Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Green DressAt St. Catherine’s Medical Center, Emma learned pain had layers.
There was the sharp pain in her shoulder where she had struck the edge of a marble step. There was the deep ache in her hip where her body had twisted before landing. There was the fire in her ankle, swollen beneath a brace. But none of those pains compared to the terror of waiting for a doctor to tell her whether her baby had survived the fall.
A monitor was strapped around her belly. Every small sound from it made her heart jump.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
A nurse named Paula smiled gently. “That heartbeat is strong.”
Emma closed her eyes.
Strong.
The word entered her like medicine.
“Your baby is a fighter,” Paula added.
Emma placed one hand over her stomach. “She has to be.”
“She?”
Emma nodded. “A girl.”
For months, Emma had not told the Lancaster family. Not because she wanted to hide joy, but because nothing in that mansion felt safe anymore. The moment her pregnancy became visible, the family’s interest in her changed. Eleanor began sending vitamins. Richard offered to arrange a “better” doctor. Vanessa started appearing at strange times outside Emma’s bedroom, asking questions that sounded casual until Emma wrote them down later.
Have you signed the new estate documents yet?
Does Adrian know you still talk to your old friends?
Would you ever consider letting the baby spend summers here without you?
Emma had brushed it off at first.
Rich families were strange, she told herself. Cold. Controlling. Obsessed with appearances.
Then Adrian’s business trip to Singapore stretched from one week to three. Then the family lawyer asked her to sign a “routine trust adjustment.” Then a woman in the grocery store whispered, “You don’t know what they did to the first wife.”
The first wife.
Emma had laughed nervously then, because Adrian had never been married.
That night, she had searched public records until dawn.
She did not find a marriage.
She found a sealed court petition connected to the Lancaster Foundation.
And one name kept appearing beside it.
Detective Mara Ellis.
A knock came at the hospital room door.
Emma opened her eyes.
Detective Ellis entered quietly, holding two paper cups of coffee. “You’re awake.”
“I don’t drink coffee while pregnant.”
“One is tea.” Ellis held it up. “The coffee is for me because rich people lie professionally, and it takes energy to listen.”
Despite everything, Emma almost smiled.
Detective Ellis set the tea beside her bed. She was in her early forties, with tired eyes and a voice that never wasted words. Emma had met her only four days ago, but Ellis already felt more familiar than the people Emma had shared holidays with for three years.
“How bad?” Emma asked.
Ellis understood the real question. “The baby’s stable. You have bruising, a sprained ankle, and a hairline fracture in your wrist. They’re keeping you overnight.”
Emma breathed out.
“And Vanessa?”
“At the mansion. Angry. Loud. Terrible actress when cornered.”
“Did Clara talk?”
Ellis’s expression changed.
Emma’s heart sank. “They scared her.”
“They tried.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Richard Lancaster offered her six months of salary to say she didn’t see the beginning of the argument.”
Emma looked away.
Of course he did.
“She refused,” Ellis said.
Emma turned back.
“For now,” the detective added. “Fear changes people. Money changes them faster. But Clara gave an initial statement at the house. She said Vanessa grabbed your arm, accused you of trying to steal family assets through the baby, and shoved you when you tried to leave.”
Emma’s throat tightened. “She said that?”
“She did.”
The room went quiet except for the baby monitor.
Emma stared at the ceiling tiles. They were plain white, not carved gold like the mansion ceiling. She loved them for that. There was nothing beautiful about them, and nothing cruel.
“Detective,” she said, “there’s something I didn’t tell you.”
Ellis sat down.
Emma’s hand trembled as she reached toward her bag on the chair. Paula had placed it there after the ambulance arrived. Inside was her wallet, a cracked compact mirror, and a small velvet pouch.
She pulled out a flash drive.
“I kept another copy,” Emma said.
Ellis took it carefully. “Of what?”
“The recording from last week. The one from the nursery.”
Ellis’s jaw tightened. “You told me your phone corrupted the file.”
“I lied.”
“To me?”
“To everyone.” Emma swallowed. “I was afraid if I told you I still had it, someone would find out before I knew who I could trust.”
Ellis studied her, then nodded once. “Smart.”
Emma looked toward the closed door. “It recorded Vanessa and Eleanor talking.”
“About?”
Emma’s eyes filled with tears, but her voice did not break.
“About making me look unstable enough to lose custody after the baby was born.”
Detective Ellis did not move for several seconds.
Then she slipped the flash drive into an evidence bag.
“Emma,” she said, “listen carefully. From this moment on, you do not speak to any Lancaster alone. Not your husband. Not his mother. Not anyone.”
Emma’s stomach twisted at Adrian’s name.
“My husband isn’t like them.”
Ellis leaned forward. “Are you sure?”
Emma wanted to answer immediately.
Of course she was sure. Adrian was the reason she had survived that family as long as she had. Adrian, with his gentle hands and late-night apologies. Adrian, who kissed her forehead whenever his mother insulted her and promised they would move after the baby came. Adrian, who said he hated the family business but could not leave yet. Adrian, who had not answered his phone in two days.
Emma opened her mouth.
No words came.
Ellis stood. “I’m not saying he pushed you. I’m saying people raised in houses like that learn which doors not to open.”
Another knock came.
This time it was not soft.
The door swung inward before anyone answered.
Adrian Lancaster stood in the doorway, still wearing a travel suit, his dark hair disheveled, his face pale with panic.
“Emma.”
Her heart lurched.
He crossed the room in three strides, then stopped when Detective Ellis stepped between them.
His eyes dropped to the brace on Emma’s wrist. Then to the monitor around her belly. Then to the bruises starting to darken along her arm.
“What happened?” he whispered.
Emma looked at her husband.
The father of her unborn child.
The man she had loved against every warning sign.
Behind him, in the hallway, Eleanor Lancaster appeared.
Her face was composed.
Her lipstick perfect.
Her eyes fixed not on Emma, but on the baby monitor.
Emma’s blood went cold.
Eleanor smiled.
“Thank God,” she said. “The child is alive.”
Not Emma.
The child.
Adrian turned slowly toward his mother.
For the first time, Emma saw something dangerous move across his face.
“Mother,” he said, “why are you here?”
Eleanor’s smile thinned.
“To protect this family.”
Detective Ellis looked from mother to son.
Emma placed her hand over her belly.
And the monitor kept beating.
Beep.
Beep.
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