Chapter 1 - Ruth Remembered Her From the Hospital
Maisie’s scream filled the marble bathroom-nursery before Grant reached the doorway.
Camille stood beside the crib.
In her hand was a red-hot hair straightener.
She held it dangerously close to the ten-month-old baby’s cheek.
Maisie sat safely inside the crib, twisting away and crying so violently that her small face had turned bright red.
“ARE YOU GOING TO SHUT UP OR NOT?”
Ruth rushed in.
She did not hesitate.
Her hand struck Camille’s wrist hard enough to knock the straightener away.
It flew from Camille’s hand and dropped into the nearby water-filled bathtub.
A sharp hiss rose from the water.
Ruth immediately reached into the crib, lifted Maisie securely against her chest, and moved backward.
“DON’T TOUCH THE BABY!”
Maisie buried her face against Ruth’s grey uniform.
Camille stared at Ruth.
Then her open palm struck hard across the caregiver’s face.
SLAP!
Ruth staggered backward one step.
She never loosened her grip on Maisie.
That was when Grant appeared in the doorway.
His black wheelchair rolled to a stop.
The powerful sixty-five-year-old man seemed to fill the doorway despite being seated. His completely bald head and square jaw made his expression appear even harder as his dark brown eyes moved from the crying baby to Ruth’s reddened cheek.
Then to Camille.
He had seen enough.
“SO THIS IS THE KIND OF PERSON YOU ARE?”
Camille turned.
For a second, surprise crossed her face.
Then it vanished.
She walked toward him with a strange, triumphant smile.
Before Grant could react, Camille drove her foot into the front frame of his wheelchair.
The chair jerked backward slightly.
Grant caught the wheel rim and stopped himself.
Camille sneered down at him.
“IT’S TOO LATE FOR YOU TO REALIZE THAT—EVERYTHING IS MINE NOW.”
Silence.
Ruth stared at Camille.
Not angry now.
Confused.
Then recognition hit her.
Her face changed.
“Boss...”
Grant looked toward her.
Ruth’s voice trembled.
“I remember who she is now.”
Camille’s smile vanished.
Grant’s gaze narrowed.
Ruth tightened both arms around Maisie.
“She was at the hospital the night Maisie’s mother gave birth.”
Camille went white.
Grant’s fingers closed hard around the wheelchair armrests.
He began using his upper-body strength to push himself upward.
“Grant—” Camille whispered.
He did not attack her.
He stopped halfway upright.
Because suddenly anger was no longer the most important thing in the room.
The memory was.
Ten months earlier, Grant’s first wife, Olivia, had given birth to Maisie in a private maternity suite in Chicago.
Olivia died later that same night from sudden medical complications.
Grant had believed the woman standing in front of him now had never met Olivia.
Camille had said so repeatedly.
Ruth stared at her.
May you like
Then said the sentence that made Camille take an involuntary step backward.
“You were the woman Olivia told security to remove.”
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