But I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t even lift my head.
A shuffle of feet. The butler stepped forward, voice tight with concern.
“Sir… Miss Mara fainted. Her condition’s deteriorated. Her body’s failing.”
Lucien scoffed. “She’s just weak.”
He turned, annoyed, ready to storm off—when he stopped dead in his tracks.
“The hell is that?”
There was a strange edge in his voice—confusion, almost disbelief.
He approached the pool.
I didn’t follow. I couldn’t. But I heard every word.
“What’s wrong with the pool?” he demanded. “Why is there… something red floating in there?”
Silence stretched uncomfortably long.
Then—
“Are those… toys? Two of them?”
Another pause.
“Are they… shaped like infants?”
The air went still, colder than before.
Lucien turned back toward me, disbelief plastered across his face.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
The butler's breath caught. Then slowly, cautiously, he answered.
“Sir…”
He took a deep breath, as though forcing the words out.
“Miss Mara’s… her stomach. It’s flat.”
Lucien froze.
“What?”
The butler lifted a shaking hand and pointed toward the pool.
“Those… those aren’t toys. I think those are… your twins.”
