The moment she threw herself into the pool, they forced the labor-inducing injection into my veins.
Cyril wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes, his voice gentle. "Samantha, she's my only sister. She's young, she gets jealous easily. I need to put her mind at ease. You understand, don't you?"
"Once the baby's born, I'll make it up to you both. Mother and daughter."
"Don't worry. I've got you."
But what came instead was a forged DNA test. A crude, theatrical performance staged for my daughter and me.
Two bodyguards blocked the doorway now, discomfort flickering across their faces—but they held their ground.
"We're sorry, ma'am. Mr. Sanchez gave strict orders before he left. You can't leave until the debt is paid."
In my arms, my daughter had become a furnace in the span of minutes. Her cries were weakening, each whimper fainter than the last.
I was seconds from pressing a blade to my own throat to force them aside when Cyril appeared, his brow furrowed, his expression thunderous.