Chapter 200
Elara
The facility sat in Westchester County, hidden behind manicured lawns and iron gates. Atlas drove me through security checkpoints where guards waved us through the moment they saw the Vane name on the visitor list. The building looked like an expensive spa—cream stone, careful landscaping, everything tasteful and quiet. But I noticed the reinforced windows. The cameras tucked into corners. The doors that locked from the outside.
"Miss Vance." The director smiled at me. "Miss Kennedy is expecting you."
She led me down hallways that smelled like lavender and bleach. We passed common rooms where other pregnant women sat reading or doing yoga, all of them young, all of them wearing the same careful expression that didn't quite hide the fear underneath.
Sloane's room was at the end of the hall, larger than the others. Through the window in the door, I saw her before she saw me. She sat in an armchair by the window, one hand on her belly, the other holding a book she wasn't reading. She wore a loose gray sweater, her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. Without the designer clothes and perfect makeup, she looked younger. Smaller.
The director knocked. Sloane's head turned. She set down the book and folded her hands in her lap, straightening her spine like she was preparing for a fight.
"I'll be right outside," the director said, unlocking the door.
The room was beautiful. Cream walls, hardwood floors, expensive furniture. Fresh peonies on the dresser. The bed was made with perfect hospital corners. Everything clean and ordered and untouched.
Sloane watched me look around. "Come to gloat?" Her voice was flat, empty of the sweetness I'd learned to expect. "Or did Julian send you to make sure I'm staying in my cage?"
I closed the door. The click echoed louder than it should have. "Neither. I came because I needed to see you. To say something."
She laughed, sharp and bitter. "What could you possibly have left to say? You won. Congratulations." Her hand moved to her stomach. "You got Julian. You got your art career. You destroyed mine. What more do you want—my firstborn?" She realized what she'd said a second later. Her face twisted.
"I got into RISD." The words came out before I'd decided to say them. "Full scholarship. I'll be in Providence by fall."
Sloane's fingers went white on the armrest. She stared at me for a long moment, something like hatred burning in her eyes. Then she smiled, cold and sharp. "How wonderful for you. The poor little artist, rising from the ashes. It's like a fairy tale." She paused. "You know what the best part is? You'll keep going. Getting better, getting famous, getting everything you ever wanted. And I'll be here. Stuck. Finished."
"You chose—"
"I chose nothing!" The words exploded out of her. I flinched. She caught herself, breathing hard. When she spoke again, her voice was lower but just as intense. "You think I had a choice? You think any of this was what I wanted?" She pressed her hand harder against her belly. "I'm twenty years old, Elara. Twenty. And my life is already over. My career is gone. My reputation is destroyed. And in a few months, I'll have a baby—Julian's baby—who will inherit everything while I rot in some European exile counting my settlement money."
The rawness in her voice caught me off guard. I'd prepared myself for venom, for manipulation. Not for this—this glimpse of the girl underneath, young and trapped and scared.
"Why didn't you want to keep the baby?" The question slipped out. "If you're having Julian's child anyway, why agree to give up custody? Why let them send you away?"
Sloane's laugh was ugly. "You really don't understand, do you? I don't want to be a mother, Elara. I never did. The pregnancy, the baby—it's just..." she gestured at her stomach, her face twisting with disgust. "It's ruining my body. Ending my career. Trapping me here. I hate every second of it."
I thought of Lily. Of how desperately I'd wanted to keep her, to protect her, to watch her grow. Of how I'd begged for even the smallest chance to be her mother. And here was Sloane, carrying Julian's child, seeing it as nothing but a burden.
"Then why not—" I couldn't finish.
"Terminate?" Sloane's smile was bitter. "I tried. But my parents found out. And suddenly I had lawyers and doctors all explaining why that wasn't 'in anyone's best interest.'" Her fingers drummed on the armrest. "So here we are. I carry it, I deliver it, and then it becomes Julian's problem while I get my settlement and disappear. Everyone wins."
"Except the baby."
"The baby will be the heir to two fortunes, raised by nannies in a mansion, wanting for nothing. It'll be fine. Better than fine—it'll have everything I never did. Real legitimacy. Real acceptance." Her voice cracked.
I looked at her, searching for the monster I'd built in my mind. The woman who'd stolen my art, pushed me into a pool, tried to drown me. But all I saw was a girl barely older than me, trapped and hating the child growing inside her and hating herself for it.
"Do you love him?" The question came out quieter than I meant. "Julian. Did you ever actually love him?"
"Love?" She tested the word. "What does that even mean? I loved the idea of him. I loved what we represented together—the perfect couple, the merger of dynasties, the life we were supposed to have."
"But was it love?" She continued, harder now. "Or was it just comfortable? Safe? The future I was supposed to want?" She looked at me directly. "Here's what I've learned in this place: love is the most useless thing in the world. It doesn't protect you. It doesn't save you. It just makes you weak and stupid and willing to destroy yourself for someone who'll never choose you back."
"That's not—"
"Isn't it?" Sloane leaned forward. "You loved Julian. Look what it cost you. I loved him too, in my way. Look where I am. Love is just another word for losing."
Footsteps in the hallway. The door opened without warning. Julian stepped inside, his presence filling the room. He looked between us, his expression carefully neutral, but I saw the tension in his shoulders.
"I thought you might want a ride back," he said to me, though his eyes were on Sloane. "Unless you need more time."
Sloane's face went blank, all traces of vulnerability erased. "No, please. Take her away. I'm sure you both have better things to do than visit the crazy pregnant girl."
When he spoke, his voice was quiet but firm. "Before we leave, there's something you should know. The baby will need a DNA test after birth. Standard procedure for establishing paternity and inheritance rights."
The color drained from Sloane's face. Her hand flew to the wall for support. She stared at Julian with something like panic. "What... what are you talking about? Of course it's yours. Who else would—"
"I'm not accusing you of anything," Julian said, steel underneath the gentleness. "It's simply procedure. My lawyers insist on it. For the child's protection."
Sloane's legs gave out. She sank back into the chair, all color gone. Her breathing went shallow and rapid. She pressed both hands to her stomach. "When?" she managed. "When would this test happen?"
"After the birth. Once you've recovered." Julian's voice stayed steady. "Nothing invasive. Just a cheek swab."
"Right." Sloane's voice was barely a whisper. "Right. Of course. That makes sense." But her hands were shaking. She couldn't meet his eyes.
Julian watched her for a long moment. Then he turned to me, his hand touching my elbow gently. "We should go."
The hallway felt longer on the way out. Julian's hand stayed on my lower back as we walked past the common rooms and through security. Neither of us spoke until we were in the car, the gates closing behind us.
"She panicked," I said quietly, watching the facility disappear. "When you mentioned the DNA test."
Julian's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I know."
"You think the baby might not be yours."
"I think Sloane has spent her entire life building a persona. Somewhere along the way she lost track of what was real." He glanced at me. "I think she's capable of anything if she believes it will get her what she wants. And I think she's terrified of what the truth might show."
"What will you do if the test results were really similar to what you guessed?"