Page 66 of Say You're Mine

A soft knock at the door jolts me from my spiraling thoughts. "Come in," I call, steeling myself for another round of Elaine's thinly-veiled barbs.

But it's not Elaine who enters. It's Marta, the housekeeper, her kind eyes crinkling with concern as she takes in my disheveled appearance.

"I've brought you some tea, Miss Cara," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. As she sets the tray down, she presses something into my hand – a folded scrap of paper. "From a friend," she murmurs, before slipping out as quietly as she came.

My heart races as I unfold the note, recognizing Judith's sharp, precise handwriting:

"J is safe. Working on getting you out. Trust Marta. Stay strong."

Relief floods through me, followed quickly by a renewed sense of urgency. June is safe, but for how long? What if Elaine finds him? What if whatever Faulkner did to him is triggered?

Over the next few days, Marta becomes my lifeline. Her gentle presence is a balm to my frayed nerves, and I find myself looking forward to our brief, whispered conversations as she goes about her duties. She smuggles me small comforts – a favorite snack, a book I gave to June.

But for every small victory, Elaine seems determined to grind me down. Her psychological warfare is relentless, a constant barrage of backhanded compliments and veiled threats.

"Oh, darling," she simpers one morning, eyeing my growing belly with a predatory gleam. "You simply must be more careful with your diet. We wouldn't want you to gain too much weight, now would we? It would be such a shame if you couldn't shed those extra pounds after the baby comes."

I force a smile, even as her words twist like a knife in my gut. "Of course, Elaine. You're so thoughtful to be concerned."

She pats my cheek, her touch cold and possessive. "That's what mothers are for, dear. To guide their children. And soon, you'll understand that responsibility yourself."

The implication is clear – she sees my child as hers to mold, to control. The thought makes me physically ill.

As the days wear on, the stress begins to take its toll. I wake one night to sharp, cramping pains that steal my breath away. Panic claws at my throat as I fumble for the bedside lamp, terrified of what I might see.

There's no blood, thank God, but the pain is unlike anything I've felt before. I curl around my belly, whispering frantic prayers to any deity that might be listening.

"Please," I beg, tears streaming down my face. "Please be okay. I can't lose you. I can't."

The pain eventually subsides, but the fear lingers, a constant undercurrent to my every waking moment. At my next prenatal checkup, Dr. Chen's brow furrows as she takes my blood pressure.

"It's higher than I'd like," she says, her tone carefully neutral. "We'll need to monitor this closely. Preeclampsia can be very serious if left unchecked."

I nod, trying to process this new threat through the fog of exhaustion and fear. "What does that mean for the baby?"

Dr. Chen's eyes soften with sympathy. "For now, we'll increase your appointments and run some additional tests. But Cara, I need you to reduce your stress levels as much as possible. The baby's health depends on it."

I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. Reduce my stress? In this house of horrors? But I paste on a brave smile and promise to do my best.

Just when I think things can't get any more complicated, Elaine drops a bombshell over breakfast.

"Oh, I almost forgot to mention," she says, her tone deceptively casual. "Judith called last night. Apparently she's engaged! Can you believe it?"

I nearly choke on my tea, but years of dealing with Elaine have taught me how to school my features. "Really? How wonderful for her."

Elaine's smile is sharp, calculating. "Yes, isn't it? Some billionaire rancher or other. The wedding's set for next month. I do hope June will turn himself in to attend. It would be such a shame if he missed his sister's big day."

The threat is clear – she's still hunting for June, still determined to bring him back under her control. But beneath my carefully neutral expression, my mind races. This has to be part of some plan, a move in the elaborate chess game we're all caught up in.

The house erupts into a frenzy of wedding preparations. Elaine, never one to be outdone, insists on hosting an engagement party for Judith and her mysterious fiancé. I'm swept up in a whirlwind of fittings and menu tastings, all under Elaine's hawk-like supervision.

It's during one of these planning sessions that I overhear a conversation that chills me to my core. I'm on my way back from the bathroom when Elaine's voice, low and venomous, stops me in my tracks.

"I don't care what it takes," she hisses into her phone. "Find June. If he won't come willingly, then make sure he can't interfere. The child is all that matters now. We'll raise it properly, free from his unstable influence."

My blood runs cold, bile rising in my throat. She's talking about hurting June, maybe even killing him. About stealing our child. The world tilts on its axis, and for a moment, I think I might pass out.

But as the initial shock fades, a dangerous idea begins to take root in my mind. What if... what if we could use Elaine's own twisted plan against her?

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