The next morning arrived with a dull ache in my chest and the weight of Dante's revelations pressing on me. I sat at the edge of my bed, staring at the crumpled death certificate I'd read too many times the night before. The name of my unborn child wasn't even listed—just a blank space where life should have been honored.
I hadn't cried. Not yet. Instead, a cold determination filled me. Someone had taken my child. Someone had deliberately caused that night's tragedy.
Who would do such a thing? And why?
My mind flickered back to the people in Dante's orbit—his family, his so-called white moonlight, Maria, and the network of people who enabled his cruel indifference during our marriage. One of them had to be behind this.
I didn't have answers, but I did have questions. And I knew exactly where to start.
---
By the time I arrived at my office, Claire was already waiting for me with a steaming cup of coffee and an apologetic look on her face.
"I'm sorry about yesterday," she said. "He's just… persistent."
"That's one word for it," I muttered, taking the coffee.
Claire hesitated. "Are you okay? You looked... shaken after he left."
I paused, debating whether to confide in her. Claire had been my rock since I rebuilt my life, but this was something too personal, too raw.
"I'll be fine," I said instead.
She didn't push, just nodded, and handed me a folder. "Your schedule for the day. And… there's something else you should see."
I raised an eyebrow, flipping through the papers she'd given me. "What is this?"
"It's from the private investigator you hired a few months ago. Remember? To dig into some of Dante's connections?"
I'd almost forgotten about that. After I'd re-established myself in the city, I'd wanted to ensure that no one from my past—especially Dante—could find leverage over me.
"This could be useful," I said, scanning the pages.
"I thought so too," Claire said. "Let me know if you need anything."
As she left, I leaned back in my chair, poring over the investigator's report. It detailed Dante's recent activities, his business dealings, and—most importantly—the people he associated with.
One name stood out: Maria Sinclair.
---
Maria. The name alone made my blood boil. She had been the centerpiece of Dante's life during our marriage, the woman he treated like a queen while I was nothing more than an afterthought. She was his "white moonlight," as they called her in the tabloids—a beacon of purity and perfection that Dante couldn't seem to let go of.
But if what Dante had said was true, Maria might not be as innocent as she appeared.
I didn't want to believe it. Even as much as I hated her, I couldn't fathom that someone would stoop so low as to harm an unborn child.
Still, I needed answers. And I wasn't going to get them by sitting in my office.
---
Later that afternoon, I found myself standing outside an upscale café in the heart of the city. Maria frequented this place, according to the investigator's report.
Sure enough, there she was—sitting at an outdoor table, sipping a cappuccino as though she didn't have a care in the world. Her blonde hair was perfectly styled, and her designer outfit was immaculate. She looked every bit the picture of elegance and grace that Dante had once idolized.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and approached her table.
"Elizabeth," she said smoothly when she saw me, her lips curving into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "What a surprise."
"Maria," I replied, taking the seat across from her without waiting for an invitation. "We need to talk."
She raised an eyebrow, feigning curiosity. "About what?"
I didn't bother with pleasantries. "About the night I lost my child."
For a split second, something flickered in her eyes—surprise? Fear? Guilt? It was gone before I could be sure.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her tone cool and dismissive.
"Don't play dumb," I snapped. "I know someone tampered with my medication. Someone wanted to make sure I lost that baby. And I think you know who it was."
Maria leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "You've always had such a vivid imagination, Elizabeth. Maybe that's why Dante never took you seriously."
Her words were a slap to the face, but I refused to let her see how much they stung. "You don't deny it, though," I said. "You don't deny that you were involved."
She shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Why would I waste my time on something so petty? You were never a threat to me, Elizabeth. Not then, and certainly not now."
I narrowed my eyes. "If that's true, then you won't mind if I dig deeper into your past. Because I will find out the truth, Maria. And when I do, you'll regret ever crossing me."
She laughed softly, a sound that sent chills down my spine. "Good luck with that," she said, picking up her cappuccino. "But I'd be careful if I were you. Sometimes the truth isn't what you want it to be."
Her words lingered in my mind as I left the café, my heart pounding with a mix of anger and unease.
---
That evening, I sat in my apartment, the death certificate and investigator's report spread out on the coffee table in front of me. Maria's words replayed in my head, taunting me.
Why did she seem so confident? What was she hiding?
As I sifted through the papers, a thought occurred to me. What if Maria wasn't the mastermind behind this? What if she was just a pawn in someone else's game?
The list of suspects was growing longer by the minute, and I didn't know who I could trust.
My phone buzzed, pulling me from my thoughts. It was a text from an unknown number:
"You're getting close to the truth. Be careful, or you'll end up like your child."
I stared at the message, a chill running down my spine.
Whoever was behind this wasn't just dangerous—they were watching me.
---
The next day, I met with the private investigator in a quiet, secluded diner. He was a grizzled man in his late fifties, with sharp eyes that missed nothing.
"I got your message," he said, sliding into the booth across from me. "What's going on?"
I handed him the text I'd received. "I need you to trace this number," I said.
He studied the message, his expression grim. "This is serious, Elizabeth. If someone's threatening you—"
"I know it's serious," I interrupted. "That's why I need answers. I want to know who sent this, and I want to know everything you can dig up on Maria Sinclair."
He nodded, slipping the phone into his pocket. "I'll get on it right away. But you need to be careful. If this person is willing to threaten you, there's no telling what else they might do."
"I can handle it," I said, though my voice lacked conviction.
As I left the diner, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Every shadow seemed darker, every sound more sinister.
Whoever was behind this had taken everything from me once before.
I wasn't going to let them do it again.