I woke up in a hospital room the next morning.

My mother’s old friend, Aunt Rosa, was sitting beside me.

Her eyes were swollen.

The moment I looked at her, I knew.

Still, I asked.

—The baby?

Rosa lowered her eyes.

That was the answer.

I turned toward the window.

Snow covered the roofs outside.

Beautiful.

Clean.

As if the world had not taken anything from me.

—Does Julian know?

Rosa hesitated.

—Nina…

—Does he know?

—No.

I closed my eyes.

—Good.

She stared at me.

—Good?

—He said he didn’t want the baby.

My voice sounded strangely calm.

—Then he doesn’t need to know anything else.

Three days later, I disappeared.

Not dramatically.

No goodbye letter.

No final confrontation.

I changed my number, transferred the little money I had, accepted a job in another city and left before Julian could decide whether he wanted to hurt me again.

For the first time since I was sixteen, my life no longer revolved around Julian Cross.

I thought that would be the end.

It wasn’t.

Two weeks after I left, Julian arrived at the hospital.

Not looking for me.

Looking for the doctor who had treated me.

The physician recognized him immediately.

—Mr. Cross?

Julian placed both hands on the desk.

—Where is Nina Bennett?

—I can’t disclose patient information.

—I’m her emergency contact.

The doctor checked the file.

Then looked at him strangely.

—Not anymore.

Julian froze.

—What?

—Miss Bennett removed you before discharge.

His face changed.

—Discharge from what?

The doctor stared at him.

And perhaps she saw something in his expression.

Because she asked:

—You really don’t know?

Julian’s voice became quieter.

—Know what?

The doctor didn’t tell him everything.

She couldn’t.

But she said enough.

—She arrived that night with a pregnancy complication.

Julian stopped breathing.

—The baby?

The doctor remained silent.

He understood.

According to the nurse outside, Julian stood there for almost a full minute without moving.

Then he asked:

—Did she ask for me?

—No.

One word.

Apparently, it destroyed him more effectively than any accusation could have.

That same afternoon, Julian returned to the Cross estate.

His mother, Victoria, was having tea.

She looked up when he entered.

—You’re finally home.

Julian placed something on the table.

My medical bracelet.

He had found it among the belongings Rosa had returned to the house.

Victoria’s expression changed.

—Where is Nina?

—Gone.

—Good.

Julian slowly raised his eyes.

—Good?

Victoria calmly set down her cup.

—That girl was always going to become a problem.

Something in Julian’s face hardened.

—She lost the baby.

His mother froze.

Only for half a second.

But Julian noticed.

—You knew she was pregnant.

Victoria said nothing.

He stepped closer.

—How?

—Julian—

—How did you know?

She finally stood.

—Because I told you to end things before it became worse.

—That isn’t what I asked.

His voice grew colder.

—Who told you?

Victoria looked away.

That was mistake number one.

Mistake number two was saying:

—It doesn’t matter anymore.

Julian laughed once.

—It matters to me.

—Why? You told her yourself that you didn’t want the child.

He stared at his mother.

—How do you know exactly what I told her?

Silence.

Victoria’s face slowly lost color.

Julian understood.

Someone had been there.

Someone had heard us in the snow.

Someone had known about the pregnancy before even he did.

He went to the security office.

The Cross estate had cameras on the roads surrounding the property.

Most footage had already been overwritten.

Except one camera.

A maintenance unit near the east gate.

The technician recovered the recording.

Snow.

My figure.

Julian walking away.

Then, ten minutes later, a black car appeared.

It stopped beside me.

A woman got out.

Victoria Cross.

Julian watched the video three times.

His mother had been there.

She had seen me on the ground.

She had known.

And she had never told him.

He confronted her that night.

—Why didn’t you help her?

Victoria’s voice remained hard.

—Because that child should never have existed.

Julian went completely still.

—Say that again.

She realized she had gone too far.

But it was too late.

—Nina’s father destroyed this family.

—Nina isn’t her father.

—Blood doesn’t disappear because you feel sorry for someone.

Julian slammed his hand onto the table.

—Stop.

Victoria stared at him.

Then said the sentence she had been waiting years to use.

—Do you want to know why her father really died?

Silence.

Julian’s anger changed.

—What?

Victoria walked to the safe.

She removed an old brown envelope.

Inside were photographs.

Financial records.

A police report.

And one letter.

Julian opened it.

The handwriting belonged to his father.

The man whose death had started the hatred between the Cross and Bennett families.

Julian read the first page.

Then the second.

By the third, his hands were shaking.

Because the story he had believed his entire life was wrong.

My father had not betrayed the Cross family.

He had tried to expose someone inside it.

And the final line of the letter named that person.

Victoria Cross.

Julian looked up.

—You lied to me.

His mother said nothing.

—You made me hate Nina for something you did.

Victoria’s expression finally cracked.

—Everything I did was for you.

—Don’t say that.

Julian backed away.

For years, he had treated me as the daughter of his enemy.

Now he was staring at the person who had created that enemy in the first place.

—Where is Nina?

Victoria smiled bitterly.

—You think she’ll come back because you’ve finally learned the truth?

Julian’s face changed.

She continued:

—She heard you.

—She believed you.

—You told her the child meant nothing.

—You told her she meant nothing.

Julian closed his eyes.

For the first time, there was no one else to blame for those words.

Three months passed.

I was living in a small apartment in Seattle under my mother’s surname.

I worked.

I slept badly.

I stopped checking whether anyone was looking for me.

Then, one rainy afternoon, someone knocked on my door.

I thought it was a delivery.

Instead, Aunt Rosa stood there holding an envelope.

—Nina, this came for you.

No return address.

Inside was the original letter from Julian’s father.

And another page.

New handwriting.

Julian’s.

Only one sentence:

“I know your father was innocent.”

My hands went cold.

Then Rosa handed me something else.

A photograph taken that morning.

Julian standing outside the Cross family courthouse.

Victoria beside him.

Police investigators behind them.

I looked at Rosa.

—What happened?

She swallowed.

—Julian turned his mother in.

I couldn’t speak.

Then my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I almost ignored it.

Until the voicemail appeared.

Not Julian.

A man’s voice I had never heard before.

“Nina Bennett, if Julian has found the letter, then you’re both in danger.”

I stared at the screen.

The message continued:

“Your father wasn’t the only person Victoria framed.”

A pause.

“And Julian Cross was never supposed to survive long enough to learn that.”