Chapter 3

The moments stretched, filled with my ragged breathing and Gretchen' s furious glares.

David stood uselessly by, pale and shocked. Rosa was muttering into her phone, her voice urgent.

"He's not answering his international line, Mrs. Sarah," Rosa whispered, her face crumpling. "It's going to voicemail."

Despair threatened to swallow me.

Gretchen smirked. "See? All this fuss for nothing. Now, let's get you settled."

She picked up the syringe again with her good hand.

This was it. I was going to lose again.

Suddenly, the heavy oak door to the wing burst open with a deafening crash.

Ethan.

He stood there, tall and powerful, his eyes blazing. Behind him, Marcus, his head of security, and two other men from his team fanned out, expressions grim.

Ethan' s gaze swept the room, taking in Gretchen with the syringe, my terrified face, David' s helplessness, Rosa' s distress.

His eyes met mine.

In that instant, I saw it. The flicker of shared memory, the dawning horror, the same fierce protectiveness that had always defined him.

He knew. He was reborn too.

A sob of relief escaped me.

"Ethan!"

He moved so fast Gretchen didn' t have time to react.

He was across the room in three strides, his hand like a vise on her wrist, twisting. The syringe clattered to the floor again.

Gretchen cried out in pain.

"Marcus," Ethan' s voice was deadly calm. "Secure her. And get Dr. Peterson in here. Now."

"Yes, sir," Marcus said, already moving. One of his men grabbed Gretchen, who was now white-faced and babbling about Eleanor' s orders.

Ethan was at my side, his hand gently touching my cheek.

"Sarah. I' m here. I' m so sorry. I felt it. I knew something was wrong."

He had chartered a private jet. A premonition, he' d call it. But I knew it was more.

"You remember?" I whispered, tears streaming down my face.

His eyes, dark with pain and love, confirmed it. "Everything."

Dr. Peterson rushed in then, his face grim as he assessed the situation. Ethan never let go of my hand.

The next hour was a blur of controlled chaos. Dr. Peterson and a team of nurses Ethan had apparently brought with him worked efficiently.

The pain was still immense, but Ethan was there, his strength flowing into me.

And then, a cry. A strong, healthy cry.

My son.

He was alive. He was safe.

Dr. Peterson laid him on my chest. Tiny, perfect, and breathing.

Ethan leaned down, kissing my forehead, then our son' s. His shoulders shook with emotion.

"We did it, Sarah," he whispered. "We saved him."

We had. Against all odds, against Eleanor' s monstrous plan, we had won the first battle.

Marcus reappeared at the door.

"Sir, Nurse Gretchen is secured in the panic room as you instructed."

Ethan nodded. "Good. No one is to go near her. Or release her. Understood?"

"Understood, sir."

I looked at Ethan. The panic room was a reinforced vault in the basement, soundproof and inescapable.

The fight wasn't over. It was just beginning. But this time, I wasn't alone.