Chapter 7 7

The city was damp and cold. Aurora hadn't gone to a hostel. She had gone to the one place she thought might be safe, a small studio she kept under a corporate LLC, a secret escape pod from her family life.

The key card didn't work. The light blinked red.

The building's superintendent, a kind man named George, saw her from the lobby. "Ms. Paul? I'm sorry. The unit was sold this morning. New owners changed the locks."

"Sold?" Aurora asked, her blood running cold. "That's impossible. I own it."

"The LLC was dissolved, something about unpaid taxes," George said, looking uncomfortable. "Some big corporation bought the whole floor. Heath Global, I think."

Corbin. He hadn't just predicted her moves; he had cut them off before she could even make them.

She sat on a bench in a nearby park, the revised contract-which had been messengered to her that morning-feeling heavy in her bag. It granted her joint custody on paper, but was filled with legal traps.

Her phone rang. It was an unknown number. She answered, desperate.

"Ms. Paul? This is Dwayne Rivera." The name sent a jolt through her. Rivera was the sharpest divorce and trust attorney in the country. She had consulted with him once, a year ago, about her mother's estate.

"Mr. Rivera? How did you-"

"I represent the Heath Family Trust," he said, his voice clipped and professional. "Mr. Heath has retained my services to oversee the execution of your pre-nuptial agreement. He wanted me to inform you that any attempt to contest it would be... unwise. The trust's resources are, for all intents and purposes, infinite."

He wasn't her potential ally. He was Corbin's weapon. Another door slammed shut.

"I understand," she said, her voice hollow.

Kendall called next. Aurora didn't want to answer, but the call was a video chat, and she hit accept by accident.

"How's the street, sister?" Kendall laughed from the interior of what looked like a private jet.

"Go to hell," Aurora said.

"Preston just bought your old restoration studio," Kendall said. "He's turning it into a storage unit for his golf clubs. Just thought you should know."

Aurora hung up.

She looked at her stomach. This baby. It was her only piece on the board. Corbin wanted it, but he wanted it on his terms. Her threat about a "stressful pregnancy" had been a bluff, and she suspected he knew it. She needed a better one.

She stood up. She walked to a public library-she didn't want to use her cell. She logged onto a computer and searched for clinics in Queens. Not for an abortion. For a consultation. She needed a medical record, a piece of paper that proved she was considering it. A paper trail was leverage.

She found a number for a clinic on 34th Avenue. One that took same-day appointments.

"I need to book a consultation," she said into the payphone. "Today. Now."

In the back of a Rolls Royce Phantom, Corbin watched the red dot on his tablet moving through Queens.

"She's at the public library," his assistant, Marcus, said from the front seat. "She just called a clinic on 34th Avenue. 'Women's Choice'."

Corbin's hand tightened around the tablet until the screen distorted.

"Is it a reputable facility?" Corbin asked.

"It's... barely legal, sir. Cash only."

Corbin felt a surge of rage so pure it almost blinded him. She would risk her life-and his heir-in a chop shop rather than accept his terms. He had underestimated her capacity for self-destruction.

"Marcus," Corbin said, his voice dangerously low. "That clinic is part of our real estate portfolio, isn't it? Under the 'Urban Renewal Initiative' shell company?"

Marcus paused, checking a file. "Yes, sir. We acquired the building six months ago."

"Shut it down," Corbin ordered. "Effective immediately. Cite health code violations. Have our security team meet me there. No one gets in or out."

"Yes, sir."

Corbin watched the red dot move toward the subway.

"Drive," he ordered. "Fast."