Chapter 2 - The Secret Sloan Buried for Six Months Was Worse Than I Imagined—My Daughter Was Born With a Target on Her BackBy midnight, the penthouse had become a fortress.
Security doubled.
Every entrance was sealed.
The elevators were locked to private access.
But Sloan didn't look safer.
She looked terrified.
I found her sitting beside Willa's crib in the guest bedroom.
The lights were off.
Only the city glowed through the windows.
“You should sleep,” I said.
She didn't look at me.
“I haven't slept properly in four weeks.”
“I'll get someone to help.”
“No.”
“You need help.”
“I needed help six months ago.”
That silenced me.
I stepped into the room.
“I know.”
“No, Vincent.”
She finally looked at me.
“You don't.”
Her eyes were red.
“You came home and discovered you had a daughter. You think that's the hardest part?”
I said nothing.
“The hardest part was realizing I was pregnant and the man I loved wasn't there.”
My chest tightened.
“I thought you hated me.”
“I did.”
The answer was immediate.
Then she looked at Willa.
“But hatred gets complicated when you feel a baby kicking inside you.”
I sat across from her.
“Tell me everything.”
She hesitated.
Then finally spoke.
“When you left, I found out I was pregnant three weeks later.”
“You knew before our divorce was finalized?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I remembered what you said.”
“What did I say?”
“That you didn't want children.”
I frowned.
“I never said that.”
“You said you didn't want an heir.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“It was enough for me.”
I stared at her.
Sloan continued.
“I thought you would see the baby as another responsibility. Another chain.”
“You should have given me the choice.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of me?”
“Of what you would become.”
I looked away.
She wasn't entirely wrong.
My family's world had shaped me.
I'd grown up watching men disappear.
I'd learned at fifteen that loyalty could be bought.
At eighteen, I'd watched my father order a man's death over a debt.
At twenty-four, I'd inherited an empire.
And at thirty-two, I'd decided Sloan deserved a better life.
So I pushed her away.
I thought leaving was protection.
Instead, I had left her alone with our child.
“What happened at the hospital?”
Sloan's expression changed.
“The day Willa was born, everything was normal.”
She described the delivery.
The fear.
The pain.
Then the first cry.
She had looked at Willa and cried.
“I remember thinking she was perfect.”
Then, hours later, three men entered the hospital room.
One wore a doctor's coat.
One wore security uniform.
The third stood behind them.
“He knew your father.”
“Who?”
“Marcus Vale.”
I stood.
Marcus Vale.
My father's most trusted lieutenant.
The man who supposedly disappeared after my father's death.
“He looked at Willa.”
Sloan whispered.
“Then he said, ‘The bloodline must end.’”
My hands curled into fists.
“What happened?”
“Jenna came in.”
“Your friend?”
“Yes.”
“She started screaming for security.”
The men fled.
But before leaving, Marcus leaned close.
“He told me I'd made a mistake by keeping the baby.”
I looked at Willa.
“Then what?”
“I took her and ran.”
“You left the hospital?”
“Two hours later.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody came to protect us.”
Her voice broke.
“I waited for you.”
I looked at her.
“You waited?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Until sunrise.”
That sentence hurt more than anything she'd said.
Because I had been thousands of miles away.
Handling business.
Thinking my marriage was over.
While my wife sat in a hospital room holding my newborn daughter and waiting for me to call.
“I hate that I wasn't there.”
Sloan whispered:
“So do I.”
Then a gunshot exploded downstairs.
Willa screamed.
Sloan grabbed her.
I pulled my weapon.
Security flooded the hallway.
Another shot.
Then silence.
My head of security appeared.
“Boss.”
“What happened?”
“Someone breached the outer gate.”
“Where?”
“North entrance.”
“Alive?”
He shook his head.
“Gone.”
I looked at Sloan.
Her face had gone white.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
YOU CAN'T HIDE HER FROM HER BLOOD.
A second message arrived.
ASK YOUR MOTHER WHY SHE LIED ABOUT YOUR FATHER'S DEATH.
I froze.
May you like
My mother had been dead for twelve years.
At least, that's what I believed.
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