By midnight, the Chicago hospital had become a fortress.

Vincent’s guards searched every corridor.

Police questioned the medical staff.

The hospital director insisted that no infant had left the building.

But the newborn who had been resting beside Sophia was missing.

And the surveillance cameras had gone dark for exactly eleven minutes.

Vincent stood in the empty nursery, staring at the small bed.

“Find my child.”

Marco hesitated.

“Boss, we still don’t know which child is yours.”

Vincent turned toward him.

“Then find them all.”

In Seattle, Adrian and I were racing toward a private airfield.

I had demanded to return to Chicago.

Adrian had refused at first.

“Isabella knows you’re alive and investigating. She’ll expect you.”

“Then let her expect me.”

He looked at me.

“Claire, these people have spent three years covering up what happened.”

“And they’ve spent three years believing I would never fight back.”

He said nothing after that.

During the flight, I examined the documents he had given me.

Three embryos.

Three identification numbers.

Three separate transfers.

One had been assigned to a surrogate.

Another had been marked as nonviable.

The third had no recorded destination.

But there was something strange about the dates.

All three transfers had been authorized after my supposed miscarriage.

I turned toward Adrian.

“Why would they transfer embryos after telling me the pregnancy was over?”

He stared at the paperwork.

Then his expression changed.

“Claire, I think we’ve misunderstood something.”

“What?”

“These aren’t records of three different pregnancies.”

He pointed to a code in the margin.

“These are records from one treatment cycle.”

My hands began trembling.

“Then where did the embryos go?”

He looked at me.

“Someone divided the records across three facilities.”

When we landed in Chicago, Nathan Hale was waiting.

He had obtained a court order preserving the hospital’s records.

He also brought news.

“Evelyn Parker has been found.”

I stepped forward.

“Where?”

“At a private clinic outside the city.”

“Is the baby with her?”

Nathan hesitated.

“There’s something you need to see.”

He handed me a photograph.

It showed a large, beautifully furnished nursery.

Three bassinets stood beside a window.

Two were occupied.

The third was empty.

My heart began pounding.

“Where was this taken?”

“At a property registered to Northstar Biomedical.”

Adrian leaned closer.

“That’s the old Ashcroft estate.”

I looked at him.

“Who owns it?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then he whispered a name.

“Isabella.”

We drove through the night.

By dawn, we reached a secluded mansion surrounded by iron gates.

Police investigators entered with a warrant.

I followed Nathan through the front doors.

The house smelled of lavender and fresh paint.

Everything was quiet.

Too quiet.

Then I heard a baby crying.

I ran toward the sound.

Up the stairs.

Down a long hallway.

Past a room filled with unopened toys.

And finally into a nursery.

Two newborn boys lay sleeping in separate bassinets.

A woman in a nurse’s uniform stood beside them.

Evelyn Parker.

When she saw me, tears filled her eyes.

“Mrs. Moretti.”

I stopped.

“Which one is mine?”

She looked toward the babies.

“I don’t know.”

My chest tightened.

“What do you mean?”

“The bracelets were switched.”

“By whom?”

Evelyn looked toward the doorway.

“By the person who paid me to keep them safe.”

At that moment, Vincent entered the room.

He had arrived with investigators only minutes behind us.

Our eyes met.

For the first time since our separation, neither of us spoke.

Then he looked at the babies.

“Claire…”

I stepped away from him.

“Don’t.”

He stopped.

I turned toward Evelyn.

“Tell me what happened.”

She began crying.

“Mrs. Moretti, I was hired to protect the children. I was told someone intended to move them out of the country.”

“Who?”

Before she could answer, Isabella appeared at the doorway.

She wore a cream-colored coat.

Her silver hair was perfectly arranged.

She looked as elegant as she had on my wedding day.

“That’s enough, Evelyn.”

Vincent turned.

“Mother.”

Isabella looked at the bassinets.

Then at me.

“I never wanted you to find this place, Claire.”

My hands clenched.

“You stole my children.”

Her expression softened.

“No.”

She stepped closer.

“I stole your chance to raise them.”

Vincent looked horrified.

“Why?”

Isabella slowly opened her handbag.

Inside was an old photograph.

It showed Vincent as a young boy.

Standing beside him was another child.

A little girl with dark hair and blue eyes.

I recognized the girl.

It was me.

But I had never seen the photograph before.

I stared at Isabella.

“Where did you get that?”

She looked at Vincent.

“Because your grandfather arranged more than your marriage.”

Vincent frowned.

“What are you talking about?”

Isabella handed him a sealed letter.

On the envelope was his father’s handwriting.

For Vincent, when the children are found.

Vincent opened it.

He read the first sentence.

Then he stopped breathing.

I reached for the letter.

And what I saw made the room spin.

The letter revealed that the trust had been created to protect children connected to a decades-old family guardianship agreement.

My family had been involved.

Vincent’s family had been involved.

And Isabella had hidden the records for years.

But the greatest shock came from a handwritten note attached to the letter.

It contained three embryo identification numbers.

The same three numbers from my fertility clinic.

Beneath them were four words.

ALL THREE BELONG TO CLAIRE.

I looked at the two babies.

Then at the empty bassinet.

“Where is the third child?”

Isabella’s face crumpled.

For the first time, the powerful woman began to cry.

“Claire…”

I stepped toward her.

“Where is my baby?”

She looked at Vincent.

Then whispered something that made him stagger backward.

“The third child was never missing.”

A pause.

“She’s been living in this family for three years.”