I rushed back to the hospital, hands shaking, and scooped my newborn son from his crib. Then I ran.
My eyes burned as I looked down at the pink, fragile infant in my arms. Several times, my hand hovered near his tiny throat, fingers twitching.
In the end, I unclenched my fist.
I needed the truth. All of it.
I needed to see exactly how black Adrian Vance's heart really was.
The car screeched to a halt outside Ava Finch's villa. When I burst through the door—disheveled, wild-eyed, clutching a baby—she nearly dropped her coffee.
After I choked out the explanation, her eyes went wide.
Then dark.
Then furious.
"That *bastard*. How could Adrian do this to you?"
I forced myself to breathe. My voice came out cold. Clinical.
"Hide the child. Once the paternity test results come in, I will make him pay for every ounce of pain he's caused me."
By the time I cleaned myself up and returned to the hospital room, Adrian was already waiting.
His eyes locked onto my empty arms. He rushed forward.
"Hailey, the doctor said you took Bubu. Where is he? Where's our son?"
I lowered myself onto the edge of the bed and smiled. It didn't reach my eyes.