"Ma'am! Please! Open the gate, my boss's kids are dying!"
The desperate screech from the gate intercom blasted into the quiet room, drowned out only by the deafening crack of thunder outside.
In the crib, one-year-old Fleur jolted awake with a terrified wail.
"Shh... Mommy's here, sweetie," Maia gasped, her heart slamming against her ribs. She scooped her weeping daughter into her arms, pressing the baby close to her chest.
Living alone with a toddler in this remote valley of Yachel Village, a late-night visitor on a storm-swept night meant danger. She couldn't afford to take any risks with her daughter's safety.
Cradling Fleur with one arm, Maia Diaz walked to the window and parted the sheer curtain just an inch.
Parked outside the wrought-iron gate was a sleek Maybach, its high beams slicing through the torrential rain.
Her breath hitched, but her eyes went cold. She wanted no part of whatever this was. She moved toward the wall panel, reaching up to kill the intercom entirely.
Before her finger touched the button, the frantic voice burst through again.
"Ma'am, I beg you! The mountain pass is blocked by a mudslide, and my boss's young sons are running lethal fevers! They're starting to convulse!"
Maia's hand froze mid-air.
Young sons. Fevers.
A suffocating, familiar pain clawed up her throat. For two endless years, not a single day had passed where she hadn't hungrily searched the news for any photograph of her lost twin boys.
She knew she was just a discarded ex-wife. And above all, she knew her boys had Jelynn now, the glowing, sweet "Aunty Jelynn" they adored far more than their own mother.
"There's a clinic two hours down the valley," Maia forced her voice icy over the speaker. "Leave."
"Ma'am, wait! We'll pay anything!" Yoel, the driver, slammed his hand against the panel in panic. "My boss is Blake Quillan, CEO of World Corp! Just name your price!"
Blake Quillan. Hearing that name felt like a physical blow to her chest.
Down in the storm, the Maybach's rear door flew open. A tall, imposing figure stepped into the pouring rain, holding two small, limp bodies tightly against his chest.
Blake strode toward the porch, his dark eyes cutting through the rain straight toward her window.
"Maia!" His voice boomed over the thunder, thick with a rare, desperate panic. "I know it's you! Open this damn door!"
Maia backed away from the curtain, her hands shaking.
Two years ago, a viral video had shattered her life. Blake, having a romantic dinner with his first love, Jelynn, while four-year-old Luca sat on Jelynn's lap, sweet-talking her as his "real mommy."
That same night, lying alone in a hospital bed with severe morning sickness, she had called him, only to be met with his cold, impatient response: "Maia, are you ever going to stop throwing tantrums?"
She had fought for custody anyway. Spent every cent of her savings, dragged her exhausted, morning-sick body into a courtroom, and watched the Quillan family's legal team bury her case under more money and power than she could ever match.
She lost.
Signing those divorce papers and walking away from the custody fight hadn't been a choice. It was the only scrap of dignity she'd had left after losing everything else.
"Maia Diaz!" Blake's voice cut through the rain right outside her front door now, heavy with anger and raw desperation. "You've been hiding here for two years while my sons call your name in their delirium! Open the door!"
Hiding.