Ellen’s POV

I stared at the taxi as Kamille sped away. Disgust churned in my gut. I hadn't expected to see her, but I was glad I had. It would further destabilize her. I felt Zeke's eyes on me, burning with anger and frustration.

"Get lost," Zeke spat, his voice venomous.

I didn't flinch. Instead, I offered a cold, calculated smile. "I was about to leave anyway."

Turning, I walked to my car, my heart pounding with a mix of rage and satisfaction. My driver started the engine as I settled into the back seat, and we drove away from Zeke's mansion.

As we approached the gates, I noticed men in black, masked, crowding the entrance. "What the hell are they doing?" I muttered.

Kamille's taxi remained at the gate. I realized Zeke had ordered the gates closed, but they opened for me as my car approached.

I rolled down my window as we passed Kamille, giving her a sly smile. I watched the gates close behind us in the rearview mirror, smiling triumphantly before turning to my driver.

"Take me to the Manor family mansion," I instructed, my voice steady.

We arrived at the Manor mansion. After entering, I thought about our progress. With the large investment, we were one step ahead of Kamille.

I found my parents watching the news of the accident. My father's expression was unreadable, but my mother's eyes held pity and regret.

"Hello, Father. Hello, Mother," I greeted, accepting my mother's pat on the back.

"Ellen," my father greeted, signaling a housekeeper to return my mother to her room. "Welcome home."

"Thank you, Father," I replied, smiling brightly.

"Good. I have something to tell you," he said, his tone serious.

"Okay, Father," I replied. He stood and walked toward his study.

I followed him into the familiar grandeur of the mansion. Our footsteps echoed in the halls until we reached his study. He closed the door and turned to me.

"We need to send Kamille another message," he said firmly.

I nodded. "I know, Father, but we need to act quickly. She just saw me at Zeke's mansion."

My father's eyes gleamed with approval. "Even better. We need to break her resolve, make her see she has no power here."

My mind drifted to the children. The last I'd seen, they were being taken away in an ambulance, unconscious.

"Father," I said, breaking the silence. "What happened to the children after the ambulance?"

He leaned back, his expression emotionless. "They're still unconscious. We've moved them here, to the mansion."

A shiver ran down my spine. "So, they're here? Are we not at risk of exposure?" I asked, already anxious.

"It seems like we are, and that's what will protect us," he replied.

Why couldn't he just answer directly?

"How is that possible?" I asked irritably.

"Because no one would expect them to be here. After the ambulance, we took them to an abandoned warehouse, but it seemed someone was following us," he paused, looking at me.

"So bringing them here was the best option?" I asked. He nodded.

"Yes. There's a secret bunker under this mansion, known only to us. Even Kamille doesn't know about it. Your Grandma Monica built it," Father said.

At least one thing she did that helps us, I thought.

"We can send the message now," I said.

He nodded, picked up a phone. The only numbers saved were Kamille's and the kidnappers'. He typed:

Everything or your kids. Make a choice. Time is running out. If you choose your kids, meet me by ten pm. I’ll send you the location when you’re ready.

He sent the message, smiled mischievously, leaned back, and lit a cigarette.

"Father, can I see the kids?" I asked. (I actually wanted to see the bunker.)

"Yes, let's go," he said, extinguishing his cigarette and leaving the study.

I followed. We reached Grandma Monica's study. He opened the door. Behind a small wine rack was a switch. He pressed it three times, and a portrait of us with Grandma Monica opened, revealing an elevator.

"What the fuck?" I was surprised by the elaborate concealment.

"Your Grandma Monica was one of a kind. Once she loved, she loved," Father replied, a flicker of hurt in his eyes.

If she built the bunker because of them, then why did she shower so much attention on one person? She was so unfair, I thought.

We entered the elevator and descended. After a few minutes, it opened to reveal a beautifully appointed space. The walls were white, brightly lit—brighter than the main mansion.

We passed rooms with nameplates: a kitchen, living room, prayer room, Grandma Monica's room, Aunt Fiona's room, and my father's room.

"What about Mother's room?" I asked, noticing the next room belonged to Liz.

"It was built for her children and grandchildren. Couples stayed together," Father replied.

I understood her intent: a safe space for her family. She couldn't be selfish with her love, even at the end.

We reached the last, largest room: a clinic. Inside, lay the four children, pale and still, connected to medical equipment. The only sound was the steady beeping of monitors.

A pang of guilt twisted in my chest, but I pushed it away. "They're just pawns," I reminded myself. "Necessary sacrifices for the greater good."

"Yeah, they are," Father agreed.

We closed the door quietly and left. Father went to his room; I decided to explore mine. It was beautiful, filled with pictures from my life—a poignant reminder of happier times. The emotions were overwhelming.

I hurried back to my room in the main house, trying to shake off the unease. My phone buzzed—a message from Becky: "How are you feeling after the procedure? Remember to take it easy."

I replied, thanking her and assuring her I was fine. The insemination was another piece of the puzzle. I had to stay focused. I had a feeling this IVF attempt would work.