The penthouse was quiet. Dominic was out at a board meeting, leaving Victoria alone with her thoughts and the unsettling echo of Marcus’s warning.
She lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. *Don’t trade one cage for another.*
Suddenly, a sharp, distinct pressure rolled across her abdomen. Then a thud.
Victoria gasped, sitting up. She pressed her hands to her stomach. Another kick. Stronger this time. It wasn’t a flutter anymore; it was a hello.
Tears sprang to her eyes. The isolation hit her like a wave. She wanted to share this. She wanted someone to know that *life* was happening, despite the chaos.
She looked at her phone. She didn’t call Dominic.
She dialed the number she had sworn to delete.
“Victoria?” William answered on the first ring. His voice was breathless, as if he had been staring at the phone waiting for it to light up.
“It happened,” Victoria whispered, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “The baby… it kicked. A real kick.”
Silence on the other end. Then, a ragged, wet intake of breath.
“Tell me,” William wept. “Please. Tell me what it felt like.”
“It felt like… like a little fist,” Victoria laughed through her tears. “Strong. Impatient. Just like you.”
“Victoria,” William’s voice broke. “Come home. Please. I fired the staff. All of them. Elena is gone. I soundproofed the nursery myself. I checked the wiring. There are no ghosts here anymore. Just me. Just me waiting for you.”
Victoria closed her eyes. She could hear the raw honesty in his voice. He sounded stripped bare. The fear of the “poisoned” house wavered against the pull of the father of her child.
“I…” she started. “I don’t know if I can trust the house, William.”
“Trust me,” he begged. “Not the house. Me.”