"He brought his mistress and twenty relatives to buy his newborn twins for $150,000. He had no idea she just signed his death warrant."

Julian strode in first, looking even more arrogant than he had yesterday. He wore a lighter-colored tailored suit today, accessorized by a gold Rolex that cost more than a small apartment. Right behind him rolled a pair of high-end twin strollers upholstered in quilted Italian leather, pushed by an equally smug Sienna, who was dressed in a designer houndstooth jacket and oversized sunglasses she didn't bother taking indoors.

Behind them came Eleanor Vance, clutching a leather designer handbag as if it were a shield against poverty.

“Rise and shine, Clara,” Julian announced cheerfully, walking straight to the bassinet where Leo and Oliver were resting. He didn't look at them with paternal love; he looked at them like trophies he had successfully acquired at an auction. “The family court clerk has already received the signed custody stipulation. As of ten minutes ago, those boys bear the Vance name exclusively.”

Sienna walked over to the incubators, peering down at the twins with a look of feigned maternal affection that made my stomach churn. “Oh, look at them, Julian. They’ll look just darling in the nursery we set up in the Hamptons house.”

Eleanor stood near the door, tapping her polished fingernails against her handbag. “Well? Get them dressed, Clara. We have a private car waiting downstairs. The sooner we get out of this dreadful hospital smell, the better.”

I didn't move.

I sat propped up against the pillows, wearing a simple cotton hospital gown, my hands resting calmly over the white duvet. I didn't cry. I didn't yell. I just watched them with an eerie, unblinking stillness that finally caused Julian to pause.

Julian turned around, his eyebrows drawing together in a sharp frown. “Clara. Did you hear me? Get them dressed. We are leaving.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Julian,” I said. My voice was smooth, carrying a chilling, melodic clarity that echoed off the sterile walls.

Julian let out a sharp, dismissive laugh. He walked over to the bed, planting his palms on the mattress and leaning down into my personal space. “Listen to me, you ungrateful little—you signed the papers yesterday! In front of twenty witnesses! The court has the document, the custody transfer is legal, and your signature is notarized. You have zero rights left. If you don't hand over those babies right now, I’ll have hospital security drag you out by your hair.”

“Is that right?” I asked softly.

Before Julian could answer, the door to the hospital room pushed open again.

This time, it wasn't a social worker or a nurse.

Four men in sharp federal windbreakers stepped into the room. Across the back of each jacket in bold, yellow lettering were the words: FBI – SPECIAL AGENT / WHITE COLLAR CRIME DIVISION.

Behind them walked Arthur Thorne, carrying a sleek leather briefcase, flanked by two armed United States Marshals.

The air in the room instantly froze. Sienna let out a sharp gasp, stumbling backward against the high-end twin strollers. Eleanor Vance’s jaw dropped so fast I thought it might unhinge.

Julian straightened up instantly, his face draining of all color until he looked like a corpse. He stared at the federal agents, his breath catching in his throat. “W-What is this? Who are you? This is a private hospital room! You have no business here!”

The lead FBI agent—a broad-shouldered man with steely gray eyes named Special Agent Miller—stepped forward, flashing a gold badge and a thick sheaf of federal warrants.

“Julian Vance?” Agent Miller asked, his voice booming through the room.

Julian swallowed hard, his hands beginning to tremble slightly. “I... I am Julian Vance. There must be some mistake—my father is a primary donor to—"

“Mr. Vance, you are being placed under federal arrest for wire fraud, money laundering, securities embezzlement, and interstate financial conspiracy involving over forty-two million dollars in illicit corporate transfers,” Agent Miller recited calmly, pulling a pair of cold steel handcuffs from his belt.

“Arrested?!” Julian shrieked, his voice cracking into an undignified squeak. He spun around, looking wildly toward his mother and Sienna. “This is insane! Call our corporate lawyers! Call the firm!”

“Your corporate lawyers are currently being raided by federal marshals at your Midtown headquarters as we speak,” Arthur Thorne chimed in smoothly, stepping into the room with a calm, predatory smile. He walked right past Julian and stopped beside my bed, giving me a respectful, subtle nod.

Julian’s eyes bulged. He looked from Arthur to me, his brain desperately trying to connect the dots of a nightmare he never saw coming. “Clara... what... what did you do?”