Chapter 3 - Reverse the History
The sanctuary exploded into chaos.
Phones were out. Cameras from the society photographers at the back of the church were flashing like strobe lights. The whisper of three hundred horrified voices rose like a swarm of hornets.
"Everyone out!" Julian Sterling bellowed, turning toward the congregation with a snarl. "Clear the church! Now! Turn off the cameras or my lawyers will bankrupt every single one of you!"
The guests began scrambling toward the side exits, clutching their fur wraps and silk ties, eager to escape the impending blast radius but desperate to witness every second of the Sterling family's implosion.
Grace groaned, a sound of profound, animalistic agony. Her contractions were coming fast, violently seizing her small frame.
"Lucas... the baby..." she wheezed, her fingernails tearing through my dress shirt, scratching into my chest. "He’s coming. The doctors... they said... high risk... the trauma..."
"Call an ambulance!" I screamed at the alter boys who stood frozen in their white robes. "CALL 911 RIGHT NOW!"
"No ambulances!" Brooke suddenly shrieked, lunging forward again. This time, she wasn't crying. Her face had twisted into something hideous, the polished mask shattered beyond repair. "Julian, if an ambulance comes, the press gets the triage logs! Miller, put her in the private town car! Take her to the Sterling Medical Wing in Westchester! We handle this internally!"
"You're not taking her anywhere," I growled, stepping between them.
"Lucas, listen to me!" Grace choked out, fighting for air, pulling on my lapel with everything she had left. "You think... you think she just found you after I left? She didn't. She... she was watching us. For months before."
The words struck me like a physical blow. "What?"
"The night I disappeared..." Grace’s voice was fading, her lips turning a faint shade of blue. "I found the positive test. I was coming to your office... to surprise you. A black SUV... blocked my path in the alley behind your building. Two men... they had taser guns. They threw me in the back."
"Grace, stop talking, you need to breathe—"
"No! You need to hear it!" she sobbed, tears cutting clean tracks through the dried blood on her cheeks. "They took my phone. Brooke was in the front seat, Lucas! She sat there in the front seat, watching them tie my hands! She told me... she told me that if I ever contacted you, she would have Ava put into state custody. She said she’d frame Ava’s father... have him sent to federal prison... have Ava taken by Child Protective Services and lost in the system!"
My eyes snapped to Brooke.
She stood frozen, her eyes wide, unblinking.
"Grace’s father was a convicted felon," Brooke whispered, her voice chillingly calm, completely detached from the horror around her. "He had probation violations. It would have taken one phone call to the district attorney to send him back to Sing Sing for twenty years and put that little brat in a group home. I was doing what was necessary, Lucas. For *us*."
"For *us*?" The roar ripped from my throat before I could stop it. "You kidnapped the mother of my child!"
"She was an obstacle!" Brooke stepped closer, her voice rising into an impassioned, feverish pitch. "She was a nobody! A starving artist with trailer-park baggage who was dragging down your genius! Look at what I gave you! The Hudson Yards project! The Sterling Foundation backing! I made you a king in this city! She would have kept you in a ratty Brooklyn apartment changing diapers and scraping for permits!"
"You had her beaten!" I screamed, gesturing wildly at Grace’s battered face.
"I didn't beat her!" Brooke yelled back, pointing an accusatory, shaking finger at Grace. "She did that to herself! She escaped from the upstate cottage yesterday! Miller’s men were just trying to bring her back safely! She threw herself down a ditch! She ran through the woods like a feral animal! She brought this on herself!"
"Brooke, shut your mouth!" Julian Sterling roared, his voice cracking with rage as he realized his daughter had just confessed to multiple felonies in the presence of forty remaining guests and twenty cathedral staff members.
The truth washed over me in a wave of nauseating disgust.
The comforting nights. The gentle touches when I was weeping over Grace's absence. The convenient way Brooke always seemed to know exactly what to say to make me forget. It hadn't been comfort. It had been a victory lap. She had kept the woman I loved locked in an isolated cottage three hours north, watching me mourn her, using my grief as a wedge to slip into my bed and put her ring on my finger.
And then Grace’s eyes rolled back.
Her body went limp in my arms. Her breathing stopped.
"Grace!" I shook her, panic clawing at my throat. "Grace! Stay with me! GRACE!"
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Ava began to scream, a high-pitched, piercing wail that shattered the cold stone air: "MOMMY! MOMMY WAKE UP!"
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