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The estate doctor, Dr. Harrison, rushed through the parting crowd, his face pale as he knelt beside Grace. The silence hanging over the Blackwood estate was so thick it was suffocating. Nobody dared to breathe. Nobody dared to move. / Chapter 4 / 6

Chapter 4 - THE TWISTED ALIBI

Three weeks passed. The Blackwood estate had become a golden fortress of misery. Grace was confined to the isolated guest house at the edge of the property, guarded 24/7. Ethan threw himself entirely into his work, destroying Cole Industries in a matter of days, completely bankrupting Vanessa’s family as promised. Vanessa was currently awaiting trial for attempted murder, denied bail due to Ethan's immense political influence.

But Ethan found no peace. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Grace's terrified face in the water, and her broken eyes when he threw her out.

One evening, Ethan was sitting in his study, drinking scotch, when his phone buzzed. It was an encrypted email from an anonymous source. The subject line read: The Truth Behind the Paternity.

Ethan opened it. Inside was a video file. He clicked play.

The video was taken in a dark, high-tech laboratory. A man in a lab coat was speaking to someone off-camera whose face was hidden.

"The DNA swap is complete," the scientist said. "Mr. Blackwood's DNA sample on the estate database has been replaced with a synthetic profile. Any test Dr. Harrison runs comparing the fetus to Ethan Blackwood will show a 0% match."

The off-camera voice spoke, and Ethan’s blood turned to ice. It was a woman’s voice—but it wasn't Vanessa Cole. It was a voice he recognized instantly.

Cynthia Blackwood. His own stepmother. The woman who had married his father for money and had been trying to claim Ethan’s inheritance for her own biological son for a decade.

"Excellent," Cynthia’s voice echoed from the video. "Once Ethan throws that peasant girl out, I will introduce him to a proper bride. And the Blackwood empire will finally belong to my side of the family. Delete the original logs."

The video cut to black.

Ethan dropped his glass, the scotch spilling across his mahogany desk. He had been played. His pride, his paranoia, his legendary coldness had been weaponized against the only woman who had ever truly loved him. He had imprisoned his innocent, pregnant wife based on a fabricated web of lies.

"Marcus!" Ethan roared, slamming his hands on the desk.

Marcus rushed in. "Yes, sir?"

"Mobilize the team. We are going to the guest house. Now!" Ethan shouted, his heart pounding in his chest with sudden, overwhelming terror. "And find Cynthia Blackwood. Bring her to me in chains if you have to!"

Ethan ran out of the main house, sprinting through the pouring rain toward the guest house. He felt a sickening sense of dread in his gut. If Cynthia was capable of altering DNA records and killing a maid to frame Grace, she wouldn't just stop at a divorce. She wanted Grace and the baby gone permanently.

As Ethan approached the guest house, he noticed something was horribly wrong. The two guards who were supposed to be stationed at the front door were lying unconscious on the wet grass.

"Grace!" Ethan screamed, throwing his weight against the heavy oak door. It was locked from the inside.

He didn't wait for Marcus. He kicked the door with all his might, splintering the frame, and burst into the house.

The living room was tossed. A struggle had taken place. Down the hallway, near the kitchen, Ethan smelled something terrifying. Smoke.

A sudden explosion rocked the back of the guest house. Flames roared up the walls, fueled by gas lines that had been intentionally severed.

Through the thick, black smoke, Ethan heard a weak, agonizing cry.

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The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure terminal on my desk flashed a violent crimson. I hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, my eyes burning from staring at columns of ghost figures, duplicate invoices, and shell corporations linked to Dominic Rossi. But the red alert wasn’t from Rossi’s faction. It was an internal security flag originating from the estate’s main vault deep beneath the west wing.

The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure ter...

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scattering the light from the chandeliers. The muffled laughter died instantly, replaced by a suffocating, heavy silence that crept outward from the grand staircase.

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scatter...

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking out the clinical, terrifying silence of the kitchen. Evelyn Crane stood stiffly in front of my mahogany desk, her hands folded over her apron with the rigid precision of someone who had spent decades micromanaging every square inch of my estate. Behind her, Norah hovered near the doorway, clutching her clipboard like a shield.

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking...

"Ethan... help me..."

It was Grace.

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