Chapter 4

Aubrey Ellison POV:

I woke up from a shallow, nightmare-ridden sleep, my heart pounding against my ribs. In my dream, Leo was crying, a thin, reedy sound that I couldn't reach. My eyes shot open, and the dream-crying continued. It was real.

I bolted upright, ignoring the searing pain in my abdomen, my eyes scanning the dark hospital room. The bassinet beside my bed was empty.

A cold dread, slick and oily, coated my skin. "Leo?" I called out, my voice a frantic whisper.

A soft chuckle came from the far corner of the room, near the large window that overlooked the city. A figure was silhouetted against the glittering skyline. It was Frida. And she was holding my son.

"Give him to me," I snarled, my voice low and dangerous. All the fear, all the pain, coalesced into a single, sharp point of maternal rage.

"He was fussy," Frida said, her voice light and conversational. She swayed gently, rocking Leo in her arms. "I thought I'd give you a rest."

"Give. Him. To. Me. Now."

She smiled, a flash of white in the darkness. "Why don't you come and get him?"

I threw back the covers, my body screaming in protest. Every movement was agony, the stitches in my belly pulling and tearing. I forced myself to stand, my legs trembling, and took a shuffling step towards her.

Frida took a step back, moving closer to the window. "Careful, Aubrey. You don't want to fall."

She was playing a game. A sick, twisted game. I took another step, and she took another one back, a cruel dance in the semi-darkness. Leo began to cry harder, his small body squirming in her arms.

Then, she stopped. Her back was against the windowpane. With a horrifying, deliberate movement, she unlatched the window and pushed it open. A cold gust of wind swept into the room, carrying the distant sounds of traffic from twelve stories below.

She held Leo out over the abyss.

My world stopped. The air left my lungs. My heart, my sanity, my entire being was hanging by a thread in her hands, suspended over the glittering, indifferent city.

"Please," I begged, the word a strangled sob. "Frida, please. Don't."

I sank to my knees, the impact sending a fresh wave of agony through me, but it was nothing compared to the terror that was clawing its way up my throat. "Please, I'll do anything. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Oops," she said, her voice a theatrical gasp of surprise.

And she let him go.

For a split second, I saw his little body, wrapped in a blue blanket, disappear into the darkness. A scream tore from my soul, a sound of pure, animalistic agony.

But he didn't fall. He landed on the wide, decorative stone ledge just below the window. Frida had just dropped him. A few feet. But it was enough.

The world exploded into chaos. Nurses rushed in, alerted by my scream. Leo was scooped up and whisked away to the emergency room. Gordon arrived, his face pale with panic.

Frida collapsed into his arms, sobbing hysterically. "I'm so sorry, Gordon! He just... he slipped! My hands were trembling! I'm so clumsy! I'll never forgive myself!" She looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears. "I wanted to be a good mother for him, for you! Maybe... maybe I can give you a child of our own, one I won't drop!"

My mind went numb. She was confessing, twisting her crime into a declaration of love and a promise for a future.

And Gordon comforted her. He held her tight, murmuring soothing words, telling her it was an accident, that it wasn't her fault.

I was invisible. My terror, my grief, my son's life hanging in the balance-none of it mattered.

Hours later, a doctor emerged from the ER. "He's a very lucky boy," he said, his face grim. "No major injuries, but he has a slight concussion. We need to keep him in the ICU for observation."

The relief was so immense it buckled my knees. I leaned against the wall, tears of gratitude and rage streaming down my face. I had almost lost him. Because of her.

Gordon was still holding Frida, shielding her from my gaze as if I were the threat.

"It was an accident, Aubrey," he said, his voice cold and final. "Frida feels terrible. Let's not make it worse."

"An accident?" I shrieked, my voice cracking. "She held him out the window, Gordon! She dropped him!"

"That's enough," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He then handed me a folded document. "Here. I took care of the birth certificate. I had him registered this morning."

I unfolded the paper, my eyes scanning the official text. And then I saw it. The name.

Leo Alistair Rodriguez Ortiz.

Rodriguez. He had given my son her name. Alistair. That was the name of Frida' s brother, the one who had died in a boating accident years ago. An accident she was rumored to have caused.

The paper trembled in my hands. "What is this?" I whispered.

A memory surfaced, sharp and painful. A few months ago, we were lying in bed, my head on his chest, talking about names. Leo, I' d said. Like a lion. Strong and brave. Gordon had smiled, kissing my forehead. Leo Ellison Ortiz. I love it.

Now, that shared dream was just another casualty of his ambition.

"Frida was so distraught," Gordon explained, as if it made perfect sense. "Naming him after her late brother... it seemed like a way to bring something positive out of this tragedy. To honor her family."

To honor her family. He had erased my family, my name, my choice, to appease hers.

With a cry of pure rage, I ripped the birth certificate in half, then in quarters, the pieces fluttering to the floor like dead leaves.

Frida gasped. "How could you? That name means so much to me!" she cried, and without warning, her hand flew out and cracked across my face.

The sting was sharp, shocking. But what happened next was worse.

Gordon's first reaction was not for me. He instantly grabbed Frida's hand, examining it with frantic concern. "Are you okay? Did you hurt your hand?"

Only after he was satisfied that she was uninjured did he turn his attention to me. A flicker of something-annoyance? obligation?-crossed his face.

"Are you alright, Aubrey?" he asked, his voice flat.

The red imprint of her hand was already blooming on my cheek, a brand of his betrayal.

I met his gaze, my own eyes cold and clear. "Don't you dare," I said, my voice dangerously quiet, "pretend to care now."