Chapter 4 — The Mistress Who Thought She Had Won
Chapter 4 — The Mistress Who Thought She Had Won
Vanessa Cross had always believed that winning meant watching another woman lose.
She had built her entire relationship with Preston around that belief.
When Emily smiled beside him at charity dinners, Vanessa imagined wiping the smile from her face.
When Emily posted photographs of their anniversary trips, Vanessa imagined replacing her in every frame.
When Preston told her, She's only my wife on paper, Vanessa believed him.
When he whispered, Soon, she believed that too.
But now she stood in the parking garage beneath Whitmore–Saint Claire Medical Center, staring at a message that made her hands tremble.
Find the woman who delivered Emily's first medical records.
Vanessa read it twice.
Then she called Preston.
He answered immediately.
“What did you find?”
“Nothing yet.”
“You need to.”
“You're giving me orders?”
“Yes.”
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
“You're the one who told me everything was under control.”
“It was.”
“No. It wasn't.”
Preston's silence made her angrier.
“You said Emily didn't know about the trust.”
“She didn't.”
“You said your family controlled the hospital.”
“They did.”
“You said Raymond Saint Claire was irrelevant.”
Preston closed his eyes.
“I was wrong.”
Vanessa leaned against the car.
“For once, we're agreeing.”
She looked toward the hospital entrance.
“Who is this woman?”
“I don't know.”
“Then how am I supposed to find her?”
“You have access.”
“To what?”
“Hospital records.”
Vanessa's eyebrows lifted.
“You want me to steal medical files?”
“I want you to find one name.”
“And if I get caught?”
“You won't.”
She smiled.
“You're not very good at predicting things anymore.”
Preston ended the call.
Vanessa stared at the screen.
Then she whispered:
“Fine.”
She would find the woman.
And if the answer was as dangerous as Preston believed, she would use it.
Because Vanessa Cross had spent too many years fighting to become Mrs. Preston Whitmore.
She wasn't going to lose now.
Emily's morning began with flowers.
A massive arrangement of white lilies appeared outside her room.
She stared at them.
“Who sent those?”
The nurse checked the card.
“Mr. Whitmore.”
Emily's expression immediately hardened.
“Throw them away.”
Sarah hesitated.
“They're beautiful.”
“They're from Preston.”
Sarah nodded.
“Understood.”
She carried them out.
Emily watched the door close.
A minute later, her phone rang.
Preston.
She ignored it.
It rang again.
Ignored.
Again.
She finally answered.
“What?”
“I wanted to apologize.”
“You already did.”
“I mean it.”
“I don't care.”
“Emily—”
“No.”
She looked toward the window.
“You don't get to apologize after arranging for my child to be born somewhere I didn't choose.”
There was silence.
Then Preston said quietly:
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
Emily laughed once.
It wasn't a happy sound.
“From what?”
“From my family.”
“You mean from yourself?”
“Emily.”
“Don't call me like you still know me.”
He swallowed.
“I love you.”
She closed her eyes.
“Don't.”
“It's true.”
“No.”
“You can't tell me what I feel.”
“I can tell you what you did.”
Silence.
Emily continued.
“You watched Vanessa attack me.”
“I know.”
“You transferred millions to her.”
“I can explain.”
“You planned my delivery.”
“I can explain that too.”
Emily's voice became cold.
“Then explain it.”
Preston said nothing.
She waited.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
“You don't have an explanation.”
“I need time.”
“You had time.”
He didn't answer.
Emily ended the call.
Preston sat alone in his office.
His phone remained in his hand.
The door opened.
His mother entered.
“You spoke to her?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She knows.”
His mother stopped.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
She closed the door.
“What are we going to do?”
Preston looked at her.
“What do you think?”
His mother lowered her voice.
“Your father had contingencies.”
“My father is dead.”
“That doesn't mean his plans died with him.”
Preston stared.
“What are you saying?”
“I think Charles left something behind.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why mention it?”
“Because your father never trusted the Saint Claires.”
Preston stood.
“Neither did you.”
“No.”
His mother looked at him.
“But I feared them.”
Preston laughed bitterly.
“I should have.”
At noon, Vanessa entered the hospital through the administrative entrance.
She wore a cream-colored suit.
No sunglasses.
No designer handbag.
She looked professional.
Harmless.
The receptionist smiled.
“Good afternoon.”
“I'm here to see Dr. Helen Marsh.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes.”
Vanessa placed a card on the desk.
The receptionist glanced at it.
“I'm sorry. Dr. Marsh isn't seeing visitors.”
“I'm not a visitor.”
Vanessa leaned closer.
“I'm with Whitmore Holdings.”
The receptionist's smile disappeared.
“Whitmore Holdings no longer has administrative authority here.”
Vanessa smiled.
“I'm aware.”
“Then you understand you need authorization.”
“I have it.”
She produced an email.
The receptionist read it.
Her expression changed.
“Who authorized this?”
“Mr. Preston Whitmore.”
The receptionist hesitated.
Then called upstairs.
Vanessa waited.
Two minutes later, a security officer arrived.
“Ms. Cross.”
“Yes?”
“Please come with me.”
Vanessa smiled.
“Of course.”
She followed him.
But instead of taking her to Dr. Marsh, he led her to a conference room.
Raymond Saint Claire was waiting.
Vanessa stopped.
Her smile vanished.
“Mr. Saint Claire.”
“Sit.”
She remained standing.
“I have a meeting.”
“With me.”
“I don't think so.”
Raymond looked at the security officer.
“Close the door.”
The door shut.
Vanessa folded her arms.
“What do you want?”
“To understand why you're accessing patient records.”
“I wasn't.”
“You were.”
“I was looking for a physician.”
“Dr. Helen Marsh.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vanessa smiled.
“Private matter.”
Raymond leaned back.
“Everything involving my hospital becomes my matter.”
Vanessa's jaw tightened.
“Your hospital?”
“Yes.”
“You mean Emily's.”
Raymond's eyes narrowed slightly.
“So you know.”
Vanessa realized her mistake.
Only a fraction of a second.
But Raymond noticed.
“Know what?”
She smiled.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You just admitted you know the hospital belongs to Emily.”
Vanessa said nothing.
Raymond stood.
“You made a serious mistake yesterday.”
“I didn't hurt her.”
“You kicked a pregnant woman.”
“She was provoking me.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it's true.”
Raymond walked toward her.
“You know what I find interesting?”
“What?”
“You aren't afraid of me.”
Vanessa smiled.
“Should I be?”
“Yes.”
Her smile disappeared.
Raymond stopped inches away.
“But you're more afraid of losing something else.”
Vanessa's eyes hardened.
“I'm not afraid of anything.”
Raymond looked at her.
“Everyone is.”
He opened the door.
“Security will escort you out.”
Vanessa walked past him.
At the doorway, she stopped.
“You're protecting the wrong woman.”
Raymond didn't respond.
Vanessa smiled.
“Ask Emily why Preston married her.”
Then she left.
Raymond stood motionless.
For the first time that day, uncertainty crossed his face.
Emily was sitting with Dr. Hale when Raymond entered.
She looked up.
“Everything okay?”
Raymond closed the door.
“Vanessa was here.”
Emily frowned.
“Why?”
“She was looking for Dr. Helen Marsh.”
Emily's expression changed.
“Who is that?”
“Your physician when you were younger.”
Emily stared.
“I don't remember her.”
“She worked at the hospital twelve years ago.”
“Why would Vanessa look for her?”
Raymond didn't answer.
Emily immediately understood.
“This is about my medical records.”
“Yes.”
“What records?”
“Your first pregnancy records.”
Emily went completely still.
“My first pregnancy?”
Raymond looked at her.
“I don't want you upset.”
“Uncle.”
“Emily—”
“What first pregnancy?”
He hesitated.
“You were pregnant before.”
She stared.
“What?”
“Twelve years ago.”
Emily's face went pale.
“I was eighteen.”
“Yes.”
“That isn't possible.”
“You miscarried.”
Emily shook her head.
“No.”
“You were unconscious when it happened.”
“No.”
She stood too quickly.
The room spun.
Raymond caught her arm.
“Sit down.”
“My first pregnancy?”
“Yes.”
“Why don't I remember?”
Raymond's face was full of pain.
“Because your father believed it would destroy you.”
Emily stared at him.
“What happened?”
Raymond lowered his voice.
“You were attacked.”
“By whom?”
“We never proved it.”
“Who?”
“Charles Whitmore.”
Emily stepped backward.
“No.”
“He believed your father was hiding money.”
“And he attacked me?”
“We don't know.”
“Then why are you saying it?”
“Because your medical records disappeared.”
Emily's heart pounded.
“And Dr. Marsh?”
“She was the physician who treated you.”
Emily sat down.
She could barely breathe.
“Why did no one tell me?”
“Your father wanted to protect you.”
Emily looked at him.
“From the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Did Preston know?”
Raymond didn't answer.
That was enough.
Emily whispered:
“He knew.”
Raymond nodded.
“He knew.”
Three hours later, Vanessa found Dr. Marsh.
The woman lived in a quiet suburban neighborhood twenty miles outside the city.
Vanessa parked across the street.
She watched the house.
An older woman emerged carrying groceries.
Vanessa stepped from the car.
“Dr. Marsh?”
The woman stopped.
“Yes?”
“My name is Vanessa Cross.”
The doctor's face immediately changed.
“I don't know you.”
“You knew Emily Whitmore.”
Dr. Marsh tightened her grip on the grocery bag.
“I don't discuss former patients.”
“You should.”
“Leave.”
Vanessa smiled.
“I know about the pregnancy.”
The groceries nearly slipped from the woman's hands.
Dr. Marsh stared at her.
“How?”
“That's not important.”
“What do you want?”
“Who was the father?”
Silence.
Vanessa stepped closer.
“Was it Preston?”
Dr. Marsh's face went pale.
“No.”
Vanessa's eyes widened.
“No?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
The doctor looked toward the house.
“You shouldn't be asking me.”
“I need an answer.”
“You don't understand what you're getting into.”
Vanessa smiled.
“I understand perfectly.”
Dr. Marsh shook her head.
“You really don't.”
“Who was the father?”
The doctor whispered:
“Emily never knew.”
“Why?”
“Because the baby was taken.”
Vanessa stopped breathing.
“What?”
Dr. Marsh looked directly at her.
“The child survived.”
Vanessa's blood went cold.
“You're lying.”
“I wish I were.”
“Where is the child?”
“I don't know.”
“Who took it?”
Dr. Marsh's voice trembled.
“Charles Whitmore.”
Vanessa stepped backward.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Charles believed the child was worth more alive than dead.”
Vanessa stared.
“Why?”
Dr. Marsh looked at her.
“Because the child was the key to the Saint Claire inheritance.”
Vanessa returned to her car.
Her hands shook as she called Preston.
He answered.
“Did you find her?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Vanessa stared through the windshield.
“Emily had a baby.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Twelve years ago.”
Preston stopped breathing.
“That's impossible.”
“She said the child survived.”
“Where is it?”
“She doesn't know.”
Preston's voice became barely audible.
“Who was the father?”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
“She wouldn't tell me.”
“Vanessa.”
“She said Charles took the child.”
Preston's breathing became heavier.
“Why?”
“She said it was connected to the Saint Claire inheritance.”
Silence.
Then Preston whispered:
“No.”
“What?”
“You don't understand.”
“What?”
“The child isn't the key.”
“Then what is?”
Preston looked at the old agreement on his desk.
His father's handwriting.
The clause.
The trust.
Emily.
And one final name.
He whispered:
“The child is the heir.”
That night, Emily stood in the nursery.
She had not yet finished decorating it.
Tiny blue curtains hung beside the window.
A wooden crib stood against the wall.
She placed one hand on the empty mattress.
Her current son would sleep here.
Her heart tightened.
She couldn't stop thinking about the child Raymond said she had lost.
She had no memory.
Only fragments.
A hospital ceiling.
A woman's voice.
A crying baby.
Then darkness.
She touched the crib.
“Who were you?”
The door opened.
Raymond stood behind her.
“I need to tell you something.”
Emily turned.
“About the baby.”
He nodded.
She waited.
“The child wasn't yours.”
Emily frowned.
“What?”
“The records were altered.”
She stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Raymond stepped into the room.
“You were pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“But the child they recorded as yours…”
He stopped.
Emily's heart raced.
“What?”
“It wasn't the child you gave birth to.”
She stared at him.
“I don't understand.”
“Neither did your father.”
“Then who was my baby?”
Raymond's expression broke.
“We don't know.”
Emily's eyes filled with tears.
“Then why did you tell me the child survived?”
“Because someone found evidence.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
He handed her a photograph.
It showed a newborn wrapped in a white blanket.
On the baby's wrist was a hospital bracelet.
Emily looked at the name.
Her breath stopped.
Baby Saint Claire.
She looked at Raymond.
“That's impossible.”
“I know.”
“Who is this?”
“We don't know.”
Emily stared at the photograph.
Then she noticed something.
A tiny birthmark on the baby's left wrist.
Three small dots.
Her father's birthmark.
Emily touched the photograph with trembling fingers.
“That's my family mark.”
Raymond nodded.
“Yes.”
She looked up.
“Then that baby…”
Raymond finished the sentence.
“May have been your child.”
Emily's knees weakened.
Raymond caught her.
She whispered:
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“Then find him.”
“We're trying.”
Emily looked at the photograph again.
For twelve years, she had believed she had lost a child.
Now she was discovering something far worse.
Someone might have taken him.
And the person who ordered it may have been the same man whose son she had married.
Preston.
Her husband.
The man who had stood in the hallway while Vanessa kicked her.
The man who had tried to control her pregnancy.
The man who had told her he loved her.
Emily wiped her tears.
“Raymond.”
“Yes?”
“If Preston knew about this…”
“He did.”
Her eyes hardened.
“Then this was never about Vanessa.”
“No.”
“It was never about the affair.”
“No.”
Emily looked toward the hospital window.
“What did they want?”
Raymond's answer was quiet.
“You.”
Emily shook her head.
“No.”
She touched her stomach.
“They wanted my children.”
Raymond didn't correct her.
Because somewhere in the hospital's hidden archives, a second file had just been discovered.
And inside it was a photograph.
A little boy.
Approximately twelve years old.
Standing beside Charles Whitmore.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written:
HE KNOWS WHO HIS MOTHER IS.
And beneath that:
KEEP HIM AWAY FROM EMILY UNTIL SHE TURNS THIRTY.
The date on the photograph was three weeks old.
Which meant the boy was alive.
And someone had been watching Emily for years.
Waiting for her thirtieth birthday.
May you like
Waiting for the moment she became powerful enough to reclaim everything.
And now that moment was only weeks away.
