Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Van Alston Gambit

The beeping of the monitors had become the soundtrack to my new reality.

Three days of lying flat on my back in this sterile hospital bed, watching the numbers on the screen that told me whether my baby would live or die. Three days of IVs pumping fluids and medications into my system, trying to flush out the poison that Blake had meant for another man but had nearly killed us both.

Three days of visitors—Dominic, who barely left my side except when the doctors forced him to; Jules, who looked like she hadn't slept since the night of the gala; even some of the society wives who'd once whispered about me behind their fans, now bringing flowers and speaking in hushed, reverent tones about my "ordeal."

But the baby was alive. Fragile, the doctors said. Touch and go. But alive.

Dr. Martinez had been blunt about the prognosis during her morning rounds. "The oleander did significant damage to your system," she'd said, her voice professionally gentle but honest. "Your body is still trying to reject the pregnancy. We're managing it with medication, but you're going to be on strict bed rest for the remainder of your pregnancy. Any stress, any physical exertion, any emotional trauma could trigger another crisis."

Bed rest. For months. While Blake was out on bail, while whoever had helped him plan this was still walking free, while the empire I'd started building crumbled without me there to defend it.

The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd finally found my power, finally learned to fight back, and now I was trapped in a hospital bed, helpless as a newborn.

That's when she walked in.

I'd seen photographs of Victoria Van Alston in magazines—usually in the society pages, attending charity galas or art openings, draped in diamonds and designer gowns that cost more than most people's cars. But seeing her in person was like being in the presence of a force of nature.

She was tall, regal, with silver hair swept back in a chignon so perfect it looked like it had been carved from marble. Her dress was simple but unmistakably expensive—black wool that hugged her still-elegant figure, with a string of pearls that probably cost more than Blake's sports car. But it was her eyes that commanded attention. They were the same shade of green as mine, sharp and calculating and utterly merciless.

She moved into the room like she owned it, which, given the Van Alston family's stake in the hospital, she probably did. The nurses seemed to recognize her immediately, stepping aside with the kind of deference reserved for royalty.

"Scarlett," she said, and her voice carried the weight of generations of breeding and power. "My dear girl. We need to talk."

I stared at her, my mind racing. Victoria Van Alston. The matriarch of one of the oldest and most powerful families in America. What could she possibly want with me?

"I'm sorry," I said carefully, "but I think there's been some mistake. I don't—"

"Know who I am?" she interrupted, settling into the chair beside my bed with the fluid grace of someone who'd been born to command attention. "Oh, but you do. You've been carrying my blood in your veins for twenty-six years."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I felt the monitors beside me start beeping faster as my heart rate spiked.

"That's impossible," I whispered.

Victoria smiled, and it was like looking into a mirror that showed me what I might become in forty years—beautiful, powerful, and absolutely ruthless.

"Is it?" she asked, reaching into her purse and pulling out a manila folder thick with documents. "I've been watching you for months, my dear. Ever since your charming ex-husband made such a spectacle of himself at that unfortunate charity event. Did you know that when your photographs started appearing in the society pages, I received no fewer than twelve calls from people who swore you looked exactly like my daughter Elena?"

Elena. The name meant nothing to me, but something in Victoria's tone made my skin prickle with warning.

"I don't know who Elena is," I said slowly, confusion clouding my thoughts. "I think you have me confused with someone else. My parents—my mother and father—they're my biological parents. I was never adopted."

Victoria's expression softened slightly, but her eyes remained sharp. "Elena didn't die in a car accident, my dear. She was murdered. Shot twice in the chest and left in an alley in Queens like she was nothing more than a common criminal."

The room spun around me. The beeping of the monitors grew louder, more frantic.

"But why?" I gasped. "Why would someone kill her?"

"Because," Victoria said, her voice heavy with old grief and newer rage, "she was my firstborn. My heiress. The woman who would have inherited everything—the companies, the properties, the foundation, all of it. And there were people who couldn't bear the thought of someone so young and idealistic having that kind of power."

She leaned forward, her green eyes boring into mine. "Elena was pregnant when she died, Scarlett. Eight months pregnant. The paramedics managed to save the baby—you—but by the time I got to the hospital, you were already gone. Supposedly 'adopted' by a family who could give you a better life than a grieving grandmother."

I stared at her, my mind reeling. "You're saying I'm your granddaughter."

"I'm saying you're the rightful heir to the Van Alston fortune," she corrected. "I'm saying that everything I've built over the past fifty years—the companies, the real estate empire, the charitable foundation—all of it should have been yours from the moment you drew breath."

The implications hit me like a tsunami, but my mind rebelled against them. "That's impossible. You're wrong. I'm not adopted. My parents—they're my real parents. I've seen my birth certificate, my baby pictures—"

"Forged," Victoria said simply. "All of it. Very convincing forgeries, I'll grant you, but forgeries nonetheless."

“But the family that raised me," I said weakly, my voice shaking as my entire world tilted on its axis. "They're my real family. This is insane. You're talking about adoption and inheritance and murder, but I'm just... I'm just Scarlett Kane. I was born to parents who never had much money, who struggled to get by. There's nothing special about me."