Chapter 8
The private elevator at St. Jude’s Pavilion chimed with a crisp, electronic ping.
The heavy doors slid open, and Julian Hale practically sprinted into the corridor. He was thirty-two, handsome, with fair, rosy skin, disheveled dark hair, and an expensive tailored overcoat slung haphazardly over his arm. His tie was loose, his collar unbuttoned, his eyes wild with frantic, breathless terror.
He didn't notice the armed guards in the hallway; he didn't notice the strange, absolute silence that hung over the executive floor. He ran straight toward room eight-twelve, his dress shoes skidding on the polished floorboards, and threw the double doors open.
"Sera!" Julian cried, his voice cracking with sheer relief.
He froze on the threshold.
Seraphina was sitting peacefully in the wide leather armchair, a soft cashmere blanket draped over her lap, looking radiant and composed under the bright afternoon sun. Beside her, both bassinets rested safely within arm's reach, the twins sleeping soundly beneath their ivory blankets.
Standing behind her armchair were four broad-shouldered men in tailored dark suits, their hands folded behind their backs, looking at Julian with expressions of polite, lethal deference.
In the corner of the room, seated on two folding chairs, were Doreen and Callie.
Doreen’s face was swollen, a dark purple contusion marking her cheek, her designer clothes stained with crushed fruit and water. Callie was trembling, her head buried in her hands, weeping silently.
Julian’s breath caught in his throat. He looked from his battered mother to the armed men, and finally to his wife, his mind struggling to process the scene.
"What... what is happening here?" Julian stammered, taking two hesitant steps into the room. "Mom? Why are you on the floor? Who are these men?"
"Julian! Oh, Julian, save us!" Doreen wailed, scrambling off her chair, but a guard stepped forward with a single, warning glare, forcing her back down. "Your wife... your wife has lost her mind! She had these criminals assault us! She struck me across the face!"
Julian turned toward Seraphina, his eyes wide with confusion, his paternal protective instinct flaring up instantly. "Sera? What is she talking about? Are you okay? Who are these people in your room?"
Seraphina did not raise her voice. She reached down beside her chair, picked up the torn, crumpled halves of the adoption contract, and extended them toward her husband.
"Read it, Julian," Seraphina said softly.
Julian stepped forward, taking the ripped pages from her hand. His brow furrowed as his eyes scanned the legal header, the notarized clauses, and the bold text at the center of the first page: Involuntary Relinquishment of Parental Custody - Beneficiary: Callie Hale.
Julian’s face went entirely, terrifyingly blank.
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"What is this?" Julian whispered, his hands beginning to shake.
"That," Seraphina said, her voice cutting through the quiet room like a diamond blade, "is what your mother and sister threw onto my surgical bed four hours ago, while you were trapped in London."
