I called Paul Abbott myself. "Grandpa Paul, the baby is healthy. May I leave now?"
Years ago, when the Abbott empire had teetered on the edge of bankruptcy, the old man had sought me out personally.
My birth chart, he claimed, was perfectly aligned to bring fortune to the Abbott bloodline. If I bore them an heir, their prosperity would be guaranteed for generations.
I was already a medical intern at the time. To anyone with a scientific education, it was superstitious nonsense.
But the wealthy believe what they want to believe.
When I refused, Old Mr. Delgado had my younger brother expelled from his university.
My parents called in tears, sobbing that they'd just been in a car accident—one step closer and they would have died.
I had no choice but to give in.
At the time, I already had a boyfriend. We'd been together for ten years.
He knew the truth. He was still waiting for me.
Old Mr. Delgado sighed. "I've seen the news these past few days. Since a forced marriage yields no sweetness, I'll let you go."
"But you're still weak. I've arranged a professional care team. Leave after your postpartum recovery."
Sophie Pruitt's screaming dragged me back to reality.
I scanned her condition.