Chapter 7
694words
"It wasn't suicide."
Ethan's voice was unnervingly calm.
He took back the phone, studying the headlines without a trace of surprise—only grim understanding.
"William Grant killed her."
I gasped. "What?"
"She knew too much," Ethan explained flatly. "She was part of Victoria's scheme and knew about Benjamin's poisoning. William needed to clean house. A 'guilt-driven suicide' serves him better than a living witness."
A chill crawled up my spine.
Dead men tell no tales—the oldest play in the book.
William Grant made Victoria look like an amateur.
"What about us?" My voice trembled. "Why come after us?"
"Because we know too much," Ethan replied with bitter irony. "Did you think we were players in this game? No, we were just tools. Now that he's used the knife, he needs to wipe it clean and throw it away."
I understood perfectly.
William never intended to let us live.
He used our evidence to destroy Victoria, clean house, and reclaim control.
Now it was time to eliminate the loose ends—us.
By framing us for Angela's death, he'd tie up every loose end.
We'd be the murderous kidnappers; he'd be the righteous patriarch restoring order.
Three birds with one stone—masterfully ruthless.
"We're the scapegoats…" I whispered, despair washing over me.
We'd escaped one hell only to fall into a deeper, darker one.
"Not yet," Ethan said, a fierce light rekindling in his eyes. "He thinks he's won, but he's overlooked something crucial."
"What?"
"You." He pointed to my belly. "You're carrying his only grandchild. Benjamin is ruined, and this baby is the Grant family's only future."
My heart plummeted.
I understood immediately.
My child—the one I'd fought so desperately to protect—was now our only bargaining chip.
Our final leverage.
"What are you suggesting?" I asked warily.
"One final game." A wild light flashed in Ethan's eyes. "We'll trade the child for our freedom and enough money to disappear forever."
"No!" I screamed instinctively. "Never! I won't trade my baby for anything!"
"You have no choice!" Ethan seized my shoulders painfully. "Wake up! We're wanted killers! No identity, no future! Where could you possibly hide with a baby? For how long? Do you want your child living in shadows forever?"
His words cut like knives.
I collapsed back, tears flooding my face.
He was right.
Where could I possibly go?
No papers, no money, with a newborn child.
We couldn't survive.
"Trust me," Ethan's voice softened persuasively. "I won't harm the baby. I just want a future for all of us—one where no one can hurt us again."
I studied his bloodshot, feverishly bright eyes.
Could I still trust this man?
The man who'd led me into hell, then helped me escape it.
Another contraction seized me, stronger than before.
I doubled over, instantly drenched in sweat.
"AHHH!"
I couldn't suppress my cry of agony.
"Liv!" Ethan's face went ashen. "The baby's coming!"
He bolted from the room to find the doctor.
Pain clouded my consciousness.
I was a tiny boat about to capsize in a violent storm.
I clutched the sheets, clinging to one thought:
My baby… my baby…
Please be safe…
…
I don't know how much time passed before a final, searing pain gave way to a piercing cry.
"WAAAH!"
That sound—like heaven's music—instantly washed away all pain and fear.
"It's a boy! Healthy boy!" The black-market doctor sounded genuinely surprised.
With my last strength, I turned my head.
I glimpsed the tiny bundle in dirty swaddling.
Small and wrinkled like a red monkey.
But his cry was strong and fierce.
Tears streamed down my face again.
This time, from pure joy.
Ethan carefully brought him to me.
With trembling fingers, I touched his soft cheek.
My child.
The child I'd paid for with half my life.
"You did it, Liv," Ethan's voice cracked with emotion.
I looked from him to the baby in my arms.
In my heart, I made my decision.
"Ethan," I whispered weakly, "we'll do it your way."
For my child, I would gamble everything one more time.
Even if I faced a devil who devoured souls whole.
