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Chapter 79: Memories Resurface

Author: Evve
last update Petsa ng paglalathala: 2026-01-05 06:29:51

The Cross Empire tower was quiet, a silence that felt less like peace and more like the held breath of a storm.

Liam sat in his office, the lights dimmed, a single glass of amber liquid untouched on the desk beside him. The "Anonymous Tip" from the last chapter—the text about Sophia, the betrayal, the footage—had sent Aurora running into his arms.

It had been a victory. A tactical win.

But it hadn't solved the puzzle. It had only deepened the haunting.

She’s running to me because she has nowher
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    The phone on Dr. Rosenberg’s desk was the same. The beige walls were the same. The gallery of baby photos had expanded, creeping further down the hallway, but the smell of the room—sterile air and high-stakes hope—remained unchanged.But the seating arrangement was different.Aurora sat in the velvet chair. Liam sat next to her.And in the chair on the other side of the desk, Emma sat.She looked relaxed. She was wearing a soft green dress and reading a paperback while they waited. She didn't have the white-knuckle grip on the armrests that Aurora always had. To Emma, this wasn't a trial. It was a Tuesday.Dr. Rosenberg walked in. He was smiling before he even sat down."Well," he said, looking at Emma. "The numbers look excellent."Aurora stopped breathing. She looked at Emma’s stomach. Flat. Ordinary."Beta HCG is 850," Dr. Rosenberg said. "Progesterone is solid. Emma, you are definitely pregnant."Emma smiled. A warm, easy expression. She put a hand on her belly—a casual, protectiv

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    The lab at the New York Center for Reproductive Medicine was a world of stainless steel, liquid nitrogen, and quiet miracles.Aurora lay on the familiar gurney, wearing the blue paper gown. She knew the drill. She knew the way the ceiling tiles were patterned. She knew the exact temperature of the room.But this time, the fear was different. It wasn't the jagged, panicked fear of the last attempt, where every needle felt like a gamble against her own body. This fear was softer. Quieter. It was the fear of handing over the blueprint to someone else."Ready?" Dr. Rosenberg asked."Ready," Aurora said.She looked at Liam. He was sitting by her head, holding her hand. He wasn't wearing the bunny suit this time—just his street clothes, a blazer over a t-shirt. He looked calm. Solid."We've done this before," he reminded her."We have," she agreed. "But this time... the ending is different."The anesthesia took her under. It was a quick, velvety darkness.When she woke up, the recovery bay

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    The binder was heavy. Cream-colored leather, embossed with the agency’s logo—a stylized lotus flower that looked suspiciously like a corporate merger of nature and commerce.Aurora sat in the high-backed chair, the binder open on her lap. The room was aggressively soothing. Beige walls. White noise machine. A tea service that smelled of chamomile and contracts."Take your time," the agency director, a woman named Mrs. Sterling (no relation, simply the universe repeating its favorite joke), said softly. "It’s a matching process. Like... finding a home."Aurora turned the page.Candidate 412.Age: 24. BMI: 21.Hobbies: Yoga, watercolor painting, organic gardening.She looked perfect on paper. They all did. They were vetted, screened, psychologically profiled, and presented like luxury real estate listings. Good bones. Great light. Move-in ready.Liam sat next to her. He wasn't looking at the binders. He was looking at Aurora. He was checking her structural integrity, watching for the cr

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    The iPad screen went black, extinguishing Sophia’s radiant, pixelated face.Aurora set the tablet on the limestone railing of the terrace. The silence that followed the video call wasn't empty; it was heavy with the echo of Sophia’s laughter and the image of her hand resting on a six-month bump.Sophia was glowing. She was complaining about heartburn and swollen ankles, but she was glowing with the specific, terrifying bioluminescence of a woman growing a life she had thought she would never have.Aurora looked out at the city. The wind was warm tonight, carrying the scent of late summer rain and hot asphalt.She wrapped her cardigan tighter around herself. Underneath the wool, her stomach was flat. Scarred, yes. Marked by the silver line of the C-section that had brought Hope into the world and nearly taken Aurora out of it. But flat.Empty."She looks good," Liam said.He was sitting on the outdoor sofa, watching her. He had a glass of wine in his hand, the condensation dripping ont

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    SophiaThe brownstone in Brooklyn was supposed to be a home. Marcus had turned it into a biosphere.Sophia lay on the velvet chaise in the living room, a cashmere throw tucked around her legs with military precision. The thermostat was set to seventy-two degrees. The humidifier hummed in the corner, maintaining a humidity level that Marcus had decided was optimal for placental health.On the low table next to her sat a glass of water (room temperature), a bottle of prenatal vitamins, and a plate of sliced pears arranged in a fan.She shifted her weight. Her hip ached from three weeks of modified bedrest."Don't move," a voice rumbled from the doorway.Marcus walked in. He wasn't wearing his boots. He was wearing socks, moving silently across the restored hardwood floors. He carried a fluffier pillow."I am just shifting, Marcus," Sophia said. "I am not running a marathon.""Dr. Evans said minimize strain," Marcus said. He walked over and lifted her legs—gently, as if they were made of

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    The blood on the white tile of the bathroom floor looked like a mistake in the design.It was too bright. Too red. A violent, organic splash against the cool, veined marble of the master bath in the Hamptons estate.Sophia stared at it. She was holding a towel to her body, her hands trembling so violently the terry cloth vibrated.Twelve weeks, she thought. The danger zone is supposed to be over.She felt a cramp. Not the gentle flutter of the wedding night. A hard, twisting knot low in her pelvis."No," she whispered.She didn't call Marcus. He was in the city, at a site meeting for the foundation housing project. He was two hours away. If she called him, he would drive like a madman. He would kill himself trying to get to her.She called the only person who knew what it felt like to lose a blueprint before the foundation was poured."Aurora," she choked into the phone. "I'm bleeding."The hospital room in Southampton was small and smelled of iodine.Sophia lay on the gurney. She was

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    The press room at the Cross Empire tower was a coliseum. It was a cavernous space designed to intimidate, with floor-to-ceiling screens, tiered seating for three hundred journalists, and a podium that looked more like a pulpit than a lectern. Usually, it was used to announce mergers, acquisitions

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    Henry Vale’s office in the Vale Industries tower was a relic of a different era. It was a place of dark mahogany, leather-bound books, and the quiet, ticking assurance of old money. It was a place where deals were made with handshakes and betrayal was a gentleman’s game. But today, it was a court

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