Chapter 3 - The Cold and the SignalI plunged under the freezing water.
The sheer shock of it punched the oxygen clean out of my lungs. I tried to scream, but only a strangled gasp came out. Within three seconds, my heavy wool sweater was completely drenched, weighing fifty pounds, dragging me down toward the frozen stone.
The water was blinding, brutal, absolute zero.
"Diego, help me!" I sobbed, my voice cracking.
He stood three feet away under the covered porch, his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his tailored trousers, watching me like an observer studying a lab rat.
"Stop being dramatic, Clara. Tell me where the signed copies are, and you can come inside."
"I... I didn't... sign them!"
My knees gave out. My boots slipped on the accumulating ice beneath the shower, and I crashed hard onto the frozen stone, my hands instinctively slamming down to shield my stomach from the impact.
Pain tore through my lower abdomen—a sharp, terrifying cramp that made my vision bloom with red sparks.
No. No, baby, please stay safe. Please.
My fingers went completely numb. I couldn't feel my toes. I huddled on my side, curling my body into a tight ball around my bump while the freezing water continued to pour over my head and back.
"Diego..." I gasped, my jaw locked in violent, uncontrollable chattering. "The... baby..."
"You can get up whenever you decide to behave," he said flatly.
He had no idea about the wristband.
Because my pregnancy was classified as high-risk due to advanced maternal age and blood pressure complications, my father had spared no expense. He hadn't just hired top obstetricians—he had upgraded the security matrix across the entire Blackwood Crest property months ago.
Hidden discreetly within the stainless-steel watch on my left wrist was a medical monitoring device connected directly to my father’s private security firm, Vance-Sterling Tactical. It monitored core temperature, heart rate, and body impact.
At 11:43 p.m., my skin temperature dropped below ninety degrees.
My heart rate spiked to 160 beats per minute, then plummeted as shock set in.
Then, I stopped moving altogether.
A tiny, bright red LED light began pulsing rapidly on the side of my wristband.
Diego noticed the flashing red light in the darkness. His smug expression flickered. "What the hell is that?"
I couldn't answer him. Darkness was closing in around the edges of my eyes. My consciousness was slipping away into the roar of the falling water.
Above us, mounted beneath the eaves of the roof, three high-definition thermal security cameras quietly rotated, their lenses zooming in on my shivering, prone body on the stone.
Forty miles away, in his penthouse library in downtown Denver, my father’s phone erupted with a high-priority bi-directional alarm.
Alvin Sterling picked up his phone. The screen automatically opened a live, high-definition thermal feed.
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He saw his only daughter lying unconscious under a freezing torrent of water.
And he saw her husband standing over her, doing nothing.
