Chapter Forty-Two: Blood

"And if I do that, you'll let us go?"

Delilah's smile was the most terrifying thing I'd ever seen. "Oh, sweetheart. I'm not letting you go anywhere. Because even if you renounce your claim, you'll always be a threat. You'll always be the real heiress, the one with the true bloodline. And I can't have that hanging over my head for the rest of my life."

The meaning was clear. She was going to kill me either way.

"But I'm willing to make it quick," she continued. "Painless. A tragic accident during a botched robbery. Blake will back up the story, won't you, darling?"

Blake had been silent through most of this exchange, but now he looked up with haunted eyes. "Delilah, this is insane. You can't just—"

"I can do whatever I want," she interrupted. "Because I'm the one who's been living this life. I'm the one who knows how to handle this kind of power. I'm the one who deserves it."

That's when I made my move.

"You want to know about deserving?" I said, my voice taking on the tone I'd learned from months of dealing with society vultures and boardroom predators. "You want to know about earning your place?"

I looked directly at Victoria, ignoring the gun pressed against my stomach. "Tell me about my real life. Tell me about the life I should have had."

"Private schools," Victoria said, her voice steady despite the circumstances. "Tutors, travel, exposure to art and culture. Preparation for running a multinational empire."

"And instead?" I asked.

"Instead you grew up in poverty, mistreated and overlooked, fighting for every scrap of dignity and respect."

I turned back to Delilah, my voice calm and cutting. "You've been living my life for twenty-six years. You've had my education, my opportunities, my inheritance. You've been wearing my identity like a stolen coat."

Delilah's eyes widened with rage. "It's not stolen if I've been living it! It's not stolen if I've been better at it than you ever could be!"

"You're right," I said, leaning forward slightly despite the gun. "You have been living it. But now it's time to give it back."

"Never," Delilah said, her voice shaking with fury. "I'll die before I let you take what's mine."

"It was never yours," I said quietly. "It was always mine. You've just been keeping it warm."

For a moment, I thought she might actually pull the trigger. I could see the rage and desperation warring in her eyes, the way her finger tightened on the weapon.

But then Blake opened his mouth.

"Delilah, listen to me," he said, his voice cracking with desperation. "You don't have to do this. We can find another way. We can—"

"There is no other way!" she screamed. "Don't you understand? If she lives, if she claims the inheritance, I lose everything! The houses, the companies, the lifestyle—all of it goes to her!"

"Blake," I said sharply, "you're making this worse."

But he was beyond reason, beyond rational thought. He'd been pushed too far, lost too much, and now he was operating on pure desperation and wounded pride.

"I can't let you kill her," he said, stumbling toward us. "Whatever else I've done, whatever mistakes I've made, I can't let you murder my wife."

"Ex-wife," Delilah corrected viciously. "And she's not your problem anymore."

"She's carrying my child," Blake said, his voice breaking. "You can't—"

He lunged for the gun.

Everything happened in slow motion after that.

Blake's hands closed around Delilah's wrists, trying to wrestle the weapon away from her. She screamed in surprise and rage, her finger tightening on the trigger reflexively.

I threw myself sideways, trying to protect my stomach from the inevitable shot.

Victoria moved with surprising speed for a woman her age, stepping between us and the struggling pair.

The gun went off.

The sound was deafening in the enclosed space, echoing off the walls like thunder. The smell of gunpowder filled the air, acrid and sharp.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then Victoria crumpled to the floor, her elegant black dress blooming with crimson.

"No!" I screamed, trying to get out of bed despite the IVs and monitors. "Victoria!"

Blake and Delilah had frozen, staring at the woman bleeding on the hospital floor. The gun had fallen from Delilah's nerveless fingers, clattering across the tiles.

I managed to get to the edge of the bed, my hands shaking as I pressed them against the wound in Victoria's chest. Blood seeped between my fingers, warm and sticky.

"Don't try to move," I said, my voice breaking. "Help is coming. The sirens—they're almost here."

Victoria's eyes found mine, and despite the pain etched across her features, she managed a weak smile. "My real granddaughter," she whispered. "My beautiful, strong granddaughter."

"Save your strength," I said, but she was already trying to speak again.

"Listen to me," she said, her voice so quiet I had to lean close to hear. "The real threat... it's not Delilah. It's not even Blake."

"What do you mean?"

Her hand gripped mine with surprising strength. "Dominic's mother. She's been working with Blake from the beginning. She's the one who told him about the poison. She's the one who wants you dead."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Dominic's mother. The woman who'd never approved of me, who'd made it clear that I wasn't good enough for her son. She'd been behind all of this?

"Why?" I whispered.

"Because she knows," Victoria said, her voice getting weaker. "She knows about the inheritance. She knows that if you claim the Van Alston fortune, you'll be more powerful than the Blackwood empire. And she can't allow that."

The door burst open, and SWAT officers flooded into the room, weapons drawn. Blake and Delilah were on the ground in seconds, hands zip-tied behind their backs.

But all I could think about was Victoria's words, echoing in my mind like a death sentence.

Dominic's mother.

The woman who'd been in my life for months, who'd had access to my schedule, my medical information, my most intimate moments.

The woman who'd been planning my destruction from the very beginning.

As paramedics worked to stabilize Victoria, as the chaos of the crime scene unfolded around me, one thought crystallized in my mind with terrifying clarity.

I wasn't safe.

I'd never been safe.

And the woman who wanted me dead was part of the family I'd married into.

The war wasn't over.

It had just begun.