Chapter 6

*Margaret's POV*

"Why are you in my mommy's room?!"

Jasmine’s voice broke through the quiet room.

I turned around, my heart pounding. I had been so focused on the photo of Victoria and the red hospital stamp that I hadn't heard her little footsteps. Jasmine stood in the doorway with her fists at her sides, her eyes red with anger.

"Jasmine—" I started, quickly putting the silver picture frame back on the vanity. My hands were shaking. "I'm sorry. The door was open, and I—"

"You're a liar! You're a thief!" she screamed, her voice shaking as she walked into the room. "Nobody comes in here! My dad said no one is allowed in my mommy's room! Get out!"

She rushed toward me and pushed my waist with all her strength. I didn't push her back. I simply stepped away and let her be angry.

She grabbed the silver frame from the table and held it tightly against her chest, glaring at me.

"I wasn't stealing anything, Jasmine. I promise," I said softly, keeping my voice calm. "I just saw the picture. Your mom was very beautiful."

"Don't talk about her!" Jasmine yelled. Tears finally rolled down her cheeks. "You don't know her! You're just a stupid nanny, and I hate you! I'm telling my dad right now so he can fire you and throw you out!"

My stomach dropped.

If she told Alexander I had been looking around his dead wife's room, I wouldn't even get a chance to explain. He would throw me out before sunset, and I would lose my only chance of finding my baby.

I took a deep breath and lowered myself onto one knee so I was at her eye level. I didn't try to touch her. She was far too angry for that.

"You can tell your dad," I said quietly. "If that's what you want to do, I won't stop you. But I wasn't trying to disrespect your mom. I lost someone I loved very much too. Sometimes, looking at their pictures is the only thing that makes the pain feel a little better. I just... wanted to see the person who made you."

Jasmine went still.

She wiped her wet face with the sleeve of her shirt and studied me carefully, as if she was trying to figure out whether I was lying.

She was still angry, but some of that anger had faded.

"You're just saying that so you don't get fired," she muttered.

"I need this job, Jasmine. That's true," I admitted. "But I wouldn't lie to you about that kind of pain."

She stared at me for a few seconds before looking down at the picture in her hands. Her little jaw tightened.

"I'm still going to get you fired," she said bitterly, backing toward the door. "You don't belong here."

She turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her.

I leaned against the vanity and closed my eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

She hadn't called her father yet, but I knew I wasn't safe. Jasmine wasn't going to suddenly become sweet and friendly. She was angry, protective of her mother's memory, and determined to keep me away.

My hands were still cold when I walked back to the vanity to make sure everything was in its place.

As I straightened the white lace cloth on the wooden table, my foot caught on something under the rug.

I bent down to fix it and noticed a small piece of paper tucked under the bottom of the vanity. It looked old, as if it had been there for years.

I pulled it out.

It was an old, yellowed receipt from St. Jude Community Hospital, dated six years ago—the same week I had been in labor.

The patient's name was Victoria Vance.

But written in dark blue ink at the bottom was a private note:

Dr. Harrison — Off-record payment: $250,000. Full discretion guaranteed.

My blood ran cold.

Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

Paid directly to the doctor who had told me my newborn baby had died.

My heart started pounding.

This wasn't just a guess anymore.

The birthmark. The hospital. The doctor. And now this payment made around the same time my baby disappeared.

Victoria Vance hadn't just given birth there.

She had bought a baby.

My baby.

I folded the receipt with shaking hands and pushed it deep into the hidden lining of my bra just as footsteps sounded in the hallway.

I quickly left the room and went back into the main hallway, my mind racing.

__

That evening, dinner at the Vance mansion was very tense.

Alexander sat at the head of the long dining table, looking through work documents on his tablet while cutting his steak. Jasmine sat across from him, picking at her vegetables with a fork. I stood near the side of the dining room with my hands folded, waiting for her to tell her father what I had done.

Every time Alexander moved or looked up, my heart jumped.

"Jasmine," Alexander said, putting his tablet down. "Your teacher said you finished all your art assignments today without throwing a single tantrum. That's a first."

Jasmine didn't look up.

Instead, she glanced at me.

"The nanny stayed out of my way," she said coldly. "She's still annoying."

Alexander raised an eyebrow and looked at me. There was a small hint of amusement in his face.

"Annoying or not, she's staying. So you'll have to get used to it."

Jasmine stabbed a piece of broccoli with her fork and said nothing else.

I finally relaxed a little.

She hadn't told him.

Not because she liked me. She clearly didn't.

Maybe keeping my secret gave her some control over me, and she knew it.

By 10:00 PM, the large mansion was quiet.

I was in the small kitchen upstairs, filling a glass with water while thinking about the receipt hidden in my clothes.

The hair test had failed, but this hospital receipt was real.

I needed to find a way to contact St. Jude Community Hospital or find Dr. Harrison's old records without Alexander finding out.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated inside my jacket.

I pulled it out, thinking it might be Leo checking on me.

But the screen showed an unknown number.

I frowned and answered.

"Hello?"

There was silence for two long seconds.

Then I heard static and the sound of someone breathing heavily.

"Who is this?" I asked, taking a step back toward the pantry.

"You should have left it alone, Margaret."

The deep, changed voice sent a cold fear through me.

My fingers tightened around the phone.

"What are you talking about?" I whispered. "Who are you?"

"You think you're clever, sneaking around medical labs and asking questions about old hospital records?" the voice said. "Listen to me carefully. You don't know who you're dealing with. If you keep digging into the Vance child, your baby won't be the only thing that ended up six feet under six years ago."

Click.

The call ended.

I stood frozen in the dark kitchen, the phone still pressed against my ear.

The silence around me suddenly felt terrifying.

Someone knew what I was doing.

And they were watching me.