ログインVictoria Sterling didn't move from the doorway. She just stood there, taking in the scene—Calloway and me, flushed and disheveled, standing too close in the kitchen at 4:30 in the morning. "Well," she said finally, her voice cool and measured. "This is interesting." Calloway straightened, his hand falling away from my face. "Mother, what are you doing here?" "I could ask you both the same question." She closed the door behind her with a soft click, then moved into the penthouse with the grace of someone who owned every room she entered. "Marcus called me about his father's... involvement in certain matters. I was concerned. Wanted to check on you both." "At 4:30 in the morning?" I asked, finding my voice. "I couldn't sleep." Victoria set her designer purse on the hall table, then turned to face us fully. Her sharp eyes missed nothing—our proximity, the half-eaten omelets on the counter, the way Calloway's hand had moved protectively toward me when she'd entered. "And clear
The adrenaline from breaking into Marcus Sr.'s office had finally worn off, leaving us both exhausted and wired at the same time. Marcus had dropped us off with promises to stay in touch, to keep us updated on his father's movements. Now it was just the two of us in the quiet penthouse, the city glittering below through the floor-to-ceiling windows. "You should get some sleep," Calloway said, loosening his tie. "You need rest. The baby—" "I'm not tired." It was a lie. I was exhausted. But my mind wouldn't stop racing, replaying everything we'd learned. The letters. The conspiracy. The proof that my entire pregnancy had been orchestrated. Calloway studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Hungry?" Actually, I was starving. We hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. "Yeah." "Come on." He headed toward the kitchen. "I'll make us something." I followed him, watching as he shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The kitchen was all sleek marble and stainless steel, the kind of space t
Calloway's hands were shaking as he held the letter. With rage or fear, I couldn't tell. Maybe both."Your father helped her," he said to Marcus. "Knowing what she intended. Knowing someone could die.""Yes." Marcus looked destroyed. "My father is an accessory to attempted murder.""We need to take this to the police," I said. "Now. Tonight. This is evidence of conspiracy, medical malpractice, attempted murder—""And it's inadmissible," a voice said from the doorway.We spun around.Marcus Brooks, Sr. stood there in a perfectly tailored suit, despite the late hour. Behind him, two security guards."Breaking and entering," he said calmly. "Theft of private documents. Corporate espionage." His cold eyes moved to his son. "And betrayal. I'm disappointed, Marcus. I thought I raised you better than this.""You raised me to know right from wrong," Marcus said, his voice steady despite the fear I could see in his eyes. "And this—" He gestured to the letters. "This is wrong.""This is busines
Marcus arrived at Sterling Tower fifteen minutes later, Sienna pale and quiet beside him.We met in Calloway's private office—the one with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan, the city sprawling beneath us like a jeweled web. It was past midnight now, the building empty except for security and the four of us.Marcus's eyes were sharp, alert despite the late hour. "What's this about?"Calloway didn't waste time. He pulled up the files on his large monitor, the clinic records filling the screen in damning detail."Your father," Calloway said flatly, "has administrative access to Carter Fertility Clinic. On September 11th, he used that access to switch two fertility samples. Mine and Damien Anderson's. As a result, Elena got pregnant with my child instead of her ex-husband's."Marcus stared at the screen. His face went white."That's..." He moved closer, scanning the logs. "No. My father wouldn't—""He did." I pulled up the financial records. "The Brooks Family Trust paid the
The fertility clinic looked different at night.Carter Fertility sat on Fifth Avenue, all glass and marble, the kind of place that screamed discreet wealth. During the day, it would be bustling with hopeful couples. But at 9 PM on a Thursday, it was nearly empty except for security and the skeleton night staff."This is insane," I whispered as Calloway adjusted my wig—blonde, shoulder-length, nothing like my dark hair. He wore glasses and a baseball cap pulled low. "We're breaking into a medical facility.""We're not breaking in. We're visiting." He squeezed my hand. "Marcus's contact got us clearance. We're a couple inquiring about services. Just very dedicated couple who prefer evening consultations.""And if someone recognizes us?""They won't." His voice was certain. But I saw the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes swept the lobby like he was calculating exit routes.The receptionist barely looked up when we entered. Young, bored, scrolling through her phone behind the desk. Her
We moved to the living room—an awkward triangle of tension and unspoken questions. Calloway positioned himself beside me on the sofa, close enough that our shoulders nearly touched. His presence was solid, protective. One hand rested casually on the armrest, but I could see the tension in his fingers, the way they pressed slightly into the expensive leather. Marcus took the armchair across from us, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His phone sat face-up on the coffee table between us, those text messages still visible on the screen. I couldn't stop staring at them. "Start from the beginning," Calloway said. His voice was calm, controlled, but I heard the steel underneath. "How is Sienna Brooks your sister?" Marcus let out a long breath. "Half-sister. Same father, different mothers. My mother was wife number one—the legitimate one who stuck around long enough to secure her position in the family business. Sienna's mother was an affair my father had when I was abou







