Chapter six

The Proof

Cesare’s POV

I had watched powerful men beg before, 

Generals, Billionaires, Kings in everything but none of them looked the way Rosette Jenner did in that moment. 

She curled inward to herself, her eyes fixed on a single image as if it were the last thing she'd ever see. She had been staring at the phone for too long.

“That’s not possible,” she whispered, for the third time. Not to me, to herself. “If she exists… then I shouldn’t.”

Her fingers trembled around the phone. The photograph glowed between us on the polished table, it was too real to be fake. 

I glanced at it once more, a newborn draped in Pink blanket. She had a birthmark near the collarbone that I had seen once before, the birthmark was purposely exposed, like they needed us to see it. 

I saw hard, diluting the pain I felt at the moment. I have never felt this way for someone. 

“If I had a child,” Rosette continued, her voice cracking, “then I died. I remember dying. I felt it. I—” She sucked in a sharp breath. 

“I can’t exist in two timelines. I just can’t—this doesn’t make sense.” Her breathing began to hitch.

The signs were subtle, but I knew them. I had seen minds fracture under lesser pressure than this.

I moved closer, close enough for her to feel my warmth. “Rosette,” I said calmly. “Look at me.”

She didn’t move her face from her phone, her gaze was locked on the photo. Her fingers hovered over the screen like it was a precious germ.

“Rosette.” I said again, my voice calm but authoritative. 

She turned to me, her eyes clouded with tears, “She’s mine,” she whispered. “I can feel it. But if she’s mine, then I failed her. I left her. I—”

“You didn’t leave her,” I cut in sharply.

That got her attention, she blinked twice or maybe thrice. Her eyes snapped to mine, wild and glassy. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” I said. “Because you’re standing here, you're alive, thinking and planning for her betterment. That means the past you remember is not finished. It’s been interrupted.”

Her lips parted, “interrupted?” 

I crouched in front of her, lowering myself to her level. Power meant nothing if I used it wrong now.

“Yes, interrupted. Your past was interrupted.” I said quietly. 

“Am I insane?” 

“No,” I countered her immediately, “You are reacting exactly as a woman would when confronted with such proof, proof that reality has shifted beneath her feet.”

Her hands shook harder. “If the child exists,” she said hoarsely, “then death didn’t keep me. And if death didn’t keep me–” 

“... Enough,” interrupted her, placing my hand over hers. She flinched, but didn’t pull away.

Her voice broke completely, “What else isn't real, Cesare?”

“Listen to me,” I said. “What you remember happened. Your betrayal was real. Your death was real. But you are here because something or someone interfered.”

Her eyes searched mine desperately. “What or who could that be?”

“That,” I said, “is what we’re going to find out.”

I stood and walked away from the table, already pulling my phone from my pocket.

She watched me with the intensity of someone clinging to her last hope.

I dialed a number that only rang once.

“Follow up the matter more closely.” I said when the line connected. “I want full verification, hospital records, adoption channels, and private registries. I don’t care how hidden they are… I want every detail.”

I paused and glanced at Rosette who stared immensely at me. I forced a smile which she reciprocated. 

“Yes,” I continued. “The birthmark matters, trace it. I want names, dates, everyone who touched that child.”

I paused again,“And if Blake Jenner’s fingerprints appear anywhere near this…” I stopped, then finished coldly, “...notify me before law enforcement does.”

I ended the call and turned back to her. “I will help you find her,” I said. This is not a promise but a statement of fact. “And I will not lie to you about what we uncover.”

Rosette swallowed, nodding slowly, as if anchoring herself to my words. “Thank you,” she whispered.

She looked smaller now. This sight of her made my heart ache and my blood boil. I wanted to tear the one who put her in this mess into bits. 

She reached for her phone again, as if to set it down. It vibrated again, the sound was sharp in the silence.

Her hand froze mid air and Slowly, she lifted the phone.

I watched the color drain from her face.

“No,” she breathed.

My instincts flared. “Rosette,” I said. “Give it to me.”

She didn’t argue. Her fingers loosened automatically, the phone slipping into my hand. My brows furrowed instantly, It wasn’t another photo, It was a video.

A hospital corridor with white walls, The timestamp burned into the corner of the screen.

A date I didn't recognize. The camera shifted and a man stepped into frame.

‘Blake.’

He was holding a bundled infant.

My blood turned to ice.

Behind him, stood a second figure. He was taller yet barely visible. He watched to make sure the transfer went smoothly.

Blake handed the baby to another and with that, the video ended.

Before I could speak, Rosette swayed, She collapsed to the floor, the sound of her body hitting marble echoing violently through the room.

“Rosette!” I dropped beside her instantly, catching her shoulders. Her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, as though she was giving up. 

And on the phone, one final message slid into view. It was from an unknown number.

‘You were never meant to remember,’

My jaw tightened but the message continued. ‘Beige warehouse, by noon tomorrow, come alone, if you want your child alive.’

My eyes slid shut. Someone just made a fatal mistake. 

For the first time in years, I'll break my vow of bloodshed.