At my baby’s three-month checkup, the doctor asked me if I could speak with him privately for a moment. He lowered his voice so the conversation would not carry into the hallway, and the seriousness in his expression immediately made my heart beat faster.

That evening, the air inside our colonial home felt thick enough to choke on.

Brandon came home early, carrying a bouquet of yellow roses and a bottle of expensive red wine. He set them on the kitchen island, offering me a wide, dazzling smile.

“Happy early anniversary, babe,” he said, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind.

Every nerve ending in my body screamed at me to pull away, to smash the wine bottle over his head. But I forced myself to smile, leaning back slightly into his chest.

“Yellow roses,” I said, keeping my voice smooth. “My favorite. What’s all this for?”

“Just thinking about how hard you’ve been working since going back to the agency,” he said smoothly, pouring two glasses of wine. “I know things have been tense lately with Hannah crying so much. I spoke to my managing partner today—I’m taking a three-day weekend next week. I booked us a suite at the resort in Sedona. Florence can watch Hannah.”

My heart chilled. Sedona. An isolated resort where he could separate me from my phone, my support system, and my lawyers while he finalized his plans to sideline Florence.

“That sounds wonderful, Brandon,” I lied effortlessly, taking a sip of the wine. “We really need some time alone.”

“We do,” he agreed, clinking his glass against mine. “By the way, did Florence mention anything to you today? She seemed a bit out of it when I dropped by during lunch.”

He was testing me. Seeing if Florence had broken her silence.

“No,” I said, taking another sip and casually opening the refrigerator. “She was fine. Hannah was a bit fussy, but Florence managed to put her down for a nap. Why? Did something happen?”

Brandon watched me closely, his blue eyes searching my face for any sign of deception. I looked back at him with total, innocent calm, asking him if he wanted garlic bread with dinner.

After a long pause, the tension in his shoulders melted away. “No. Nothing happened. Just checking.”

Later that night, around 1:00 AM, I lay awake in bed beside Brandon, listening to his deep, rhythmic breathing. He was sound asleep, completely confident in his total control over us.

Sliding out from beneath the covers, I picked up my phone and slipped silently into the hallway. I walked down to the nursery. Florence was sleeping on the small daybed we had placed in the corner of the room.

I gently touched her shoulder. Florence opened her eyes instantly, her hand flying to her throat.

“It’s me,” I whispered. “He’s sleeping.”

Florence sat up, wiping her eyes. “Did you see the lawyer?”

“Yes,” I whispered, sitting on the edge of the daybed. “Tomorrow night is the firm’s charity gala at the Biltmore Hotel. Brandon thinks we are going together. Marcus Cole and the police are going to intercept him at the venue with an arrest warrant for commercial fraud and domestic extortion.”

Florence squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking out onto her cheeks. “I failed him, Lauren. As a mother, I failed him. I saw him becoming money-obsessed, I saw him drinking, and I stayed quiet because I was ashamed...”

“You didn't fail him, Florence,” I said fiercely, grabbing her arms. “He made his choices. But right now, you are protecting Hannah. Tomorrow night, when he leaves for the gala early to give his opening speech, you and I are packing our bags and moving into a secured safehouse Victoria set up for us.”