Chapter 3

In the pristine, state-of-the-art maternity ward of the city's most exclusive hospital, Brogan Edwards paced anxiously outside a private delivery suite. The scent of antiseptic was sharp and clean, a stark contrast to the scene he had left behind in his own home. He checked his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes.

His phone buzzed. It was Dr. Miles, the head of his personal medical staff back at the mansion. He had left strict orders.

"What is it?" Brogan answered, his tone clipped and impatient.

"Sir, it's about Mrs. Edwards," the doctor's voice was strained, urgent. "The security guard, Marcus, brought her to the staff clinic. Sir, her condition is critical. She's had a significant hemorrhage. We need to get her to a hospital. Now."

Brogan's jaw tightened. He glanced at the closed door of Kennedy's suite. He could hear the steady beeping of the fetal heart monitor from within.

"This is not a good time, Miles," Brogan said, his voice low and cold. "Kennedy is in the middle of a complicated delivery. I need my focus here."

"But sir, your wife-"

"My wife is a manipulative liar who is trying to sabotage my nephew's birthright," Brogan cut him off. "I'm sure this is just another one of her dramatic performances. She knows about the clause. She knows what's at stake."

"Mr. Edwards, with all due respect, no one can fake these symptoms," the doctor insisted. "Her blood pressure is plummeting. We're losing her. And the baby's heartbeat is dangerously faint. They will die if we don't act."

The word 'die' hung in the air. For a split second, a cold shard of fear pierced Brogan's resolve. What if Grace was telling the truth?

But then he remembered his promise to his dead brother. He remembered Kennedy's tearful pleas for him to protect her and her unborn son from the "gold-digging outsider." His guilt and his misplaced sense of duty hardened his heart. He chose to believe the lie because the truth was too terrible to confront.

"Do whatever you have to do to keep her stable until my nephew is born," Brogan commanded. "But she is not to leave the estate. No ambulances. No outside contact. Is that clear?"

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line. "Sir... that's a death sentence."

"It's an order, doctor," Brogan said, his voice like ice. "My brother's son comes first. Always."

He hung up the phone, his hand trembling slightly. He shoved it back in his pocket, his face a mask of grim determination. He was doing the right thing. He had to be.

Back in the barren staff clinic, Dr. Miles stared at his phone in disbelief. He looked at his two nurses, who had heard the entire exchange on speakerphone. Their faces were pale with shock.

"He wants us to let them die," one nurse whispered.

Dr. Miles looked at Grace, lying pale and still on the table. He was a doctor. He had taken an oath. He couldn't just stand by.

"To hell with his orders," he said, his voice shaking with anger. "The east wing medical suite. The one he had prepared for Mrs. Sanford. It's fully equipped. Let's get her there. We can at least try to stabilize her."

They carefully moved Grace onto a gurney and rushed her through the corridors to the opulent private medical suite that had been set up for Kennedy. It was a miniature hospital room, filled with the latest technology. The irony was a bitter pill to swallow. Grace was being taken to the very room prepared for the woman whose child was valued more than her own.

They worked frantically, hooking Grace up to monitors, starting an IV, trying to stop the bleeding. But they were fighting a losing battle. The damage was too severe.

"Her pressure is still dropping! I can't find a steady pulse on the fetus!" a nurse cried out.

Just then, Brogan's personal assistant, a man named Geoffrey, burst into the room. He took in the scene, his eyes wide.

"What is going on here?" he demanded. "Mr. Edwards's orders were explicit!"

"His wife is dying!" Dr. Miles shot back, not looking up from his work. "I will not be an accomplice to murder."

Geoffrey's face went rigid. He pulled out his phone. "I have to report this to Mr. Edwards."

He made the call. Grace, drifting in and out of consciousness, could hear the one-sided conversation.

"Sir, it's Geoffrey... Yes, in Mrs. Sanford's suite... The staff moved her here, they said she's..." He paused, listening. "Sir, I'm looking right at her. It's not a lie. She's covered in blood."

Grace watched as Geoffrey's expression shifted from officious anger to genuine alarm. "I understand, sir, but... the baby... yes, sir. I understand."

He hung up, his face ashen. He looked at Dr. Miles with a mixture of pity and fear.

"Get away from her," Geoffrey said, his voice barely a whisper.

"What?" Dr. Miles asked, stunned.

"Mr. Edwards's orders. He said if you touch her again, he will personally see to it that you, your family, your entire careers are destroyed. He will sue you for malpractice, for unauthorized use of his property, for everything. He said he will make you wish you were dead."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and absolute. Brogan's power was immense. He could and would follow through.

The nurses froze, their hands hovering over Grace. Dr. Miles stared at Geoffrey, his face a canvas of defeated rage.

"He's a monster," the doctor whispered.

Geoffrey wouldn't meet his eyes. "He said... 'That woman is not my wife. My wife would never try to harm my family. I don't know who that is, but she is not to be helped.'"

The last thread of hope snapped. Grace heard a choked sob and realized it came from her own throat, though she lacked the strength to make a sound. It was over. He had disowned her. He had sentenced her and their child to death, and he didn't even have the courage to do it himself.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Dr. Miles. He leaned in close, his voice thick with unshed tears.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Edwards," he murmured. "I'm so, so sorry."

He and the nurses backed away, their faces etched with guilt and helplessness. They stood by the wall, forced to watch as their patient's life slipped away.

Grace's vision began to blur. The bright lights of the medical suite softened and dimmed. The sharp beeping of the monitors slowed, becoming faint and distant.

She could hear the medical team's hushed, frantic whispers.

"Fetal heartbeat is gone."

"She's flatlining."

"Call it."

The baby. Her son. He was gone.

A pain deeper and more profound than any physical agony consumed her. It was the crushing weight of a future stolen, of a love that would never be known.

She tried to lift her hand to her stomach, to the now-empty space where her son had lived. Her arm felt like lead. With a final, monumental effort, she managed to touch her belly. It was soft. Vacant.

A single tear, hot and heavy, escaped the corner of her eye and traced a path through the grime on her cheek. It was a tear for her lost son. For the love she had foolishly believed in. For the woman she used to be.

Then, the darkness she had been fighting for so long finally claimed her. The beeping stopped. The world went silent.

And Grace Moore was gone.