Chapter 1

The antiseptic smell of the burn unit had become as familiar as my own perfume. I sat beside Dad's bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his bandaged chest, when my phone vibrated against the plastic chair.

"Robert White's room," I answered quietly, not wanting to wake him.

"Ms. White? This is Helena from Elite Family Services." The woman's voice was crisp, professional. "We have an urgent lactation consultation request. The client specifically asked for you."

I glanced at Dad's sleeping form. His latest surgery had drained what little savings I'd managed to scrape together. "I appreciate the call, but I'm with my father at the hospital—"

"The consultation fee is one hundred thousand dollars."

The words hung in the air like a lifeline thrown to a drowning person. My hand tightened on the phone. "I'm sorry, did you say—"

"One hundred thousand, yes. The client insists on immediate assistance. She delivered yesterday and is experiencing significant difficulties. Money is no object for the right consultant."

My throat went dry. That amount would cover Dad's specialized treatment, the skin grafts, everything. I looked at his face, peaceful in medicated sleep, the angry red patches visible above the gauze on his neck.

"Where?" I heard myself asking.

"Mercer Island. I'll text you the address. Can you be there within the hour?"

An hour. Dad's visiting hours would be over soon anyway, and the nurses had said he'd likely sleep through the night with the new pain medication.

"Yes," I said, already gathering my consultation bag. "I'll be there."

I leaned over Dad's bed, pressing a gentle kiss to the unbandaged part of his forehead. "I'll be back tomorrow, Dad. This is for you."

His eyes fluttered open briefly. "Lily?"

"I have to go to work," I whispered. "But I promise I'll be back first thing in the morning. The nurses have my number if you need anything."

He squeezed my hand weakly. "Be careful, sweetheart."

If only I'd known how prophetic those words would be.

The drive from Harborview to Mercer Island took me through downtown Seattle's evening traffic. My aging Honda seemed out of place as I crossed the floating bridge, entering a world of manicured lawns and lakefront estates. The GPS led me down a private road lined with towering evergreens until I reached a gate that belonged in a movie.

I pressed the intercom button, my hands trembling slightly. "Lily White, lactation consultant."

The gates swung open silently, revealing a driveway that curved toward a mansion of glass and stone. My chest tightened with each yard I drove. Something felt wrong, but I couldn't place it. Maybe it was just the contrast between the burn unit's harsh fluorescents and this soft, golden lighting spilling from every window.

I parked beside a familiar black Tesla, and my heart stuttered. No. It couldn't be. Ethan drove the same model, but so did half of Seattle's tech crowd.

The front door opened before I could knock. A housekeeper in crisp whites gestured me inside. "Ms. Foster is waiting in the master suite. Third floor."

Foster. My legs turned to water.

"Did you say Foster?" I managed.

"Yes, Ms. Olivia Foster. She's quite anxious to see you."

Olivia. Ethan's adopted sister. The one he'd been visiting in New York for her art exhibitions. At least, that's what he'd told me.

Each step up the floating staircase felt like walking through quicksand. By the time I reached the third floor, my professional composure was hanging by a thread.

The master suite door stood ajar. I could hear soft voices inside—one female, melodious and satisfied. The other...

"Shh, don't worry. I've got you both."

Ethan's voice. The same tone he used when I had nightmares, when I needed comfort.

I pushed open the door.

The scene that greeted me would be burned into my memory forever: Ethan sitting on the edge of a king-sized bed, cradling a newborn with practiced ease. Beside him, propped against a mountain of silk pillows, Olivia Foster looked like a Renaissance painting of motherhood. Her dark hair spilled across cream sheets, her smile radiant as she watched Ethan with the baby.

They looked like a family.

Three pairs of eyes turned to me—Ethan's widening in shock, Olivia's glittering with something that looked terrifyingly like triumph.

"Lily," Ethan breathed. "What are you doing here?"