The Reborn Duchess's Ruthless Revenge

The Stone mansion was in chaos.

Maids were running back and forth with basins of hot water and towels that were already stained red. The air smelled of metallic copper and lavender panic.

Isolde burst through the front doors, Elliot right behind her.

"Where is she?" Isolde screamed at the butler.

"The master bedroom, My Lady," the butler stammered, his face pale. "The doctor says... he says the bleeding won't stop."

Isolde didn't wait. She hiked up her skirt and sprinted up the grand staircase.

At the top of the stairs, she collided with a wall of noise. Screams. Her sister's screams.

Isolde threw the bedroom doors open.

The room was hot and stifling. Seraphina was on the bed, her skin the color of ash. Her eyes were rolled back, unfocused.

"Seraphina!" Isolde rushed to the bedside. She grabbed her sister's limp hand. It was cold.

"Isolde?" Seraphina whispered. Her voice was a ghost. "I'm tired. I want to sleep."

"No!" Isolde shook her. "You do not sleep! You hear me? You fight!"

"I can't..." Seraphina's eyes fluttered shut. "Tell Marcus... tell him I tried."

"Tell him yourself!" Isolde yelled.

Suddenly, a roar came from the hallway.

"Move! Get out of my way!"

General Stone charged into the room. He was still wearing his desert fatigues, covered in dust. He looked like a madman.

He fell to his knees beside the bed. "Seraphina!"

Seraphina's eyes snapped open. The sound of his voice was like a jolt of electricity.

"Marcus?"

"I'm here," Stone choked out, gripping her face with his rough hands. "I'm here, baby. I'm home."

Behind him, a pale and sweating Julian was wheeled into the room by Imogen. He took one look at the situation, his professional instincts overriding the agony in his side.

"Get those fluids running wide open!" Julian barked at the terrified attending physician, his voice strained. "She's in hypovolemic shock! Elevate her legs! Now!" He gripped the armrest of his chair, his knuckles white, fighting a wave of dizziness.

The room exploded into action. Stone held Seraphina's hand, whispering promises, begging her to stay. Julian shouted orders from his chair, his medical authority overriding the panic.

Isolde stood back, her heart pounding against her ribs. She watched the monitor. The heart rate was dropping.

Beep... beep... beep...

"Push!" the midwife shouted. "One more time, My Lady! For the General!"

Seraphina looked at Stone. She saw the fear in the eyes of the man who never feared anything. She took a deep, ragged breath. She screamed, a primal sound of defiance against death.

And then... a cry.

A thin, high-pitched wail that cut through the tension like a knife.

The midwife held up a small, wriggling bundle.

"It's a boy," she wept. "It's a boy."

Stone buried his face in the mattress and sobbed. Great, heaving sobs that shook his massive frame.

Seraphina smiled weakly. "Marcus..."

Stone looked up. He took the baby, wrapping it in his dirty fatigue jacket. He held it down for Seraphina to see.

"Look," he whispered. "Look at him. He's a fighter. Just like you."

Isolde leaned against the doorframe. Her legs gave out. She slid down to the floor, burying her face in her hands.

Elliot was there instantly. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

"You did it," he whispered into her hair. "She's safe."

Isolde nodded, tears soaking Elliot's expensive suit. The timeline had bent. Death had come for the Stone family, and they had sent it away empty-handed.

Julian sat in his wheelchair, wiping sweat from his forehead. Imogen stood behind him, her hands resting on his shoulders. They shared a look. A look that said: We survived.