Chapter 6

I stood up and grabbed my suitcase.

As I reached the door, Liam said, "What about the settlement?"

"I'm not returning it." I didn't turn around. "That's my pain and suffering compensation for the last two years."

The door shut behind me.

The hallway was empty.

I hauled my suitcase toward the west wing. My footsteps echoed across the polished marble flooring.

The little one yawned, satisfied. "Mom, you killed it today. Tomorrow's gonna be a rough one, so get some sleep."

I walked into the west wing, found the light switch, and flipped it on.

Everything looked exactly as I'd left it. The sheets were the ones I'd changed. The water glass sat in its usual spot on the nightstand. The pothos on the windowsill had wilted. No one had watered it.

I watered the plant, washed my face, changed into fresh clothes, and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Six hours ago, I'd been standing at the departure gate, ready to fly to Kingsford and raise a child alone. No. Scratch that. I hadn't planned on being a mother. I'd been ready to take care of the situation and start from scratch.

Now I was lying in a bed at the Quinn residence, my head resting on a memory foam pillow, listening to crickets chirping in the garden outside.

Life could flip faster than a pancake on a griddle.

"Mom, stop overthinking and go to sleep." The little one yawned, voice growing drowsy. "Tomorrow, Yvonne is definitely gonna start something. You need to rest up."

The voice trailed off. The little one had fallen asleep.

I stroked my belly, and a smile tugged involuntarily at my lips. Then I closed my eyes.

*****

The next morning at seven, I was jolted awake by a commotion.

It wasn't my alarm. It was the little one. "Mom, wake up. That witch Yvonne is in the main dining room. She's having breakfast with Emily and badmouthing us. Move it. Don't let her get the jump on us."

I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes. "How do you know?"

"I can sense it." The little one sounded confident. "I know everything that happens within a 164-foot radius. I can't explain how, but it works. Enough questions. Go get washed up."

I didn't press further. The little one had been right about Liam's medical condition. If Liam's reaction to the blood test proved anything, the little one's words carried real weight.

I'd figure out how this ability worked later. Right now, it was time for battle.

I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and got dressed.

The closet in the west wing still held the clothes from my stand-in days. All done in Yvonne's style. Shades of white, elegant tailored cuts, utterly soft and delicate.

I glanced at them and left them untouched. I pulled my own white tee and jeans from my suitcase, slipped on my canvas sneakers, and left my hair loose.

This was me: Sylvia Jennings. Not anyone's shadow.

When I walked into the main dining room, the scene was livelier than the little one had described.

At the head of the long dining table sat Liam's grandmother, Emily Quinn, in her seventies, her silver hair arranged in a flawless chignon. Pearl drop earrings grazed her jawline.

A bowl of steel-cut oatmeal with sliced almonds sat before her, alongside dry toast and a cup of black coffee.

Emily ate with the precision of someone at a formal party, her fork moving in small, controlled arcs, never straying from exact angles.

To Emily's left sat Yvonne. Today she wore a blush pink cashmere dress, her hair woven into a loose side braid draped over one shoulder. A cup of herbal tea and half a buttered croissant sat in front of her. She ate with practiced delicacy.

The seat to Emily's right sat empty. That was Liam's spot, but he wasn't there.

When I entered, Emily and Yvonne turned toward me at once.

Emily's eyebrows arched slightly.

Yvonne's hand paused for a split second as she set down her teacup, then resumed its smooth motion.

"Morning, Mrs. Quinn." I pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table and sat down.

No one pulled out a chair for me. No one served me breakfast. But I sat down anyway.

Emily set down her fork and looked up at me. Her eyes were not large, but sharp and bright, like two pieces of polished obsidian, catching every detail. "You're Sylvia?"

She had seen me twice before, but only from a distance, a passing glance. In her eyes, I was little more than a pampered companion her grandson kept, easy to cast aside.

"Yeah, that's me," I said.

"Didn't you leave yesterday?"

"I did. And now I'm back."

Emily narrowed her eyes.

Yvonne spoke up at the perfect moment, her voice soft as a spring breeze. "Grandma, perhaps Ms. Jennings left something behind?"

She called Emily "Grandma." The address rolled off her tongue naturally, warm and unforced, as if she were already part of the Quinn family as their granddaughter-in-law.

I glanced at Yvonne. "I didn't leave anything behind." Then I turned to Emily. "I came back because I'm pregnant with Liam's child."