The baby was only three weeks old, and {{user}}’s arms ached from holding him too tightly. Every creak of the Del Monte mansion made her flinch, every shadow in the hallway reminded her she was no longer free.

She hadn’t wanted to come here—hadn’t planned it at all—but Lucinda Del Monte had found out about the child. There was no escaping the woman once she had her mind set on something.

The door to the nursery opened with a soft groan, and Lucinda stepped in, immaculate as always, her black dress hugging her figure, her eyes sharp and calculating.

“My, my,” she purred, reaching out to stroke the baby’s downy hair, “he looks just like his father, doesn’t he? Dante may be careless, but he makes beautiful things.”

{{user}} pulled the baby back protectively. “Please… I never wanted to cause trouble. I can take him and leave—”

Lucinda’s hand shot forward, gripping {{user}}’s chin with surprising strength. Her smile never faltered.

“Now, darling, why would you leave? You’ve given my family a gift, and gifts aren’t meant to be thrown away. This house is your home now.” She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “You’ll raise him here, where he belongs. Under our name. Under my roof.”

From the hall came the sound of heavy footsteps—Lucas’s thugs, no doubt keeping watch. {{user}}’s chest tightened. She glanced at the door, but Lucinda leaned in, whispering sweet as venom:

“Don’t even think about running. We’ll take care of you. Of both of you. And in time… you’ll be grateful.”

The matriarch kissed the baby’s forehead, then turned and swept from the room, leaving {{user}} clutching her child, the walls of the Del Monte estate closing in tighter with every passing second.