Chapter 8
The third floor of the Sterling estate was eerily quiet, insulated from the loud, colorful party occurring on the lawns below. The bright, natural sunlight streamed through the tall hallway windows, casting a pristine, cinematic glow over the expensive Persian runners and dark mahogany doors. Naomi crept down the corridor, the heavy handgun gripped tightly in her trembling hand. Her light-skinned African American complexion was pale with tension, the dark bruise on her cheek standing out in stark contrast.
As she neared the double doors at the end of the hall—the entrance to Brandon’s private suite—a nearby door suddenly clicked open.
Naomi pressed her back flat against the wall, holding her breath, the pain in her abdomen searing like a hot knife.
Vanessa Sterling stepped out of a guest bedroom. The thirty-four-year-old woman was dressed immaculately for the garden gala, wearing a stunning, brightly colored designer dress, heavy diamond jewelry, and sharp heels. Her fair, rosy skin glowed under the lights as she paused to check her reflection in a hallway mirror, completely unaware of the predator stalking her.
Naomi did not hesitate. She stepped out from the shadows, crossed the short distance in three rapid strides, and grabbed Vanessa violently by the back of her expensive dress.
Before Vanessa could even scream, Naomi slammed her hard against the hallway wall, pressing the cold steel barrel of the handgun directly upward under Vanessa’s jaw.
"Not a sound," Naomi whispered, her voice a terrifying, raspy hiss that promised absolute violence. "Scream, and I will paint this beautiful wallpaper with your brains."
Vanessa gasped, her eyes widening in pure, unadulterated terror. The arrogant, icy demeanor she had displayed in the hospital room evaporated instantly. Her fair, rosy cheeks drained of all color. She looked into Naomi's large, expressive dark brown eyes and saw the raw, merciless fury of a mother who had nothing left to lose.
"Naomi... please," Vanessa choked out, her American accent trembling uncontrollably. "You don't want to do this. There are guards everywhere."
"Where is my son?" Naomi demanded, pressing the gun harder against the soft flesh of Vanessa's neck.
"He's... he's in the nursery! At the end of the hall!" Vanessa stammered, tears of pure panic welling in her eyes. "Patricia is with him. She's getting him dressed for the presentation."
"The presentation?" Naomi growled, her naturally full lips pulled back in a snarl.
"Walter is announcing him to the donors today," Vanessa wept, terrified by the cold, cinematic danger radiating from the beautiful woman. "He's officially introducing him as the new Sterling heir! Please, Naomi, just let me go!"
Naomi’s grip tightened. The sheer audacity of the Sterling family—stealing her newborn son and parading him around like a prized trophy within twenty-four hours—ignited a blinding rage within her soul.
"If you warn them, I will find you," Naomi promised, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
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With a swift, calculated motion, Naomi brought the heavy grip of the handgun down hard against the side of Vanessa's head. The wealthy woman slumped forward, unconscious, collapsing gracefully onto the thick carpet.
Naomi stepped over the fallen woman, her lovely oval face set like stone. She turned her attention to the heavy double doors at the end of the corridor. The bright, luminous light seemed to funnel directly toward the nursery. Elijah was on the other side of those doors. She raised her weapon, ready to tear through anyone who stood in her way.
