His True Love, My Stolen Baby

Aurelia POV: I pressed the button on the brass doorknob. My fingers were slick with sweat, slipping against the metal before the heavy mahogany door finally let out a sharp click. It was locked. My shoulders instantly dropped a fraction of an inch. It was a pathetic reflex, a leftover instinct from foster home number three where a locked door was the only barrier between me and the bruises. I walked over and dragged the heavy velvet curtains shut. The glittering, arrogant skyline of Manhattan vanished, leaving the bedroom in a suffocating, pitch-black silence. I dropped to my knees, ignoring the dull ache in my lower back, and reached deep into the air conditioning vent under the bed. My fingers brushed against cold plastic. I pulled out a battered, non-smart laptop and blew a thick layer of dust off the lid. It was a relic from my college days, back when I paid my tuition by running shadow scripts. It was the only piece of tech in this entire penthouse that Jacob didn't own, monitor, or control. I booted it up. The screen cast a harsh blue light over my face. My fingers flew across the worn keyboard, rapidly typing out a twelve-layer encrypted onion routing code. My mother had lost everything because she trusted a single unsecured network. I never made that mistake. The system pinged. Connection established. Suddenly, a sharp kick hit my ribs from the inside. I let out a muffled groan and wrapped one hand protectively over my swollen belly. "Shh," I whispered, rubbing the tight skin. I forced a deep breath into my lungs. When I looked back at the screen, the warmth in my eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, dead stare. I clicked open a chat box on the dark web. The user handle was Elias. I typed out my demand. *I need a completely new European identity. Erase all exit records.* I hit send. For ten seconds, the chat box remained dead. In the absolute quiet of the room, my heartbeat thudded against my eardrums like a war drum. Then, Elias replied. It was a string of random, garbled code. I didn't hesitate. I ran the text through a decryption algorithm I had built myself back when I was the top cryptography minor in the Ivy League. The garbled text smoothed out into a single, mocking line of English. *Jacob's prey. You can't afford my price.* I bit down on my lower lip so hard I tasted copper. The metallic tang of my own blood grounded me. I forced my shaking hands back to the keys. *I can give you the bottom-line bidding data for Jacob's entire corporation for next year.* The cursor on the other end blinked. The status bar showed Elias was typing. Then it stopped. He was hesitating. The sheer weight of that bargaining chip had stunned him into silence. Before he could reply, a faint, rhythmic thud vibrated through the floorboards outside my room. My hands froze over the keyboard. I knew that exact frequency. The sharp, deliberate strike of stiletto heels against thick Persian carpet. Kaleigh. I slammed the laptop shut. I yanked the power cord from the wall, moving with a fluid, terrifying silence. I shoved the laptop back into the depths of the vent, snapped the louvers back into place, and aggressively rubbed my palms over the carpet to erase the indentations left by my knees. Surviving under Jacob's extreme control had turned me into a ghost in my own home. I knew how to erase my existence. The clicking of the heels stopped right outside my bedroom door. Then, nothing. A long, agonizing thirty seconds of absolute silence. I walked barefoot to the door, holding my breath until my lungs burned. I pressed my ear against the cold wood. I heard the faint rustle of silk fabric rubbing together. Someone was smoothing out a skirt. *Ding-dong.* The shrill chime of the smart doorbell echoed inside my bedroom. My heart violently contracted in my chest. I took two steps back and tapped the smart home control panel on the wall, bringing up the security camera feed for the hallway. On the high-resolution screen, Kaleigh stood in a custom-made, wine-red silk gown. She was staring directly into the camera lens, smiling. In her hands, she held a delicate bone-china soup tureen. Thin wisps of steam curled up from the lid. My eyes bypassed the soup and locked onto her left breast. Pinned to the red silk was a diamond brooch shaped like a cheetah. My stomach dropped. Jacob had bought that at a Sotheby's auction just last week. He told me it was a push present, specifically for me and the baby. A violent wave of nausea rushed up my throat. I slapped a hand over my mouth, swallowing down the bitter bile that threatened to spill over. On the screen, Kaleigh tilted her head when the door didn't open. She leaned closer to the microphone. "Sister?" she called out, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. I closed my eyes. I took two full seconds to relax every muscle in my face, dropping my guard, letting my eyes go soft and clueless. It was the exact same expression I used to survive the older kids in the orphanage when they came looking for a punching bag. I reached up and unbuttoned the top two buttons of my silk pajamas. I ran my fingers through my hair, tangling the ends to make it look like I had just dragged myself out of bed. The doorbell chimed again. This time, there was a sharp edge of impatience in her ring. I took one last breath and hit the unlock button. The heavy mahogany door slowly swung inward. The immediate, overpowering smell of rich chicken broth hit my face. Kaleigh stood there holding the silver tray, the smile on her face reaching all the way to her eyes. It was a look of pure, unadulterated triumph. She grew up in the slums, and nothing gave her more pleasure than parading her victory in front of the legitimate wife. "You are always so thoughtful, Kaleigh."