The Billionaire Hired Me as a Nanny to Save His Sick Heirs, But My Unborn Baby Whispered the Brutal Secret That Shook His Dynasty

Night fell over the Foster estate like a thick black shroud, bringing with it a violent coastal storm that rattled the floor-to-ceiling casement windows. Ava sat in the dim light of the nursery, rocking little Chloe to sleep while the automated monitors hummed peacefully beside the other four cribs. The babies had flourished over the past forty-eight hours under her strict care, free from the irritating chemicals and toxic teas that had plagued their first days of life.

Ava checked her watch: 2:15 AM.

Her body ached with exhaustion, but sleep refused to come. Her mind kept spinning back to Beatrice’s threat. If Beatrice had already run background checks on her, how long until she uncovered the missing hours Ava had spent at the Skyline Grand? How long until Adrian realized that the woman caring for his sister’s children was carrying his own flesh and blood?

Adrian was supposed to be infertile. The entire medical community knew of the tragic snowmobile accident a decade ago that had resulted in severe pelvic trauma and presumed sterility. Yet the night at the Skyline Grand had been passionate, reckless, and raw with raw emotional desperation. Ava had felt an inexplicable, magnetic bond the moment his arms had encircled her in that darkened luxury suite.

Mommy, someone is walking outside our door, the baby whispered suddenly, sharp and urgent.

Ava’s muscles seized. She carefully laid Chloe back into her crib, pulling the soft blanket up to her chin, and tiptoed toward the nursery entrance. Through the narrow frosted glass panel, she saw the silhouette of a tall figure moving slowly down the gallery corridor toward Adrian’s private wing.

It wasn't Beatrice. It was a man, dressed in dark clothing, moving with careful, practiced silence.

Ava slipped out of the nursery, keeping her back pressed against the wood-paneled walls. The floorboards were heavy oak, designed not to creak, allowing her to follow the shadow down toward the private library. The double mahogany doors stood slightly ajar, a sliver of yellow desk light cutting across the Persian rug.

Ava peeked through the crack.

The man was standing by the antique wall safe hidden behind an oil painting of the Foster patriarch. He was wearing leather gloves, swiftly rifling through stacks of financial ledgers and blue medical folders. When he turned slightly into the light, Ava gasped silently, clapping a hand over her mouth.

It was Victor Dane.

The ruthless loan shark her uncle had tried to sell her to was standing in Adrian Foster’s private study, three hundred miles from his usual Queens territory.

He is taking the paper with the red stamp, her unborn child whispered into her mind, guiding her vision. The paper that says Sophia’s babies do not belong to the Moore bloodline.

Ava’s breath hitched. Before she could process the revelation, a heavy floorboard groaned behind her. A warm, iron-hard hand wrapped around her wrist, spinning her around and pulling her into an alcove concealed by velvet drapes.

Ava opened her mouth to scream, but another hand gently covered her lips.

“Quiet,” a deep baritone rumbled directly against her ear.

Adrian.

He was wearing an open-collared black shirt, his chest pressed flush against her back. The heat radiating from his broad frame was overwhelming, sending goosebumps rippling across Ava’s skin. In the cramped, dark alcove, their breathing synchronized. Adrian didn't let go of her wrist. Instead, his thumb brushed softly over the rapid flutter of her pulse point, exactly as he had done two months ago in the darkness of the hotel suite.

“What are you doing out of the nursery?” he murmured, his breath brushing the curve of her neck.

“There’s a man... at your safe,” Ava whispered back against his fingers, trembling from the sensory overload.

Adrian’s jaw set into stone. He peered through the edge of the velvet drape, but the study was already empty. The secret door behind the bookcase stood open, leading down toward the estate’s wine cellars and service tunnels.

Adrian turned Ava around to face him in the shadow of the alcove. His gray eyes burned into hers with an intensity that made her knees feel weak. “How did you know someone was in there, Ava?”

“I... I heard footsteps,” she stammered, crossing her arms defensively over her stomach.

Adrian looked down at her hands, his eyes lingering on the protective way she cradled her belly. “You hear things no one else does. You see things no one else sees. Who sent you here, Ava? Who are you really running from?”