Chapter 4

Josephine Jackson POV:

The days that followed were filled with a quiet dread. A black sedan, the kind with tinted windows that swallow the light, began parking across the street from our apartment building. It was always there, a silent, ominous sentinel. Our neighbors, good people who usually greeted us with a smile, started hurrying past, their eyes averted. Fear was a poison, and the Garners were experts at spreading it.

I didn't understand what Hampton wanted. He had warned me to stay away. Was this his way of ensuring I obeyed? A constant reminder of his power? I started walking Cale to and from school, my hand gripping his a little too tightly, my eyes constantly scanning the street. The fragile peace of our lives had been replaced by a low, humming anxiety.

Then, the visits started.

An older man in a chauffeur's uniform, with a kind face that didn't match the coldness in his eyes, appeared at our door. He introduced himself as Arthur, the Garner family's head of staff.

"Mrs. Byrd," he began, his tone polite but firm. "Young Master Ignatius is unwell. He has a high fever and is asking for you."

I stared at him, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. A trick. It had to be a trick. "I'm sure his... his mother, Christabel, is more than capable of caring for him," I said, my voice tight.

"Miss Fitzpatrick is doing her best," Arthur said smoothly. "But the boy is calling your name."

I thought of Christabel Fitzpatrick, the woman Hampton was engaged to. I remembered her from my time in the Garner mansion-a woman made of ice and ambition. She had looked at me as if I were something she'd scraped off the bottom of her shoe. She was the one who had "found" the faked letters that convinced Hampton I was conspiring against him. The thought of being in the same room with her, of her venomous gaze, made my skin crawl.

"No," I said, my resolve hardening. "I can't. It's not my place."

Arthur left without another word, but he was back the next day. And the day after that. Each time, his story was the same. Ignatius was sick. Ignatius was asking for me. Each time, I refused. I was building my wall back up, one "no" at a time.

On the third night, a frantic pounding on the door jolted me from a restless sleep. It was after midnight. I opened it to find Arthur, his usual composure gone, his face etched with genuine panic.

"Mrs. Byrd, please," he begged, his voice low and urgent. "He's refusing to take his medicine. The doctors say his fever is dangerously high. He won't let anyone near him. He just keeps asking for you."

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He is your son, Josephine. Your flesh and blood. How can you be so cruel?"

The words were a calculated strike, aimed directly at my heart. "The Garners have the best doctors in the country," I countered, my voice shaking. "Why do you need me?"

I was about to slam the door in his face when a small figure appeared in the hallway behind me. Cale, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his pajamas rumpled. "Mom? What's wrong?"

Arthur's eyes flickered towards Cale, and his expression shifted. The desperation was replaced by a cold, sharp edge. The mask of the polite servant fell away, revealing the tool of a ruthless master.

"A fine boy," Arthur said, his voice deceptively soft. "It would be a shame if something were to happen to him. An accident at school, perhaps. Boys can be so careless."

The threat hung in the air, unspoken but clear as glass. My blood ran cold. They were threatening Cale. They were using my love for my chosen son to force me to see my biological one.

My choice was gone. They had taken it from me.

"I'll go," I said, the words tasting like defeat.

I woke my neighbor, Mrs. Gable, a kind, elderly woman, and asked her to watch Cale until Calvin got home. She took one look at the two large, silent men in black suits flanking Arthur by the curb and her face went pale. She nodded without a word, pulling Cale into her apartment and quickly locking the door.

I knelt down in front of Cale. "I'll be back before you know it, sweetie. You be good for Mrs. Gable."

He didn't want to let me go. His small hands clutched the fabric of my coat. "Don't go, Mom. It's a trap."

"I have to," I whispered, kissing his forehead. "I'll be back soon. I promise."

As the black sedan pulled away from the curb, I looked back at our apartment window. Cale was standing there, a small, lonely silhouette against the warm light of our home, watching me disappear into the night.