Chapter 10 - ROSEHAVENRosehaven sat two hours north of the city, hidden behind white fences and winter fields.
It did not look like a place where stolen babies went.
That was the worst part.
It looked gentle.
A converted farmhouse with pale blue shutters. A wraparound porch. Wind chimes. A wooden sign painted with tiny roses. Elena stared at it through the windshield and felt hatred bloom in her chest for every beautiful thing that had ever been used to hide cruelty.
Caden parked behind the lead SUV.
No one moved immediately.
In the back seat, Elena’s hands were folded tightly in her lap. She had not slept. Her eyes burned. Her body ached from holding the triplets most of the night, but her mind was sharp.
Too sharp.
Baby D is alive.
A girl.
A fourth daughter.
Maybe sick. Maybe hidden. Maybe dead now despite everything.
Elena pressed a fist against her mouth.
Caden watched the farmhouse.
“My wife founded this place,” he said.
Elena looked at him.
He rarely mentioned the dead woman. Seraphina. The name floated around Blackwater Hill in portraits, whispered by staff, carried by Vivian like a religion.
“What was she like?” Elena asked before she could stop herself.
Caden’s eyes stayed forward. “Kind.”
The word came out rough.
Elena waited.
“She was born into one of the families but hated everything about them. Rosehaven was her rebellion. Medical care for newborns whose parents couldn’t afford private treatment. Quiet adoptions. Emergency shelter for pregnant women escaping dangerous homes.”
Elena looked at the farmhouse again.
“And Crane used it?”
“Crane uses anything good until it rots.”
“Did you love her?”
Caden turned his head then.
The question had crossed a boundary.
Elena knew it.
But after everything, polite boundaries felt ridiculous.
“Yes,” he said.
The honesty hurt in a place Elena did not expect.
She looked away.
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
“For what?”
“For not knowing you existed before they used you.”
The answer settled heavily between them.
Before Elena could respond, the farmhouse door opened.
A woman stepped onto the porch.
She was in her sixties, with gray-blond hair, a wool cardigan, and the guarded posture of someone who had spent years protecting secrets.
Caden got out.
Elena followed.
The woman’s face changed when she saw him.
“Mr. Voss.”
“Margot.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I hear that often.”
Her eyes flicked to Elena.
Then widened.
Not recognition exactly.
Confirmation.
Elena felt it like a hand closing around her heart.
“You know me,” she said.
Margot’s eyes filled. “I know your face.”
Caden stepped closer. “Where is Dr. Vale?”
Margot looked toward the road.
“She left two weeks ago.”
“With a child?”
Margot went very still.
Elena’s voice broke. “Please.”
That one word did what Caden’s threat could not.
Margot looked at Elena, and her face collapsed.
“Come inside.”
The interior smelled like lavender, formula, and old wood. There were no babies in the front rooms. No nurses. No bassinets. Just covered furniture and cardboard boxes.
“It’s closing,” Margot said. “Funding dried up after Seraphina died. Then private donations came through under shell names. I should have known.”
“Crane,” Caden said.
Margot nodded. “At first he only wanted records stored. Then Dr. Vale arrived with a premature newborn girl and said if I logged her under her real birth, she would be killed.”
Elena gripped the back of a chair. “Her name.”
Margot looked at her.
“We called her Mila.”
The name entered Elena gently and destroyed her anyway.
Mila.
Luca. Nico. Sofia. Mila.
Four names.
Four heartbeats.
Caden looked toward the staircase. “Where is she?”
Margot’s mouth trembled. “Gone.”
Elena shook her head. “No.”
“Dr. Vale took her.”
“Why?”
“Because someone found out.”
Caden’s eyes sharpened. “Crane?”
“No.” Margot looked terrified. “A woman.”
Vivian? Elena thought.
But Margot shook her head as if reading the question on her face.
“She came with legal documents. Claimed she represented the biological mother.”
Elena’s stomach turned. “Me?”
“She had your name. Your signature. A court order granting temporary medical custody.”
Caden’s face darkened. “Judge Pierce.”
Margot nodded.
Elena whispered, “Who was the woman?”
Margot turned and opened a cabinet.
Inside was a folder.
She removed a photograph taken from a security camera.
A woman in sunglasses held a bundled toddler against her chest. Beside her stood a tall man with silver hair.
Elena did not recognize the woman.
But Caden recognized the man.
His face went blank.
Ortega, standing behind them, inhaled sharply.
Elena looked from one to the other.
“What?”
Caden took the photograph.
His voice was quiet enough to frighten her.
“That is my uncle.”
Vivian’s younger brother.
The man who had supposedly died in a boating accident ten years earlier.
“Sebastian Vale,” Caden said.
Elena stared at him.
“Vale?”
Caden nodded once.
“Dr. Marianne Vale’s husband.”
Margot began crying.
Elena could barely hear herself speak.
“Where did they take my daughter?”
Margot opened the folder and removed a final page.
A shipping manifest.
Private medical transport. Destination: New Orleans.
May you like
At the bottom was one handwritten note.
The fourth heir must never return to Blackwater Hill.
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