Sophie returned to the penthouse the morning after the masquerade, exhausted and emotionally drained. She found Lady Beatrice sitting in the living room, drinking tea as if she owned the place.
“You look tired, dear,” Beatrice said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “The party was a triumph, despite your dress.”
“What do you want, Beatrice?” Sophie asked, dropping her purse.
“I want my great-grandson,” Beatrice said, setting her cup down. “For the weekend. I’m taking him to the Hampton estate. The air will be good for him.”
“No,” Sophie said instinctively. “William won’t allow that. And neither will I.”
Beatrice smiled, reaching into her handbag. She didn’t pull out a weapon; she pulled out a photocopy of a bank transfer–the payment Sophie had received for her services as a spy.
“You have no authority here, Ms. Laurent,” Beatrice said coldly. “You are a paid employee who overstayed her welcome. Pack his bag. Or I will show this to William before lunch, and you won’t just lose the wedding–you’ll go to prison for fraud.”
Sophie looked at the paper, then at the nursery door. She was the “Compromised Bride,” and the trap had finally snapped shut. Defeated, she walked toward the nursery to pack Leo’s things, handing the child she loved over to the enemy to save herself.