Sinclair whips his head up, relief etched on his face. "It's fine," he says, his body trembling with residual adrenaline. "He's… he's here… he's still asleep…"

A sob escapes my throat as I press my eyes closed and sink to the floor, still clutching the doorframe, unable to stop the tremors shaking my body. The past minute—the past thirty seconds, even—were some of the most horrific of my life. The mere idea that someone had come for my baby—my brand-new child, whom I love so much, whom I worked so hard to bring into this world—

I'm sobbing freely now, gasping for breath, panic overwhelming me. I lean my head against the wood, pressing my face against it, unable to do anything but cry out in fear, panic, grief, and the relief of what didn't happen.

I barely notice Sinclair crouching beside me, his hand warm on my back. Only Rafe's little mew of unhappiness snaps my head toward him. Sinclair is kneeling, tears streaking his face, holding my baby out to me—Rafe, so small and precious, almost fitting in his father's huge hand.

Desperate, I snatch Rafe, needing the physical comfort of him against me. I cry harder, but am able to breathe deeply as I hold my baby close, pressing him to my chest and running a shaking hand through his hair. He's crying a little now, too, his sleep disturbed.

"You…" I say, my voice trembling. "You shouldn't have woken him up."

Sinclair shakes his head, his lip trembling as he struggles to compose himself. "You needed him more than he needed sleep. We need him."

He lowers himself to the floor, drawing me and the baby onto his lap, wrapping his arms around us. I feel his breath deepening as I stare down at my child, shushing him, helping him back to sleep. It takes a long time, but when he finally does sleep, I take a deep breath and look up at my mate.

"What are we going to do?" I ask, bewildered and desperate.

"What we were always going to do," Sinclair answers, his voice steely. "Protect our family." He meets my eyes, his green gaze burning with ferocity. "No one will touch our son, Ella," he promises. "I'll die before I let anyone touch him."

Slowly, I nod, believing every word.

Then, with renewed resolve, I lift myself off Sinclair's lap, standing on shaky legs.

"Where's the note?" I ask, surprised by the steadiness of my voice.

"Here," Sinclair says, unfolding his fist, which I imagine he's been clenching since he first read the note.

"Do we," I say, sniffing and looking around the room, "do we have enough security for this?"

"No," Sinclair growls, standing and striding to his phone on the bedside table. "I'll fix that now. Until then, Ella," he says seriously, "none of us leaves this room. Not once. We stay within each other's sight until security arrives. Understood?"

I nod, feeling reassured by the alpha command in his voice. I return to Rafe's bassinet, moving slowly and deliberately. I carefully lay my baby down, exhale deeply, and smooth my dress.

Whoever this person is—they scared me, I'll admit it. But as I stare at my child and hear my mate issuing commands into his phone, I reassure myself that whoever this is, they've targeted the wrong people.

My child is the most precious thing in the world.

My mate is the most powerful alpha in the world, perhaps ever born.

And me? Well, let's just say they'd better be prepared for the wrath of a goddess if they try to take what's mine. And this baby is mine.

Fifteen minutes later, the house swarms with guards.

I don't speak to them, letting Sinclair handle it. I sit in the armchair beside Rafe's bassinet, keeping it close, allowing no one near us. My wolf's hackles are raised, her teeth bared, suspicious of everyone who enters.

That one, she says, it's him—I know it! Didn't you see his shifty eyes?

I shush her, clenching my teeth, reminding myself that Sinclair has thoroughly vetted our security team—that he wouldn't let anyone into the house unless their loyalty had been secured years ago.

Still—my wolf growls—someone got close enough to leave a note on our doorstep. How good was his security, really? And even if it's good, what are the weaknesses?

I nod, my wolf's anxiety feeding my own. Was it someone we knew, someone who was at the party? A friend? Someone we hold dear?

My mind races in every dark and twisted direction. Though my wolf urges me to hunt them down, to lock the doors, I wait patiently for my mate to return. My trust is in him—he will protect us. This I know, in my bones.

Soon, Sinclair strides back into the room. "Ella," he says softly, scanning me and then Rafe, still asleep. "Are you all right? Is he?"

"We're fine," I say simply, letting him know that though I'm far from fine, we're stable enough not to need his immediate concern. Sinclair sees this in my face and nods sharply. "Well?" I ask, the joy of the day buried deep. Only grim determination remains. "What did you find out?"

"An old lead," Sinclair says, sighing and crouching beside me. "An investigation we started months ago—one that got lost in the war."

I cock my head. "Ella," he says, taking my hand, "do you remember? Early in your pregnancy, the investigation I started into who switched the sperm samples?"

I blink, my mind instantly transported back to what feels like a lifetime ago. "We weren't even mated then. We weren't even… together. I was your… accidental surrogate…"

He nods, looking down, clearly frustrated. "My team discovered someone powerful was behind the switch—not Cora, not you, obviously. Someone wanted you pregnant with this child. With Rafe."

I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth. I can't believe we let this slip.

"It's my fault," Sinclair says, grief, sorrow, and self-reproach in his voice as he looks at me and takes my hand. "I… I let it drop. I got distracted. And now… whoever switched them…"

"They're coming to collect…" I breathe, clenching his fingers.

Someone—someone who knew my lineage, who knew me better than I knew myself—wanted me pregnant with this child, with Dominic Sinclair's child. And now that he's born? They want him.