20. Cara

Chapter twenty

Cara

T he frozen tundra Elaine calls home suffocates me with each passing second. I trace lazy circles over my swollen belly, the only real comfort in this sterile mausoleum of wealth and secrets. "We'll see Daddy soon, little one," I whisper, though the words feel hollow even to my own ears. "We just need to be patient."

But patience is wearing thin. It's been two weeks since the court's verdict forced me into Elaine's "care," fourteen endless days of sleepless nights and anxiety-ridden mornings. Knowing June is out there, free but unable to reach me, is a special kind of torture.

Every corner of this house feels like it's watching me. Cameras blink silently from discreet corners, and I swear I can hear the soft tread of security guards patrolling the halls at night. My world has shrunk to a handful of approved rooms, each one as soulless and oppressive as the last.

A soft knock at the door jolts me from my spiraling thoughts. "Come in," I call, steeling myself for another round of Elaine's thinly-veiled barbs.

But it's not Elaine who enters. It's Marta, the housekeeper, her kind eyes crinkling with concern as she takes in my disheveled appearance.

"I've brought you some tea, Miss Cara," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. As she sets the tray down, she presses something into my hand – a folded scrap of paper. "From a friend," she murmurs, before slipping out as quietly as she came.

My heart races as I unfold the note, recognizing Judith's sharp, precise handwriting:

"J is safe. Working on getting you out. Trust Marta. Stay strong."

Relief floods through me, followed quickly by a renewed sense of urgency. June is safe, but for how long? What if Elaine finds him? What if whatever Faulkner did to him is triggered?

Over the next few days, Marta becomes my lifeline. Her gentle presence is a balm to my frayed nerves, and I find myself looking forward to our brief, whispered conversations as she goes about her duties. She smuggles me small comforts – a favorite snack, a book I gave to June.

But for every small victory, Elaine seems determined to grind me down. Her psychological warfare is relentless, a constant barrage of backhanded compliments and veiled threats.

"Oh, darling," she simpers one morning, eyeing my growing belly with a predatory gleam. "You simply must be more careful with your diet. We wouldn't want you to gain too much weight, now would we? It would be such a shame if you couldn't shed those extra pounds after the baby comes."

I force a smile, even as her words twist like a knife in my gut. "Of course, Elaine. You're so thoughtful to be concerned."

She pats my cheek, her touch cold and possessive. "That's what mothers are for, dear. To guide their children. And soon, you'll understand that responsibility yourself."

The implication is clear – she sees my child as hers to mold, to control. The thought makes me physically ill.

As the days wear on, the stress begins to take its toll. I wake one night to sharp, cramping pains that steal my breath away. Panic claws at my throat as I fumble for the bedside lamp, terrified of what I might see.

There's no blood, thank God, but the pain is unlike anything I've felt before. I curl around my belly, whispering frantic prayers to any deity that might be listening.

"Please," I beg, tears streaming down my face. "Please be okay. I can't lose you. I can't."

The pain eventually subsides, but the fear lingers, a constant undercurrent to my every waking moment. At my next prenatal checkup, Dr. Chen's brow furrows as she takes my blood pressure.

"It's higher than I'd like," she says, her tone carefully neutral. "We'll need to monitor this closely. Preeclampsia can be very serious if left unchecked."

I nod, trying to process this new threat through the fog of exhaustion and fear. "What does that mean for the baby?"

Dr. Chen's eyes soften with sympathy. "For now, we'll increase your appointments and run some additional tests. But Cara, I need you to reduce your stress levels as much as possible. The baby's health depends on it."

I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. Reduce my stress? In this house of horrors? But I paste on a brave smile and promise to do my best.

Just when I think things can't get any more complicated, Elaine drops a bombshell over breakfast.

"Oh, I almost forgot to mention," she says, her tone deceptively casual. "Judith called last night. Apparently she's engaged! Can you believe it?"

I nearly choke on my tea, but years of dealing with Elaine have taught me how to school my features. "Really? How wonderful for her."

Elaine's smile is sharp, calculating. "Yes, isn't it? Some billionaire rancher or other. The wedding's set for next month. I do hope June will turn himself in to attend. It would be such a shame if he missed his sister's big day."

The threat is clear – she's still hunting for June, still determined to bring him back under her control. But beneath my carefully neutral expression, my mind races. This has to be part of some plan, a move in the elaborate chess game we're all caught up in.

The house erupts into a frenzy of wedding preparations. Elaine, never one to be outdone, insists on hosting an engagement party for Judith and her mysterious fiancé. I'm swept up in a whirlwind of fittings and menu tastings, all under Elaine's hawk-like supervision.

It's during one of these planning sessions that I overhear a conversation that chills me to my core. I'm on my way back from the bathroom when Elaine's voice, low and venomous, stops me in my tracks.

"I don't care what it takes," she hisses into her phone. "Find June. If he won't come willingly, then make sure he can't interfere. The child is all that matters now. We'll raise it properly, free from his unstable influence."

My blood runs cold, bile rising in my throat. She's talking about hurting June, maybe even killing him. About stealing our child. The world tilts on its axis, and for a moment, I think I might pass out.

But as the initial shock fades, a dangerous idea begins to take root in my mind. What if... what if we could use Elaine's own twisted plan against her?

It's risky. Insane, even. But as I feel another painful twinge in my belly, as I think of my child growing up under Elaine's poisonous influence, I know I have to try.

The moment shatters as Elaine's voice, saccharine-sweet and dripping with venom, carries up the stairs. "Cara, darling! Where are you hiding?"

I smooth my features into a mask of bland compliance. "In here, Elaine."

She sweeps into the room, a vision in Chanel and pearls. Her smile is sharp enough to draw blood. "There you are! I thought we might have a little chat. Woman to woman."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Elaine perches on the edge of the bed, her perfectly manicured hand coming to rest on my knee. It takes every ounce of self-control not to flinch away.

"I know this transition has been... difficult for you," she begins, her voice a study in false sympathy. "But I want you to know that I only have your best interests at heart. And the baby's, of course."

"Of course," I echo, the words tasting like shit on my tongue.

Elaine's grip on my knee tightens, her nails digging in ever so slightly. "I'm so glad you understand. Now, I have some wonderful news! Dr. Whitaker has agreed to oversee your prenatal care personally. Isn't that marvelous?"

The room spins, nausea rising in my throat. Dr. Whitaker - the name means nothing to me, but the gleam in Elaine's eyes tells me everything I need to know. This isn't about my health or the baby's. This is about control.

"That's... that's not necessary," I stammer, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I'm already seeing Dr. Chen, and she's been wonderful-"

"Oh, but I insist," Elaine cuts me off, her tone brooking no argument. "Dr. Whitaker is the best in his field. You and the baby deserve nothing but the best care, don't you agree?"

It's not a question. It's a threat, thinly veiled but unmistakable.

I nod, hating myself for the weakness. "When... when is the appointment?"

Elaine's smile widens, triumphant. "This afternoon, actually. I took the liberty of clearing your schedule."

As she sashays out of the room, I curl in on myself, one hand protectively cradling my belly. The baby kicks, as if sensing my distress.

"It's okay," I whisper, though I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince – the baby or myself. "We're going to be okay."

But as the hours tick by, bringing me closer to my appointment with this unknown doctor, I can't shake the feeling that we're anything but okay.

The ride to Dr. Whitaker's office is interminable, each mile stretching into an eternity of dread. Elaine chatters incessantly beside me, her voice a grating counterpoint to the sleek purr of the Mercedes' engine.

"You'll love Dr. Whitaker," she gushes, as if we're discussing a new salon rather than the man who holds my baby's fate in his hands. "He has such a way with... special cases."

I bite my tongue, tasting copper. Special cases. Is that what I am now? What June was?

The clinic is all gleaming chrome and sterile white, a monument to modern medicine that does nothing to quell the unease roiling in my gut. As we're led to a private examination room, I can't shake the feeling that I'm walking into a trap.

Dr. Whitaker is nothing like I expected. He's young, almost unsettlingly so, with a boyish face and a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. There's something cold and calculating in his gaze that sends a shiver down my spine.

"Mrs. Deveaux, always a pleasure," he says, his voice smooth as silk. "And you must be Cara. I've heard so much about you."

I force a smile, hating the way my hand trembles as I shake his. "It's nice to meet you, Dr. Whitaker."

He gestures for me to sit on the examination table, his movements precise and controlled. "Let's see how this little one is doing, shall we?"

As he begins the ultrasound, I can't help but marvel at the image on the screen. Our baby, perfect and beautiful, their tiny heart fluttering like a hummingbird's wings.

"Excellent," Whitaker murmurs, his tone clinical and detached. "Good size, strong heartbeat. But given the... family history, we'll want to run some additional tests."

My blood runs cold. "What kind of tests?"

He smiles, all false reassurance and oily charm. "Nothing to worry about, just some genetic screenings. And perhaps we should discuss some preventative measures. A mild course of mood stabilizers, nothing too invasive."

Panic claws at my throat. "No," I say, sitting up abruptly. "No, I don't want any medication. The baby is healthy, you said so yourself."

Elaine's hand closes around my wrist, her grip like iron. "Now, now, Cara. Let's listen to the doctor, shall we? He only wants what's best for the baby."

I look between them, seeing the trap closing in around me. This was never about my health, or the baby's. This is about control. About creating another Deveaux puppet to manipulate.

"I said no," I repeat, wrenching my arm from Elaine's grasp. "I won't let you drug me or my child."

Whitaker's professional mask slips for just a moment, revealing something cold and reptilian beneath. "I'm afraid you don't have much choice in the matter, Cara. The court has given us full authority over your medical decisions."

The room tilts, bile rising in my throat. This can't be happening. This can't be real.

But it is. Oh God, it is.

I stumble from the examination table, my legs shaking beneath me. "I need some air," I gasp, already moving towards the door.

Elaine calls after me, her voice sharp with irritation, but I don't stop. I can't stop. I have to get out of here, have to find a way to protect my baby from these monsters.

I burst out of the clinic, gulping in great lungfuls of the crisp autumn air. My mind races, desperately seeking a solution, an escape route, anything.

And then I see her. Marta, standing by Elaine's car, a look of concern etched on her weathered face.

"Miss Cara?" she calls, taking a hesitant step towards me. "Are you alright?"

In that moment, I make a decision. A reckless, potentially disastrous decision, but the only one I can see.

"Marta," I say, my voice low and urgent. "I need your help. Please. They want to drug the baby, to control it like they did June. I can't let that happen."

Her eyes widen, a flicker of something – recognition? understanding? – passing across her face. She glances over my shoulder, no doubt checking for Elaine, before giving a sharp nod.

"What do you need?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"A phone," I say, the plan forming even as I speak. "And a message delivered to Judith. Tell her... tell her it's time. We need to get out. Whatever it takes."

Marta nods again, her expression grim but determined. "I'll make it happen. But Miss Cara, you need to be careful. They're watching you, always."

I squeeze her hand, gratitude and fear warring in my chest. "I know. But I don't have a choice anymore. They'll destroy my baby if I let them."

As Elaine's voice rings out behind me, sharp with annoyance, I straighten my spine and school my features into a mask of calm. The game has changed. The stakes are higher than ever.

But I'm ready. Ready to fight, ready to burn it all down if that's what it takes to save my family.

The next few days are a delicate dance of deception. I play the part of the dutiful daughter-in-law, all meek compliance and grateful smiles. But beneath the surface, I'm a hurricane of determination and barely-contained rage.

Marta becomes my lifeline, our whispered conversations in shadowy corners the only thing keeping me sane. She smuggles me a burner phone, hidden in the folds of freshly laundered towels. The weight of it in my palm is both terrifying and exhilarating.

Late at night, when the house is silent save for the tick of that infernal grandfather clock, I reach out to Judith. Our conversations are brief, coded, but they ignite a spark of hope in my chest.

"We're close," she tells me one night, her voice crackling with static. "But we need something big, something that will force Elaine's hand."

I bite my lip, an idea taking root in the darkest corners of my mind.

The silence on the other end of the line is deafening. When Judith finally speaks, her voice is tight with a mixture of fear and grudging admiration. "Jesus, Cara. You don't do anything by halves, do you?"

"Will it work?" I press, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure Elaine can hear it from her room down the hall.

Judith sighs, a heavy, weary sound. "It might. But it's risky as hell. If we get caught..."

"We won't," I say, with more confidence than I feel. "I'll make sure of it."

As I end the call, slipping the phone back into its hiding place, I feel a shift within me. The old Cara – sweet, trusting, naive – is gone. In her place is someone harder, someone willing to do whatever it takes to protect what's hers.

The courtroom feels suffocating, the weight of expectation and judgment pressing down on me from all sides. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, the once well-fitted dress now straining against my heavily pregnant belly. I've lost weight, the stress and fear of the past weeks carving hollow shadows beneath my cheekbones.

Judge Harrington's gaze is sharp, assessing, as she takes in my appearance. "Mrs. Deveaux," she begins, her tone clipped. "I must say, I'm concerned by what I see. When I placed you in your mother-in-law's care, I expected an improvement in your condition. This is... disheartening."

I open my mouth to respond, to explain the living nightmare of Elaine's "care," but Dante beats me to it. "With all due respect, Your Honor," he says, rising smoothly to his feet. "The deterioration in Cara's health is through no fault of her own. The environment she's been subjected to is hardly conducive to a healthy pregnancy."

Judge Harrington's brow furrows. "And what environment would that be, Mr. Corleone?"

Dante spreads his hands, a picture of calm reason. "One of constant surveillance, isolation, and psychological manipulation. My wife and I have been deeply concerned for Cara's well-being."

Elaine scoffs, her perfectly painted lips twisting into a sneer. "Unfounded accusations," she dismisses. "I've provided nothing but the best care for Cara and the baby."

But Dante is undeterred. "With all due respect, Mrs. Deveaux, your definition of 'care' seems to differ greatly from mine. In my experience, care is about more than material provision. It's about emotional support, respect for autonomy. It's about creating an environment where a person can thrive."

He turns back to the judge, his expression earnest. "Your Honor, I'm a man who supports the arts. It's how I met my wife, who has dedicated her life to charity and education. We believe in nurturing potential, in protecting the vulnerable. And right now, I see a vulnerable young woman who needs our protection."

Judge Harrington shifts in her seat, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Dante's lips quirk, just slightly. "In fact, if I recall correctly, I supported your appointment to the bench. Played a small part in the vote. I trusted in your judgment then, your ability to see beyond surface appearances to the heart of a matter. I hope that trust was not misplaced."

A heavy silence falls over the courtroom. I hardly dare to breathe, my heart pounding against my ribs like a caged bird. This is it. The moment of truth.

Finally, Judge Harrington clears her throat. "In light of these... concerns, I am reversing my earlier decision. Mrs. Deveaux, while I commend your commitment to your grandchild's well-being, I cannot in good conscience allow this arrangement to continue."

Elaine's face turns an alarming shade of purple, but the judge silences her with a look. "Ms. Briers will return to her own home, effective immediately. And I will be ordering a full investigation into the claims made here today."

Relief crashes over me, so intense it leaves me light-headed. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back. Not here. Not now.

As the gavel falls, as the courtroom erupts into a buzz of activity, Dante leans close. "It's not over yet," he murmurs. "We need to stay on guard. But this... this is a victory, Cara. One step closer to getting you and June back where you belong."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak past the lump in my throat. One step closer. But how many more to go?

The next few days pass in a blur of settling back into my old life, of relearning how to breathe without the constant weight of Elaine's presence. It's not easy. I jump at every shadow, every unexpected sound, half-expecting her to materialize and drag me back to that gilded prison.

But slowly, surely, I begin to find my footing again.

"You're doing great," Natalie assures me, her hand gentle on my belly. "Baby's heartbeat is strong, growth is right on track. I know it's been hell, but you're coming out the other side."

I manage a wobbly smile. "And June? Any update?"

Natalie's expression softens. "Judith's wedding is the key. He's told her he won't miss it for anything. That's our window."

I take a deep breath, the flutters in my stomach a strange mix of nerves and anticipation. The wedding. The day I've been simultaneously dreading and longing for.

The plan is both simple and daring. Judith and her "fiancé," a friend of Dante's who's agreed to play the part, will exchange vows in front of a carefully curated guest list – Elaine and her circle in the front row. Meanwhile, June will slip in through the back, disguised as part of the catering staff.

"The hard part will be keeping him away from you," Natalie says wryly. "Once he lays eyes on you... I'm not sure even Dante could hold him back."

A thrill runs through me at the thought of seeing June again, of feeling his arms around me. But it's tempered by fear. What if the plan goes wrong? What if Elaine figures it out?

No. I can't think like that. We've come too far to let doubt creep in now.

As the day of the wedding dawns, I'm a bundle of nerves. The dress Judith picked for me, a flowing empire-waist gown in soft lavender, does little to disguise my condition. But for once, I don't care. Let them stare. Let them whisper. I've never been prouder of the life growing inside me.

The ceremony is a blur of music and murmured vows, my eyes constantly straying to the back of the room. But there's no sign of June. No familiar shock of dark hair, no piercing eyes meeting mine across the crowd.

As the officiant pronounces Judith and her "husband" wed, as the room erupts in polite applause, I feel my heart sinking. Something's wrong. He should be here by now.

And then I see it. A flicker of movement in the shadows, a silhouette that makes my pulse leap.

June.

Our eyes lock, and for a moment, the rest of the world falls away. There's only him, only the love and longing and desperate hope passing between us in that single, charged glance.

But the moment shatters as a hand closes around my arm. I turn, expecting Natalie or Dante.

It's Elaine.

"Don't make a scene, dear," she hisses, her smile sharp and brittle. "We wouldn't want to ruin Judith's big day, now would we?"

Fear turns my blood to ice. She knows. Of course she knows. She's been one step ahead this whole time.

I look back to the shadows, desperate for a glimpse of June. But he's gone, melted away like a ghost.

Elaine's grip tightens, her nails digging into my skin. "Come along, Cara. I think it's time we had a little chat. Just us girls."

As she steers me through the crowd, her smile never faltering, I feel a new emotion rising beneath the fear.

Anger. White-hot, righteous fury.

I've spent too long being afraid, being powerless. No more.