“I’ll think about it,” Victoria whispered to William, her heart warring with her head. “I have to go.”
She hung up, her hand lingering on the phone. She stood up, walking toward the bedroom to pack a bag–just in case. Maybe she *would* go back. Maybe William was the only one who truly loved the baby for the baby’s sake, not as a weapon.
A heavy pounding on the penthouse door shattered the moment.
“Victoria Vance! Open up!”
Victoria froze. It wasn’t Dominic. It wasn’t William.
The electronic lock beeped–an override code. The door swung open.
Three uniformed police officers stepped in, flanked by two paramedics and a man in a sharp suit holding a clipboard.
“Ms. Vance?” the suit asked. “I am Dr. Aris. We have a court order for an emergency wellness check and involuntary psychiatric hold.”
“What?” Victoria backed away, knocking over a vase. “No! You can’t be here. This is private property!”
“We have sworn affidavits regarding your hallucinations of fire and auditory disturbances,” the doctor said, stepping forward. “As well as reports that you are a danger to your unborn child. Lady Beatrice Croft has been granted temporary emergency conservatorship.”
“No!” Victoria screamed, grabbing a heavy glass sculpture from the table. “Stay back! I am not crazy!”
“Restrain her,” the doctor ordered calmly. “She is agitated. It confirms the diagnosis.”
The officers moved in. Victoria fought, screaming for Dominic, for William, for anyone. But Dominic was at a board meeting, and William was across town staring at a silent phone.
As the paramedics grabbed her arms and the needle flashed in the light, Victoria realized the trap hadn’t been the house. The trap was the legacy itself. And it had finally snapped shut.