They’re planning. Actually planning the future like this is real and happening and wanted.
“We’ll need to childproof the estate,” Donovan continues. “Cover the outlets. Gate the stairs. Lock the cabinets with cleaning supplies.”
“And baby monitors,” Kai says. “The good ones with video so we can check without waking them up.” He grins. “I can teach them to ski, as soon as they’re old enough.”
“You’re not teaching an infant to ski,” Donovan says.
“I said as soon as they’re old enough. Like three or four.”
“That’s still too young.”
“I learned at four.”
“And you have the reckless judgment to prove it.”
They’re arguing about skiing lessons for a baby that isn’t even born yet while Grant researches the best pediatricians in Colorado. I sit there watching them, feeling the guilt crush me from the inside out.
They’re making plans. Building a future. Discussing cribs and monitors and childproofing like we’re a real family who will raise this baby together.
And they have no idea.
No idea that I came here with the explicit purpose of destroying them. No idea that I’ve been lying about who I am and why I’m here. No idea that Robert has been coaching me to gather information and find their weaknesses so he can ruin them.
They think I’m just a woman who fell into their lives and decided to stay. Who fell in love with all three of them because of who they are, not because of some twisted revenge plot I’ve been half-assing for weeks.
They think this baby is a happy accident. A surprise but a welcome one. The next chapter in whatever story we’re writing together.
They don’t know the truth.
And watching them plan our baby’s future with such genuine joy and excitement makes the guilt unbearable.
Because I don’t deserve this. Don’t deserve their happiness or their trust or their love.
I came here to destroy them.
And instead, I destroyed myself.
25
GRANT
I’m standingin my office staring at nothing when the reality hits me properly.
I’m going to be a father again.
At fifty-two years old, with three grown sons and an empire to manage, I’m going to have another child.
I sink into my chair and let myself remember.
Donovan was born when I was twenty-two. Catherine and I had been married less than a year, still figuring out how to be husband and wife, when suddenly we had to figure out how to be parents. I was building the legitimate side of the business then, trying to prove I could be more than my father’s criminal legacy. Working eighteen-hour days, coming home to a screaming infant and a wife who looked at me like I was supposed to have answers.
I didn’t have answers. I barely knew how to hold him without feeling like I might break him.
But I learned. We both learned.
I remember the first time Donovan wrapped his tiny hand around my finger. The way his eyes focused on my face like I was the most important thing in his world. The responsibility of that nearly crushed me.
This small person depended on me completely. Trusted me to keep him safe, fed, and alive.
