Chapter 4 - The Confession in the Library
Defeated by the absolute authority in Stellan's eyes, Nora turned back.
That night, sleep eluded her. She sat in the small armchair of her staff room, watching Wren breathe peacefully in her makeshift crib. The tension in her chest refused to dissipate. Stellan Cross was a man of terrifying contradictions — a ruthless killer who protected a penniless maid and her sick baby because of some inexplicable, magnetic pull she still didn't understand.
Around 2 a.m., unable to shake the suffocating weight of her thoughts, Nora stepped out into the hallway to get a glass of water.
The main house was pitch black, illuminated only by the pale moonlight cutting through the tall Gothic windows. As she passed the library, she noticed a sliver of light spilling out from under the heavy oak door.
It was ajar.
Curiosity and anxiety warred inside her. She stepped closer, intending to pull the door shut, when she heard Stellan's voice, rough and strained, speaking to someone on a secure satellite phone.
"I don't care how deep the hospital archives are buried, dig them up," Stellan was saying, pacing near the fireplace. "I want every record from St. Jude's maternity ward in the spring of last year. Find out who was on duty. Find out who walked out of that building with a premature infant matching these parameters."
Nora froze, her hand hovering over the doorframe.
St. Jude's maternity ward? That was the exact hospital where Wren was born.
"Sir, are you sure?" a voice crackled through the speaker — Victor, Stellan's head of security. "Digging into medical leaks from last year will draw unwanted attention from federal regulators. It's risky."
"Do it, Victor," Stellan snapped. "And run a discrete background check on Nora Vale. Every address, every job, every dollar she's ever earned. I want to know why she ended up on my doorstep."
Nora felt the blood drain entirely from her face.
He was investigating her. Not just background-checking her as an employee, but digging into her past, her hospital records, her very existence. The illusion of safety shattered instantly. He didn't just care about Wren; he was connecting dots she didn't even know existed.
She backed away silently, her breath catching in her throat, and hurried back to her room.
The next morning, the atmosphere in the estate was suffocatingly tense. Stellan didn't appear for breakfast, having left for a pre-dawn meeting at the docks. Nora moved through her chores like a ghost, her mind racing with panic. She needed to leave before he pieced together whatever puzzle he was trying to solve.
Yet, fate intervened in the cruelest way possible.
Around 10 a.m., Wren woke up wheezing. Her tiny chest heaved frantically, desperate for air as an asthma-like attack seized her underdeveloped lungs.
Panic seized Nora. She reached for the baby's emergency inhaler in her tote bag, only to find it completely empty. She had forgotten to refill the prescription yesterday before her aborted escape.
"No, no, no," Nora sobbed, lifting Wren into her arms. The baby's lips were turning a frightening shade of blue.
Mrs. Aldridge rushed into the room, took one look at the blueing infant, and pale with shock, dialed the private emergency line directly to Stellan's vehicle.
Within four minutes, the screech of tires echoed on the gravel drive.
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The heavy oak doors flew open, and Stellan strode into the hallway, his coat flying behind him like a cape of dark vengeance. He didn't ask questions. He took one look at Wren fighting for breath in Nora's arms, his face turning the color of ash.
"Get in the car," Stellan commanded, scooping both mother and child into his arms with terrifying speed. "We are going to my private medical wing. Now."
