Elena's POV
The phone rang at 11:47 PM, just as Elena finished checking Adrian's breathing for the third time that night.
Unknown number.
Her finger hovered over the decline button. Nobody called this late with good news. But something—instinct, fear, or maybe the same reckless impulse that had made her run six years ago—made her answer.
"Dr. Castellano." The voice was smooth, cold, and unmistakable. Dominic Voltaire.
Elena's knees buckled. She gripped the doorframe of Adrian's room, forcing herself to stay quiet. One sound, one wrong word, and her son might wake up. Might hear the voice of the father who didn't know he existed.
"How did you get this number?" Her whisper came out sharper than she intended.
"I own half the hospital board. Getting your private number took exactly four minutes." A pause. "My office. Tomorrow. 9 AM."
The audacity struck her like a slap. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
Six years ago, she would've stammered an apology. Would've shown up early, terrified and obedient. But Elena had spent six years becoming someone different. Someone who'd survived alone, who'd worked three jobs while pregnant, who'd graduated top of her medical school class with a toddler at home.
"I'm a surgeon, Mr. Voltaire, not your employee." She kept her voice steady, cold. Professional.
His laugh was soft, dangerous. "Then come as my wife."
The world tilted.
Elena's back hit the wall. The phone nearly slipped from her sweating palm. Wife. He'd said wife. Which meant—
"I don't know what you're talking about." The lie tasted like ash.
"Don't you?" Another pause, longer this time. When he spoke again, his voice had changed. Lower. Deadly. "I had an interesting conversation with my lawyer today. Turns out our marriage was never annulled. You disappeared before signing the papers."
No. No, no, no.
"That's impossible. Your family said—"
"My family said a lot of things. They lied." The words cut like surgical steel. "Legally, Elena, you're still my wife. Which makes everything you've hidden from me for the past six years very much my business."
Her heart stopped. "I haven't hidden anything."
"Really? Because I'm looking at hospital security footage from this morning. You, running through the parking garage like someone was chasing you. Interesting reaction to seeing your husband after six years, don't you think?"
He was playing with her. Testing. He couldn't know about Adrian. He couldn't.
"Former husband," she corrected, hating how her voice shook. "Whatever paperwork got lost, I'm sure we can fix it quickly. I'll have my lawyer contact yours."
"Oh, you'll contact someone. At 9 AM. In my office." The command in his voice made her spine stiffen. "Unless you'd prefer I come to you? I have your address. Nice building. Twenty-third floor, apartment 2304. Good schools nearby, I noticed."
Ice flooded her veins. He knew where she lived. Where Adrian slept.
"Stay away from my home." The words came out fierce, protective. Too fierce.
"Your home?" His voice sharpened with interest. "Interesting choice of words. Not our home. Just yours. Tell me, Elena—what exactly are you protecting?"
She needed to hang up. Needed to run. Needed to grab Adrian and disappear again, this time somewhere Dominic Voltaire's money and power couldn't reach.
But there was nowhere left to run.
"Nine AM," she said, voice hollow. "I'll be there."
"Good. And Elena?" His tone softened, became almost gentle. Somehow that was worse. "Don't even think about running. I have people watching every exit of your building. Every route to the airport. Every friend you've made in this city." A pause. "I've had six years to get very, very good at finding things people try to hide from me."
The line went dead.
Elena stood frozen in her son's doorway, watching his small chest rise and fall in the glow of his nightlight. His dark hair—Dominic's hair—fanned across the pillow. His face, so peaceful in sleep, held traces of both of them. Her eyes. His father's stubborn chin.
How long until Dominic saw those traces too?
Her phone buzzed. A text from the same unknown number.
One more thing. I know you're not alone in that apartment. Who is he, Elena? The man you chose over me?
Her vision blurred. He thought—he actually thought she'd moved on. Had someone else. If only it were that simple.
She typed back with shaking fingers: There is no other man.
His response came immediately: Then you won't mind bringing him to our meeting. 9 AM. Don't be late.
Elena's phone slipped from her fingers, clattering on the hardwood floor.
Dominic didn't know about Adrian.
But in nine hours, he would.