The first time Sofía saw the Cross estate up close, she thought it looked less like a home and more like a kingdom that had swallowed a city block whole.

Iron gates taller than buses. A driveway that curved like a ribbon through manicured hedges. Marble lions crouched on either side of the entrance as if they were trained to bite anyone who didn’t belong.

And tonight, Sofía didn’t belong.

She reminded herself of that as she stepped out of the staff van, clutching the strap of her worn handbag, trying to ignore the way her feet already throbbed inside her cheap black shoes. The belly of her uniform dress stretched over her seven-month bump, and the fabric rubbed her skin raw whenever she breathed too deeply.

“Keep your head down,” the supervisor, Tanya, hissed as she handed everyone their assignments. Tanya was the kind of woman who never smiled unless it was at someone else’s misfortune. “This is Cross money. One mistake, and you’re done. Understood?”

A few girls nodded quickly. One boy swallowed hard. Sofía forced herself to nod too, because she needed the paycheck like she needed air.

Twelve hours, she told herself. Twelve hours, and you walk out with enough for rent and the clinic.

The baby kicked as if disagreeing.

“I know,” she whispered, rubbing her belly through the thin uniform. “I know, little one. Just… a little longer.”

Inside, the party was a living, glittering organism—music pulsing in the walls, laughter spilling like champagne, bodies moving in designer gowns and tuxedos that cost more than Sofía’s entire life.

Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, cruel glow over everything. Every surface shone: marble floors, mirrored walls, gold-trimmed staircases. Even the air smelled expensive—perfume and citrus and the sharp bite of vintage alcohol.

Sofía followed Tanya through the crowd, balancing an empty tray, already sweating.

“Section three,” Tanya barked. “You cover the terrace and the bar corner. Don’t talk unless spoken to. Don’t touch anyone. And don’t—” she leaned in close, voice dropping to a warning, “—don’t look at him.”

Sofía’s throat tightened. “Him?”

Tanya’s eyes flicked toward the center of the ballroom like she was afraid the walls had ears. “Hunter Cross.”

Sofía had heard the name in the same way you heard about storms. From far away. With dread.

Hunter Cross—the billionaire who bought companies the way other men bought coffee. The man who could ruin careers, reputations, entire bloodlines, with a phone call. The man rumored to have built his empire on secrets and broken deals and cold revenge.

And tonight, this was his party.

Sofía didn’t ask questions. Questions got you fired. Or worse.

She moved toward her station and began working.

Hour one: refilling champagne flutes, smiling until her cheeks hurt.

Hour three: carrying trays through a sea of bodies, dodging careless elbows, swallowing hunger.

Hour five: ignoring the way her lower back burned and her ankles swelled, telling herself she could rest later.

Hour seven: taking a deep breath in the staff hallway and pressing a hand to the wall because the room tilted for half a second.

“You okay?” a young bartender named Mateo asked quietly, his voice kind in a place that wasn’t. He was maybe twenty-five, with tired eyes and a gentle face that didn’t match the cruelty around them.

Sofía forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I don’t get paid to look fine,” she said, trying for a joke, but it came out thin.

Mateo glanced around, then lowered his voice. “If Tanya sees you resting, she’ll chew you alive. But listen—take a small break in the pantry behind the terrace. It’s quiet. No cameras.”

Sofía blinked. “Why are you helping me?”

Mateo shrugged, like it was obvious. “Because you’re pregnant. Because these people…” his eyes flicked to the ballroom, disgust briefly flashing. “They don’t see us as human.”

Before Sofía could answer, Tanya’s voice cracked like a whip down the hallway.

“Sofía! Tray! Now!”

Mateo backed away instantly, face blank, as if kindness could get him punished.

Sofía grabbed a tray, steadied her breathing, and went back into the lion’s den.

Hour nine: the party got louder, drunker, meaner.

A group of women in silver gowns laughed as Sofía walked by, their words slicing through the music.

“Look at her belly,” one giggled. “How tragic.”

“Or how strategic,” another purred. “Maybe she’s hoping someone important trips and catches her.”

They all laughed again.

Sofía kept her eyes forward, heart pounding. She’d learned long ago that if you reacted, they’d enjoy it more.

Then she saw her.

The queen of the night.

She stood near the grand staircase, surrounded by a ring of admirers—tall, glamorous, dripping in diamonds that threw sparks of light onto everyone around her. Her hair was glossy, her smile sharpened like a blade, and her dress—deep emerald silk—fit her like it had been poured onto her body.

Every head turned toward her like she was gravity.

Someone whispered her name near Sofía’s shoulder.

“Vanessa Vale.”

Sofía froze for half a beat. Vanessa Vale—the woman whose face filled magazines. The woman rumored to have clawed her way into high society by destroying any other woman who got in her path.

And she was Hunter Cross’s girlfriend.

Vanessa lifted her champagne flute, laughing at something someone said. Her laughter was beautiful—if you didn’t listen too closely. If you did, you could hear the cruelty under it.

Sofía’s stomach clenched, and she couldn’t tell if it was fear or the baby shifting.

Hour eleven: Sofía’s hands started to tremble in a way she couldn’t control.

The ballroom felt hotter. The music sounded louder. Her feet felt like they were cracking open inside her shoes.

She tried to breathe through it, tried to focus on the tray in her hands, the rhythm of service, the steady routine that kept her from falling apart.

“Just a little longer,” she whispered again. “Just… a little longer.”

Then Tanya appeared out of nowhere, face tight with irritation.

“You,” she snapped. “Go to the VIP circle. They want a wine service. And don’t embarrass me.”

Sofía’s throat went dry. The VIP circle was where the richest people gathered—where mistakes didn’t get forgiven.

“I—okay,” Sofía said, even as her knees threatened to buckle.

Tanya shoved a heavy silver tray into her hands, loaded with stemmed glasses already filled with red wine.

Sofía stared at the tray. The glasses trembled slightly, the wine surface rippling.

“Tanya,” she said softly, “I’m not sure I can—”

Tanya’s eyes narrowed. “You can. Unless you want to explain to your landlord why you can’t pay rent.”

The words hit Sofía like a slap.

She swallowed. “No. I can.”

And she stepped forward.

The VIP circle was near the center of the mansion, where a cluster of guests stood like royalty holding court. Men in tailored suits, women with sharp eyes and sharper smiles. Their laughter didn’t sound like joy—it sounded like power.

Sofía approached carefully, tray balanced, trying to make her steps smooth even as her legs quivered.

Her heart hammered in her chest.

She reached the group, began offering glasses.

A man took one without looking at her. A woman plucked another with a lazy flick of her wrist.

Sofía turned slightly, angling the tray to offer the last glass—

And her ankle rolled.

It was tiny. A misstep. A shift of weight that shouldn’t have mattered.

But in that moment, her body—exhausted, swollen, betrayed her.

The tray tilted.

Sofía’s breath caught.

Everything slowed.

The glasses slid, clinking lightly, teetering on the edge of disaster.

“No—” Sofía whispered.

Then—

PUM.

Crystal shattered against marble like gunfire.

Red wine exploded across the floor.

And then the nightmare completed itself—

A wave of wine splashed up, soaking the hem of the emerald dress.

Vanessa Vale’s dress.

The queen of the night went still.

For a second, the entire party went silent, like the mansion itself had stopped breathing.

Sofía stared at the stain spreading like blood across the expensive silk.

Her mouth opened, but no words came.

Then Vanessa’s head turned slowly, her eyes landing on Sofía with the calm of a predator.

“What,” Vanessa said softly, “did you just do?”

Sofía’s voice finally returned, shaking. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—my foot—”

Vanessa stepped closer, heels clicking like a countdown.

“You didn’t mean to ruin a fifteen-thousand-dollar dress?” Vanessa’s smile widened, and it wasn’t pretty. “How considerate.”

Someone in the circle snickered.

Vanessa lifted her hand, fingertips brushing the wet fabric at her thigh, then held her fingers up like she was examining something disgusting.

“You’re trembling,” Vanessa observed. “Are you going to cry?”

Sofía’s vision blurred. “Please, I’ll pay for it. I’ll—”

Vanessa laughed, a sharp little sound. “With what? Your tips? Your… charity bump?”

Sofía instinctively moved one hand to her belly.

The baby kicked hard, and a sudden cramp pulled low in Sofía’s abdomen—hot and alarming.

She flinched.

Vanessa noticed.

“Oh,” Vanessa said, eyes gleaming. “Does it hurt?”

Sofía’s voice cracked. “Please… don’t hit me. I already feel pain.”

It wasn’t a dramatic line meant for sympathy. It was a raw, desperate truth.

But Vanessa’s lips curled, delighted. “Hit you? Sweetheart, I wouldn’t waste my hand on you.”

Then she raised her arm anyway.

Not as a threat.

As a performance.

Several guests leaned in eagerly. Phones were subtly angled like they were about to capture content.

Sofía felt the room closing in. Her ears rang. Her heart pounded so hard she thought she might faint.

She put both arms around her belly, shielding it with her body.

“Please,” she sobbed. “Please, I’m sorry. I need this job.”

Vanessa’s hand hovered in the air.

And then a voice—deep, calm, terrifying—cut through the silence.

“Enough.”

The single word dropped like a blade.

Every head turned.

Sofía turned too, tears in her eyes, and saw him.

Hunter Cross.

He stood a few steps away, dressed in black like a shadow tailored into human form. He was taller than most men in the room, broad-shouldered, impossibly composed. His face was carved with sharp angles, his eyes dark and unreadable.

He wasn’t smiling.

He was watching.

And the way the crowd parted around him wasn’t admiration—it was fear.

Vanessa’s face lit up for a moment, relieved, as if she expected him to side with her.

“Hunter,” she said, voice instantly softer, sweeter. “She ruined my—”

Hunter didn’t look at her.

His gaze stayed on Sofía.

Sofía’s breath caught. She felt exposed, small, dirty, like she didn’t deserve to be seen by someone like him.

Hunter took one step forward. Then another.

The room was so silent Sofía could hear the faint drip of wine from the tray onto the floor.

Vanessa forced a laugh. “Say something. Tell her she’s fired.”

Hunter stopped in front of Sofía.

Sofía tried to speak, but another cramp twisted through her belly and she gasped, bending slightly.

Hunter’s eyes flicked down to her stomach.

Then he looked up again—straight into her face.

“How far along?” he asked.

The question was so unexpected Sofía blinked, confused.

“Seven… seven months,” she whispered.

Vanessa’s smile faltered. “Hunter, what are you doing?”

Hunter didn’t answer her.

He looked at Tanya—who had appeared at the edge of the circle, face pale, as if she knew her career was about to die.

“Who is responsible for staffing tonight?” Hunter asked calmly.

Tanya swallowed. “I—I am, Mr. Cross.”

“And you put a seven-month pregnant woman on a twelve-hour shift,” Hunter said, voice still calm, but something sharp lived underneath it. “Carrying alcohol. On marble floors.”

Tanya stammered. “Sir, she insisted—”

Sofía’s eyes widened. She started shaking her head, but Hunter lifted a hand—quieting her, not harshly, but firmly.

“Don’t,” he said softly to Sofía. “You don’t need to protect them.”

Vanessa’s eyes flashed. “Protect them? Hunter, she destroyed my dress and humiliated me!”

Hunter finally turned to Vanessa.

And the temperature in the room dropped.

“You were going to hit her,” Hunter said.

Vanessa scoffed, too loud. “Of course not. I was—”

“You were going to hit a pregnant waitress,” Hunter repeated, voice quiet. The quieter he got, the more dangerous it sounded. “At my event.”

Vanessa’s cheeks flushed. “She begged for it! She’s clumsy. Useless. People like her shouldn’t—”

Hunter cut her off with a glance.

And something in Vanessa’s confidence cracked.

Then Hunter did the last thing anyone expected.

He took off his black suit jacket.

And gently—almost absurdly gently—draped it over Sofía’s shoulders.

Sofía froze as the expensive fabric settled around her like warmth. His jacket smelled faintly of cedar and something clean, something that didn’t belong in her world.

The crowd gasped.

Vanessa’s mouth fell open. “Hunter—”

Hunter didn’t look at her.

He looked at Sofía again. “Can you walk?”

Sofía’s lips trembled. “I… I think so.”

Another cramp hit, sharper. She sucked in a breath.

Hunter’s jaw tightened.

He reached out—not touching her belly, not invading—just offering his hand.

Sofía hesitated. Her entire life had taught her not to take help from powerful men. Help always had strings.

But his expression wasn’t hunger.

It was something else.

Control, maybe. Certainty. A decision already made.

She put her hand in his.

His grip was steady and warm.

Hunter turned to Mateo behind the bar and snapped, “Keys. Now.”

Mateo blinked, startled. “Sir?”

“Your car,” Hunter said, not unkindly, but with the tone of someone used to being obeyed.

Mateo hurried forward, pulling keys from his pocket with shaking hands. “Yes, sir.”

Vanessa stepped in front of Hunter, blocking his path, her smile now frantic. “You can’t just leave your own party for a waitress.”

Hunter’s eyes lifted. “Move.”

Vanessa’s voice sharpened, panic bleeding through. “If you do this, everyone will think—”

Hunter leaned in slightly, not loud enough for the room, but the people closest strained to hear.

“I don’t care what they think,” he said. “I care what you did.”

Vanessa’s face went paper-white.

Hunter straightened and, without raising his voice, addressed the room.

“Party’s over,” he said.

A stunned murmur rose.

Someone laughed nervously. “Mr. Cross, surely—”

Hunter’s gaze slid toward the speaker like a knife.

The laughter died instantly.

Then Hunter turned to Tanya. “You. Fired. Effective immediately.”

Tanya’s knees looked like they might buckle.

Hunter looked at the security chief near the stairs, a broad man named Rourke with an earpiece. “Escort staff to be paid in full for tonight. Double for anyone who worked more than eight hours.”

More gasps. Whispers. Phones lowered.

Vanessa choked out, “Hunter, you can’t—”

Hunter’s voice remained cold. “And get her”—he nodded toward Vanessa—“out of my house.”

The words slammed into the room like a bomb.

Vanessa’s lips parted, soundless. “Out of… your house?”

Hunter didn’t blink. “Now.”

Rourke stepped forward. Two guards moved with him, polite but unyielding.

Vanessa’s eyes shot to the crowd, searching for support, but the guests suddenly found the ceiling very interesting.

“You’re humiliating me,” Vanessa hissed, tears bright with rage. “After everything I’ve done for you—after what I know—”

Hunter’s eyes sharpened. “Careful.”

Vanessa froze. The room watched, hungry for blood.

Then Vanessa’s gaze flicked to Sofía—still standing there in Hunter’s jacket, hand in his—and something ugly twisted in her expression.

“This isn’t about the dress,” Vanessa said loudly, voice shaking with fury. “This is about her. Who is she to you, Hunter?”

Sofía’s heart slammed.

Hunter’s grip on her hand tightened, just slightly.

He looked at Vanessa like she was something he’d outgrown.

“She’s someone you were about to harm,” he said. “That’s enough.”

But Vanessa wasn’t done. “No,” she snapped, voice breaking. “No, you don’t get to act righteous. You want drama? Fine.”

She pointed at Sofía. “Ask her where she came from. Ask her who the baby’s father is.”

Sofía felt her blood turn to ice.

The room leaned in like a single creature.

Mateo whispered, horrified, “Oh my God…”

Hunter’s eyes cut to Sofía, searching her face—not accusing, but assessing. “Is there something I should know?”

Sofía’s throat tightened. Her palms went slick.

She could lie. She could run.

But the baby kicked again, and the pain in her abdomen flared, and suddenly lying felt impossible.

Sofía swallowed hard and whispered, “Not here.”

Hunter stared at her for a long beat. Then he nodded once.

“Good,” he said. “Because we’re leaving.”

Vanessa’s voice rose, shrill. “You can’t leave with her! Hunter, if you walk out that door, I swear I’ll—”

Hunter didn’t even glance back.

He led Sofía through the stunned crowd.

People stepped aside as if Hunter carried a contagious curse.

Sofía’s legs shook. She felt like she was floating in someone else’s nightmare.

As they reached the foyer, she stumbled—pain spearing through her belly.

Hunter caught her instantly.

“Okay,” he said, voice low. “That’s it. We’re not walking.”

He scooped her up.

Princess-style.

The crowd erupted into whispers, disbelief, scandal.

Sofía clung to his shoulder, embarrassed and terrified, her face burning. “Mr. Cross—please—I can—”

“Hunter,” he corrected calmly. “And no, you can’t.”

Outside, cold night air slapped Sofía’s face. The estate’s fountain glowed under spotlights, and the staff stood frozen on the steps, watching their boss carry a pregnant waitress like she was made of glass.

Hunter carried her to Mateo’s modest sedan parked near the service entrance, ignoring the line of luxury cars like they didn’t exist.

Mateo rushed forward, fumbling the passenger door open. “Sir—uh—careful, the seat—”

“I’ve got her,” Hunter said.

He lowered Sofía into the seat with surprising gentleness, then buckled her seatbelt himself.

Sofía stared at him, trembling. “Why are you doing this?”

Hunter’s eyes held hers. Up close, his face was even more intimidating—too calm, too controlled. But there was something else there too, something Sofía couldn’t name.

“Because you’re in pain,” he said simply. “And because that room would have eaten you alive.”

Sofía’s throat tightened. “People like you don’t… do this.”

Hunter closed the door, walked around the car, and slid into the driver’s seat.

Mateo hovered, helpless. “Mr. Cross—Hunter—where are you taking her?”

Hunter didn’t look away from the road as he started the engine. “Hospital.”

Mateo swallowed. “Do you need me to—”

Hunter’s eyes flicked to him. “Go back inside. Make sure staff gets paid. And Mateo…”

Mateo straightened. “Yes?”

Hunter’s voice softened just a fraction. “Thank you.”

Mateo blinked, shocked, then nodded hard, almost emotional. “Yes, sir.”

Hunter drove off.

The mansion’s lights faded behind them, but Sofía’s mind was still trapped in that ballroom—the shattered glass, Vanessa’s raised hand, the crowd’s hungry silence.

Her belly cramped again, and she hissed in pain.

Hunter glanced at her. “How bad?”

Sofía tried to breathe. “I don’t know. It’s… sharp.”

“Any bleeding?”

Sofía shook her head quickly. “No.”

Hunter’s jaw clenched. He drove faster.

For a few minutes, there was only the sound of tires on wet pavement and Sofía’s uneven breathing.

Finally, Hunter spoke, voice controlled. “Vanessa said something about the father.”

Sofía stared at her hands, twisting them in Hunter’s jacket sleeves. “She wanted to humiliate me.”

“Maybe,” Hunter said. “But I don’t like surprises.”

Sofía’s heart pounded. “You don’t even know me.”

Hunter’s gaze stayed on the road. “No. I don’t.”

His tone made it clear: that would change.

Sofía swallowed, throat thick. “His name is Marco.”

Hunter’s brow barely moved. “Marco who?”

Sofía hesitated. Saying it out loud felt like lighting a match in a gas leak.

“Marco Vale,” she whispered.

The car went very still.

Hunter’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Vale.”

Sofía nodded, eyes stinging. “Vanessa’s brother.”

The silence that followed was so heavy it felt physical.

Hunter’s voice came out low. “How?”

Sofía squeezed her eyes shut for a second, forcing herself back into memory.

“It was a year ago,” she said quietly. “I worked at a hotel. He was staying there. He… he was charming at first. He said he could help me. He promised me a better job, a better life. I was stupid.”

Hunter didn’t interrupt, but Sofía could feel his anger like heat.

“He found out I was alone,” Sofía continued, voice shaking. “No family. No protection. And when I got pregnant… he disappeared. Blocked me. Like I never existed.”

Hunter’s voice was ice. “And Vanessa knows.”

Sofía nodded. “She found out last month. She came to my apartment. She smiled while she threatened me. She said if I ever spoke Marco’s name, she’d make sure I’d never work again.”

Hunter exhaled slowly, dangerous calm. “And tonight she wanted to do it in public.”

Sofía whispered, “Yes.”

Another cramp rolled through her. She pressed a hand to her belly, eyes wide with fear. “Hunter, what if something’s wrong with the baby?”

Hunter’s voice softened slightly. “We’ll find out. And if something is wrong…” he glanced at her, and the look in his eyes made Sofía shiver, “…someone will pay.”

At the hospital, everything happened fast.

Hunter didn’t park like normal people. He pulled up to the emergency entrance, threw the car into park, and got out, slamming the door.

A nurse stepped outside, startled. “Sir, you can’t—”

Hunter’s wallet appeared in his hand, his voice low and commanding. “She’s seven months pregnant and in pain. I want a doctor now.”

The nurse’s eyes widened—partly at his authority, partly at the fear on Sofía’s face.

Within minutes, Sofía was in a wheelchair, being rushed through bright corridors. Hunter walked beside her like a shadow.

A young doctor named Dr. Hsu greeted them, calm and professional. “Sofía? I’m going to ask you some questions. Any bleeding? Fluid? How long have you had pain?”

Sofía answered between breaths, while nurses attached monitors.

Hunter stood back, arms folded, his expression unreadable—but his eyes didn’t leave Sofía for a second.

When the monitor finally picked up the baby’s heartbeat—steady, strong—Sofía burst into tears.

“Oh thank God,” she sobbed, covering her face.

Dr. Hsu smiled gently. “The baby looks okay right now. But you’re having contractions, likely from exhaustion and dehydration. We need to keep you under observation.”

Sofía’s relief was so intense she almost collapsed from it.

Hunter’s voice cut in, controlled. “How long?”

Dr. Hsu glanced at him. “At least overnight. Possibly longer.”

Hunter nodded once, as if making a business decision. “Do it.”

Dr. Hsu turned back to Sofía. “Do you have anyone we should call? Family?”

Sofía’s throat tightened. “No.”

Hunter spoke, steady. “I’m here.”

The nurse paused, eyes flicking between them with silent curiosity.

Sofía stared at Hunter, shocked by the simple sentence.

I’m here.

No one had said that to her in a long time.

Hours later, Sofía lay in a quiet hospital room, an IV drip beside her. The contractions had eased, but exhaustion sat on her chest like a weight.

Hunter sat in a chair near the window, jacketless now, sleeves rolled up, looking like a man who could break the world with his hands.

Sofía finally found the courage to speak.

“Why are you still here?” she asked softly. “You could be anywhere. You could be… back at your party.”

Hunter didn’t look at her at first. “That wasn’t a party,” he said. “That was a zoo.”

Sofía swallowed. “Your girlfriend—”

“Is not my girlfriend anymore,” Hunter interrupted, voice flat.

Sofía blinked. “Just like that?”

Hunter’s mouth twitched, humorless. “Vanessa was a convenience. A public image. A distraction.” He looked at Sofía, eyes dark. “And tonight she reminded me why I don’t let people close.”

Sofía’s fingers curled around the blanket. “She threatened you. She said she knew things.”

Hunter’s gaze sharpened. “Did she tell you that?”

Sofía hesitated, then nodded. “She said… ‘after what I know.’”

Hunter leaned back, exhaling slowly. “Of course she did.”

Sofía’s heart pounded. “What does she know?”

For a second, Hunter’s expression tightened—just a flicker of something old and dangerous.

Then he said, “When I was younger, I had a brother.”

Sofía’s eyes widened. The city gossip had always said Hunter Cross was an only child.

Hunter’s voice stayed calm, but the air changed.

“He died,” Hunter said. “And the story people know… isn’t the whole truth.”

Sofía stared, unsure what to say.

Hunter continued, “Vanessa’s family—Vale—was involved. Marco was involved.”

Sofía’s blood went cold. “Marco…?”

Hunter nodded, slow. “Marco Vale has been a stain on my world for years. I’ve spent a long time waiting for him to make a mistake big enough that I could end him without consequences.”

Sofía’s breath caught. “And now… I’m his mistake.”

Hunter’s eyes locked on hers. “You’re not a mistake,” he said, voice low. “You’re evidence.”

Sofía felt dizzy. “Evidence of what?”

Hunter leaned forward slightly. “Marco has been laundering money through charities. Through fake foundations. Through women he targets and discards. Vanessa covers for him.” His jaw tightened. “And you just walked into my life carrying his child.”

Sofía’s throat tightened. “I didn’t choose this.”

“I know,” Hunter said, and for the first time his voice sounded… almost gentle. “And that’s why it matters.”

Sofía’s eyes filled again. “I’m scared.”

Hunter’s gaze softened a fraction. “Good. That means you’re paying attention.”

Sofía let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob. “That’s not comforting.”

Hunter’s mouth moved like he almost smiled. Almost.

Then his phone vibrated.

He glanced at the screen, and his expression hardened.

Sofía watched him carefully. “Is it… her?”

Hunter answered the call without greeting. “Speak.”

A voice crackled through—Rourke, the security chief. “Sir. Vanessa refused to leave quietly. She’s in the driveway. She says she’s not going anywhere until she talks to you.”

Hunter’s eyes went cold. “Tell her to leave.”

Rourke hesitated. “Sir… she brought someone. Marco.”

Sofía’s entire body went rigid.

The baby kicked hard.

Hunter’s gaze snapped to Sofía. “Breathe,” he said immediately, like he could see the panic rising. “Just breathe.”

Sofía’s voice shook. “He’s here?”

Hunter stood, ending the call. “He’s not getting near you.”

Sofía grabbed his sleeve, trembling. “Hunter, please. I can’t—”

Hunter bent closer, voice low and lethal. “Listen to me. You are safe. No one touches you. Not him. Not her. Not anyone.”

Sofía’s eyes burned. “How can you promise that?”

Hunter’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because I don’t make promises I can’t enforce.”

He turned toward the door, then paused.

“Dr. Hsu,” he called into the hall.

A moment later, the doctor appeared. “Yes?”

Hunter’s tone was composed, but his eyes were sharp. “I want security on this floor. No visitors without my approval. No exceptions.”

Dr. Hsu blinked, startled by the intensity, but nodded. “Understood.”

Sofía whispered, “Hunter…”

Hunter looked at her again. “You stay here. I’ll handle this.”

And before Sofía could stop him, he left.

Minutes felt like hours.

Sofía stared at the door, heart pounding, imagining Marco’s face—his charming smile, his false promises, the way he vanished when she said “I’m pregnant.”

She heard voices in the hallway. A scuffle. A shout.

Then silence.

The door opened.

Hunter stepped back inside, calm as if he’d simply gone to get coffee.

Sofía’s eyes widened. “What happened?”

Hunter walked to the window, staring out at the night.

“Marco wanted to talk,” Hunter said.

Sofía swallowed. “And?”

Hunter’s jaw tightened. “He offered money.”

Sofía’s stomach turned. “Of course he did.”

Hunter turned to her, eyes dark. “He said if you ‘took care of the problem’… he’d make you rich.”

Sofía’s breath caught in her throat. “He said that?”

Hunter’s voice stayed level, but rage lived inside it. “He didn’t call you by your name. He called you ‘the girl.’ Like you were an object that got inconvenient.”

Sofía covered her mouth, tears spilling. “I hate him.”

Hunter watched her carefully, as if measuring something. Then he said, “I recorded it.”

Sofía froze. “You… recorded him?”

Hunter nodded. “Every word.”

Sofía’s voice shook. “Why?”

Hunter’s eyes locked on hers. “Because that’s what ends him.”

Sofía stared, stunned.

Hunter crossed the room and placed his phone on the table near her bed.

“You have a choice,” he said. “You can disappear after tonight. I can arrange that. A safe place, money, a new job. No one finds you.”

Sofía’s heart pounded. “And the other choice?”

Hunter’s expression hardened. “You help me take them down. Vanessa. Marco. Their whole network. And in return… you and your child will never struggle again.”

Sofía whispered, “That sounds like a trap.”

Hunter’s eyes didn’t blink. “It’s a war.”

Sofía stared at the ceiling for a long moment, thinking about the landlord notices, the clinic bills, the nights she’d cried quietly so her neighbors wouldn’t hear. Thinking about how Marco laughed when she begged him not to leave.

Then she looked back at Hunter.

“And if I say no?” she asked.

Hunter’s voice softened again, barely. “Then I still won’t let them hurt you.”

Sofía’s throat tightened. “Why?”

Hunter’s gaze flicked to her belly, then back to her face. “Because I know what it is to lose someone innocent,” he said quietly. “And I’m done watching monsters win.”

Sofía’s tears slipped down her cheeks.

In that moment, she understood something terrifying:

Hunter Cross wasn’t rescuing her because he was kind.

He was rescuing her because she had become the center of a storm he’d been waiting years to unleash.

Sofía took a shaky breath.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll help.”

Hunter’s expression didn’t change, but something in the air shifted—as if a door had locked.

“Good,” he said.

Outside the window, the Cross estate glowed in the distance like a sleeping beast.

And somewhere out there, Marco Vale and Vanessa Vale were probably still thinking Sofía was a powerless waitress who could be bought, threatened, erased.

They had no idea that tonight, in a hospital room, their downfall had just been signed into existence—by a billionaire who had finally found the weapon he needed, and a pregnant woman who was done begging.

Sofía rested a hand on her belly, feeling the baby move again—steady, alive.

And for the first time in months, she didn’t whisper, “Just a little longer.”

She whispered, “We’re going to make it.”