The Signature He Misread

Chapter 3 The Medical Horror

I slipped the USB into the hidden pocket in my sleeve. Sienna hit the door again. I smoothed my dress, waited a beat, and opened it.

Sienna stood with her arms crossed. Behind her, a stranger filled out a new white coat. The collar pinched his thick neck, and heavy calluses crossed his knuckles. He was no family doctor.

"Dante's worried about you," she said. "He thinks the stress is affecting your health. Dr. Mills is here to make sure you're stable."

Dr. Mills showed his teeth. "Just a routine checkup, Mrs. Moretti. We'll help you relax."

They stepped in on either side of me. Sienna's fingers dug into my arm.

"We've prepared a room in the medical wing. It's quiet there. You can rest until the trial."

They had done this before my death in the first life: moved me out of sight, barred everyone else, and let Dante decide what the world heard about me.

They took me through the empty halls to the white corridor in the east wing. Dante was waiting there. He spoke to the doctor without looking at me.

"Sedate her if you have to. No visitors, and no one comes or goes without my permission. I'll see her in the morning."

Then he faced me. The tenderness he used in front of staff was gone. "Don't do anything foolish, Elara. It's almost over."

They locked me in a bare room with a narrow bed and a steel sink. The door had no handle on my side. There was nowhere to hide the evidence in my sleeve.

That night, Dr. Mills forced a bitter pill down my throat and watched me drink water.

Long after his rounds, the lock turned again. Sienna came in alone with a thin medical file tucked against her robe.

"I couldn't sleep." She sat at the edge of the bed. "I kept thinking about you in here, with all the things you've lost."

I let my head loll against the pillow and kept my breathing slow. I had tucked the pill under my tongue until the doctor left.

Sienna tossed the file into my lap. "I was always jealous of what you could give him. The Vance legacy. The heir you were supposed to produce."

My fingers stopped on the file.

"You remember the miscarriage two years ago, don't you? That tragic little accident?"

The blood on a hospital sheet flashed through my mind. Two years earlier, the doctor had avoided my eyes, called the miscarriage unavoidable, and rushed through his explanation of the procedure.

"Dante paid your doctor," Sienna said, tapping the file. "He arranged a complication during the procedure. You can never get pregnant again. He said a barren queen is easier to replace."

The room tilted. I gripped the sheet until it steadied.

For two years, I had blamed my own body while Dante paid the man who operated on me. He had taken my child, then left me to carry the blame for the damage.

A sound caught in my throat. Sienna leaned closer to watch my face. While she stared, I pressed the tiny button inside my sleeve.

The recorder turned on beneath my fingers.

"He never wanted a child with you," she whispered. "He wanted your name. Now he has that too."

She left the file on my lap and walked out. I waited for the lock, then stopped the recording.

At first light, two of Dante's men entered without knocking. They pulled me out of bed and put me in a plain grey suit, fastening the buttons when my hands moved too slowly.

Dante waited beside a black town car in a tailored suit, already wearing his solemn face for the courthouse cameras. He pushed me into the back seat and climbed in beside me.

His cologne filled the car as we rolled down the cypress-lined drive.

"Listen carefully. At the courthouse, keep your head down and say exactly what the lawyer tells you. Once the judge accepts your statement, it's permanent."

He adjusted his cuff. "Your life inside can be comfortable, as long as you remember who pays for that comfort."

There were no cameras in the car, so he no longer bothered to sound worried.

My fingers touched the recorder inside my sleeve. It held Sienna's confession. The USB lay flat against my arm beside it.

A low vibration came through the floor of the car.

Dante frowned. "What's that noise?"

The driver stared through the windshield. The thrum grew until the windows shook.

*WHUMP. WHUMP. WHUMP. WHUMP.*

A shadow swept over the car. One black helicopter dropped above the drive, then a second and a third.

They flew low enough to bend the cypress branches. Three white letters covered their sides: **F B I**.

Dante turned to me. His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

For the first time in three days, I smiled at him.

"You said this was permanent, Dante." I raised my voice over the rotors. "You were right."