Delilah recoiled. “I don’t want to.”
The doctor’s brow furrowed.
Realizing how suspicious she must sound, Delilah forced a sudden, sugary smile. “Oh… right. I’ll try. You can leave us.”
Once the door shut, her demeanor flipped like a switch.
“You damn baby,” she hissed, leaning over the crib. “What’s wrong with you? You can’t be sick. And you certainly can’t die. Do you hear me? There is no way I’m letting Harold walk away from me. You are my leverage—even if you’re not mine.”
The baby’s cries grew louder, shriller. Delilah’s frustration spiked.
No one knew the truth—that her pregnancy had been faked from the beginning. That Leo was never hers.
“Nurse!” she barked, throwing open the door. “Feed her—I can’t stop the crying. And make sure she lives, or you’ll regret it.”
While the nurse took the baby, Delilah called the driver. “I want to know where Nathaniel went and why he ran off without telling me.”
There was a pause before the driver said, “It might have to do with Miss Eleanor.”
“Yes, I know that—” Delilah’s voice sharpened. “That’s why I want to know why he’s in such a hurry. Why he’s choosing her over me—”
“Ma’am,” the driver interrupted quietly, “Miss Eleanor… she’s dead.”