Nathaniel didn't sleep.
Not a blink.
Not after learning Alfreda had carried his child… and someone else had stolen that future before it began.
The penthouse was silent, except for the ticking of his gun against the marble countertop. He cleaned it like a ritual. Like war was the only thing keeping him sane.
Across the room, Alfreda sat on the sofa, her shoulder bandaged but still bleeding through. Not from the wound—but from the truth.
"I didn't know," she said again, voice hoarse. "Nathaniel… I didn't know."
He didn't answer.
Because the pain he felt wasn't just betrayal.
It was loss.
Loss of time.
Loss of innocence.
Loss of a child he should've held, kissed, protected.
"You said Lucien kept you locked up after the fire," he finally said. "Six months, Alfie. He knew. He saw you grow."
Alfreda wrapped her arms around herself. "He told me I was hallucinating. That I was too sick. That there was no baby… that it was part of the trauma."
Nathaniel stood, fists clenched. "He took our child and made you question your sanity."
Alfreda's voice cracked. "He made me believe I was already dead."
That was it.
The final string snapped in Nathaniel's chest.
He dropped to his knees in front of her, cupping her face. "You hear me? We're taking everything back. Every lie. Every scar. Every second of hell he dragged you through."
Her eyes watered. "Even the baby?"
He nodded, jaw clenched. "Especially the baby."
Across the city, in an estate built on stolen blood and silence, Lucien stood in front of a glass playroom.
Inside it, a little boy with midnight hair and green eyes like a storm was drawing on the wall with chalk.
He looked exactly like Nathaniel.
Lucien knelt down as the boy turned.
"Did I do good, Uncle?" the boy asked, voice sweet.
Lucien smiled. "You're perfect."
"Can I meet my mommy soon?"
Lucien's smile twisted. "Soon, sweetheart. When she proves she's ready to be your mother."
Back at the penthouse, Dano dropped a file on the table.
"Lucien's safehouse list. One matches the surveillance footage where Tracy was held."
Nathaniel opened it—blueprints, guard rotations, names. And then something else.
A surveillance photo. From two days ago.
Alfreda. In a hospital gown. Drugged.
And walking beside her?
Celeste.
Alfreda's eyes went wild. "She was there. She helped him!"
Dano nodded grimly. "Lucien's not working alone."
Nathaniel's phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number.
He answered.
Lucien's voice came through, smooth as sin.
"Hello, cousin."
Nathaniel said nothing.
"I see you've found the folder. And the scar. And the truth."
"What do you want?"
Lucien chuckled. "I had everything. Now I just want to watch you suffer as I take it again."
Nathaniel growled. "If you hurt that boy—"
Lucien cut him off.
"Oh, I won't hurt him, Nathaniel. But I'll raise him to hate you. And when he's old enough… he'll be the one to pull the trigger."
Click.
Silence.
Alfreda's hands shook.
She turned to Nathaniel.
"We don't have time. We go tonight."
Nathaniel reached for his guns. "This ends now."