Chapter 9 - The Nursery
Five months later, the penthouse at Vance Manor looked like a royal nursery. Soft sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, illuminating three white cribs, handcrafted cashmere blankets, and walls painted in calming shades of sage and gold.
I stood by the window, rubbing my swollen belly as the twins—two boys and a girl—gave a synchronized kick that made me laugh out loud.
Arthur walked in carrying a silver tray with fresh fruit and water. He set it down gently on the table and smiled at me.
"How are my favorite heirs doing?" he asked warmly.
"They're soccer players, Arthur. All three of them," I joked, wincing slightly as a tiny foot pressed against my ribs. "The doctor says delivery is scheduled for next Tuesday."
Arthur walked over, placing a fatherly hand gently on my shoulder. "Everything is ready, Clara. The trust is secured, the estate is transferred, and neither Raymond nor Margaret will ever be allowed within a mile of this house. You survived the worst winter of your life, and now you have the spring."
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"I wouldn't have made it out of Greenwich that night if you hadn't stopped your car," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes.
"I didn't stop out of pity, my dear," Arthur said with a quiet twinkle in his eye. "I stopped because I recognized a queen when I saw one—even if she was carrying a single suitcase."
