Chapter 2 - The Arrangement
By sunrise, three doctors knew what had happened.
So did Lorenzo’s mother.
So did his security chief.
And, somehow, the cook.
That was the problem with mansions full of people who pretended not to gossip.
Nobody officially said anything.
Everybody knew everything.
I sat in a private medical room across from Dr. Naomi Feld, Leo’s pediatrician, while she asked questions I desperately did not want to answer.
How far along had I been?
Thirty-four weeks.
How long since the loss?
Twenty-three days.
Had I been expressing milk?
Only enough to relieve pain.
Any medications?
Ibuprofen. Nothing else.
Fever?
No.
Infection?
No.
Blood work?
Normal.
Dr. Feld was compassionate without being sentimental.
I appreciated that.
“Medically,” she said, “there is no reason your milk would be unsafe.”
I stared at my hands.
“That isn’t the same as saying this is normal.”
“No.”
“Or healthy.”
“For whom?”
I looked up.
She waited.
That question stayed with me.
A lactation consultant arrived before breakfast.
Then a psychologist.
Then a lawyer.
The lawyer was where I almost walked out.
His name was Franklin DeSantis, silver-haired, expensive, and far too comfortable saying the phrase “biological transfer agreement.”
I stood.
“No.”
He blinked.
“I haven’t explained it.”
“You called feeding a baby a biological transfer.”
“I am attempting to create protections for all parties.”
“I am not signing a contract to become livestock.”
The room went silent.
Then someone behind me laughed.
Lorenzo.
He stood in the doorway wearing yesterday’s black trousers and a clean white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
He looked exhausted.
“Mr. DeSantis,” he said, “leave.”
The lawyer looked offended.
“Lorenzo—”
“Now.”
He left.
I looked at Lorenzo.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
Of course.
He entered and closed the door.
“Leo woke at seven.”
My heart reacted before I could stop it.
“Did he take a bottle?”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
“He cried for twenty minutes.”
The guilt hit instantly.
I hated that.
Lorenzo saw it.
“That is not your fault.”
I looked at him.
“Then why are you here?”
“Because when you held him, he ate.”
“That doesn’t mean I become the answer.”
“No.”
His answer surprised me.
He sat across from me.
“I spoke to Feld.”
“And?”
“She says there are ways to do this safely if you agree.”
“If I agree.”
“Yes.”
He said it carefully.
Maybe someone had told him commands were not the same as consent.
Good start.
“What are you asking?”
“A temporary arrangement.”
“I already work here.”
“Not as a nanny.”
“I’m not a nanny.”
“Right.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“For three days, you feed Leo when he refuses the bottle. During those three days, specialists continue working on bottle acceptance.”
“And after?”
“We reassess.”
“What if I say no?”
His eyes held mine.
“My son suffers.”
“That is not an answer.”
His jaw tightened.
He was not used to this.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
He looked toward the window.
“If you say no, I will find another way.”
“Good.”
“I will hate it.”
“Also good.”
His eyes narrowed.
I almost smiled.
Then his expression softened.
“But I will not force you.”
That mattered.
More than I wanted it to.
I agreed to forty-eight hours.
Not three days.
Two.
A lactation consultant would be present initially.
Everything documented.
No one entered the room with a weapon.
That final rule offended half the household.
I did not care.
Lorenzo agreed.
The first feeding that morning happened in daylight.
That made it harder.
At night, desperation had taken over.
In daylight, every emotion had edges.
Leo rooted the moment I held him.
I started crying before he even latched.
The consultant, Rachel, spoke softly.
“Do you want to stop?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Leo fed.
I stared at the wall.
Not at him.
For the first minute, I could not.
Because my body remembered Sofia.
Not her face.
I never saw her alive.
But the weight I imagined.
The warmth I never had.
The future I had lost.
Then Leo’s tiny fingers wrapped around mine.
Something changed.
Not replacement.
Never that.
He was not my daughter.
I did not want him to be.
He was simply a hungry baby.
And I was simply someone whose body could help.
For the first time since losing Sofia, my body did not feel like evidence of failure.
It felt useful.
That frightened me.
Afterward, Lorenzo was waiting outside.
“You don’t have to stand guard.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
He looked down the hall.
“Habit.”
“Bad one.”
“Yes.”
Another surprise.
The baby slept for almost three hours.
Longer than he had slept since coming home.
By evening, everyone in the house was calmer.
That was when Luca Rossi arrived.
Lorenzo’s younger brother.
I knew who he was because the guards stood straighter.
Luca was thirty-four, polished, charming, and smiling in a way that did not reach his eyes.
He entered the nursery while I was sanitizing pump parts.
“So you’re the miracle maid.”
I looked up.
“I’m the housemaid named Elena.”
He smiled wider.
“I meant no offense.”
“Then you’re lucky.”
Lorenzo entered behind him.
“Luca.”
The temperature changed.
Brothers.
But not simple ones.
Luca looked toward Leo.
“I heard he’s eating.”
“Yes.”
“With her.”
“For now.”
Luca’s gaze moved to me.
Then to the milk storage containers on the counter.
Something about the look bothered me.
Too interested.
“Doctors comfortable with this?”
“Yes,” Lorenzo said.
“Mother?”
“Overjoyed.”
“Security?”
I frowned.
“Security?”
Luca shrugged.
“Anything entering the heir’s body is a security issue.”
My stomach tightened.
Lorenzo’s expression went cold.
“She is standing right here.”
“I know.”
“That means speak to her, not about her.”
Luca blinked.
Then smiled.
“My apologies, Elena.”
I did not trust him.
I did not know why yet.
That night, Leo took half a bottle of expressed milk.
Everyone celebrated quietly.
Progress.
Then at 1:14 a.m., a nurse woke me.
Leo was vomiting.
Not normal spit-up.
Violently.
By the time I reached the nursery, he was pale and limp.
The medical team moved fast.
I stood frozen near the wall.
Lorenzo arrived seconds later.
“What happened?”
No one answered immediately.
Dr. Feld checked the storage bottle.
Then the prepared bottle.
Her face changed.
“What?”
Lorenzo demanded.
She held up the bottle.
“This smells wrong.”
I stepped closer.
It did.
Bitter.
Medicinal.
My stomach dropped.
“That was my milk.”
Lorenzo looked at me.
Not accusing.
Terrified.
Dr. Feld sent the bottle for urgent testing.
Two hours later, she returned.
“Someone added diazepam.”
The room became silent.
A sedative.
In a premature infant.
Lorenzo turned toward security.
“Lock the estate.”
I stared at the bottle.
Someone had tried to poison Leo.
Using milk everyone knew came from me.
May you like
And if the baby had died, there was only one person the entire house would have blamed.
Me.
