304... Room 306.*

I stopped dead in my tracks. The heavy wooden door stood right before us.

I raised a hand to signal the officers to hold position. Lowering myself slightly, I pressed my ear flat against the cold wood of the door.

From inside, muffled voices leaked out into the hall.

A man's voice. Ethan.

And then a sickeningly sweet, venomous voice. Tania.

> *"She's your new mom now, sweetie. You have to get used to it."*

> 

My entire body turned to solid ice.

Then, a small, terrified voice pierced the silence of the room—a voice that shattered what little was left of my soul.

> *"No!"* my daughter screamed, sobbing hysterically. *"I don't want her! I want my mom! I want my mommy!"*

> *"Stop crying right now,"* Ethan snapped, his voice hard, sharp, and cruel.

> *"No! Let me go! I want my mommy!"*

> 

Tears of pure, blinding rage erupted from my eyes. They were terrorizing my baby. They were trying to force her to accept the home-wrecking bitch who had stabbed me in the back as her mother.

I looked back at the two detectives. Their faces hardened instantly, their hands resting on their concealed tactical gear. One of them stepped forward, nodding grimly.

I turned back to the door, my knuckles whitening as I clenched my fists. A burning, demonic fury coursed through my veins, incinerating every last piece of the gentle woman I used to be.

Inside, my daughter's tear-choked voice cried out one last time:

> *"Mommy...!"*

> 

I locked eyes with the lead detective.

"Three," I mouthed silently.

"Two."

My hand dropped.

"One."

With a deafening crash, the detective threw his

full weight forward, kicking the reinforced hotel door clean off its hinges.

"bang"