The heavy mahogany desk was the only thing between me and the needle in his hand.
When Ethan lunged, I didn't freeze. The maternal instinct that had driven me down the balcony earlier flared into a violent, feral need to survive. I grabbed the heavy brass paperweight sitting on top of the legal files and hurled it directly at his face.
Ethan dodged instinctively, throwing his hands up. The brass block sailed past his ear and shattered the glass doors of his antique bookshelf with a deafening crash.
The distraction gave me a fraction of a second. I shoved the heavy rolling office chair into his path. As he tripped over the wheels, stumbling forward and catching himself on the desk, I bolted for the office doors.
"Clara!" he roared behind me, his voice shedding all its polished control, breaking into pure, animal rage.
I tore the doors open and sprinted into the dark hallway. My bare feet slapped against the hardwood floor. The adrenaline burned through the last remnants of the sedative in my blood. I wasn't just fighting for my freedom anymore; I was fighting for my life, and for Leo's.
I needed to get upstairs. I needed to get to the nursery.
I hit the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time, my torn blue gown trailing behind me. I could hear Ethan's heavy footsteps pounding against the floor below, closing the distance rapidly. He was stronger than me, faster than me, but he was driven by greed, while I was driven by absolute terror.
I reached the second-floor landing and darted down the east wing toward the nursery.
"Sarah!" Ethan's voice boomed up the stairwell, echoing through the cavernous house. "Stop her!"
I threw open the door to the nursery. The room was softly lit by a star-shaped nightlight. The expensive oak crib sat in the center of the room.
I rushed to the edge and looked down.
It was empty.
"Looking for this?"
I spun around. Sarah stood by the doorway leading to the en-suite bathroom. She was out of her maid's uniform, wearing dark jeans and a black sweater, a heavy duffel bag slung over her shoulder. In her arms, strapped securely into a portable car seat, was Leo. He was sleeping, completely oblivious to the nightmare unfolding around him.
"Give him to me," I demanded, taking a step forward, my hands shaking.
Sarah laughed, a dry, bitter sound. Without the deferential mask of the hired help, her face looked hard, weathered by years of resentment.
"You really don't get it, do you, Princess?" Sarah said, shifting the car seat back, out of my reach. "He's not yours anymore. He’s my ticket. Ethan promised me this life three years ago. Before you and your grandfather’s money got in the way. Now, I get the man, the money, and the kid."
"He doesn't love you," I spat, trying to keep her talking as I desperately scanned the room for a weapon. "He's bankrupt, Sarah. If he'll do this to me, the mother of his child, what do you think he'll do to you when the money runs out?"
"Shut up," she snapped, her eyes narrowing. "You don't know anything about him."
Before I could take another step, Ethan burst into the nursery. He was breathing heavily, his face flushed red, the syringe still gripped tightly in his right hand.
He saw me cornered near the crib and smiled, a predatory grin that made my stomach turn.
"Good," Ethan panted. "Take the baby down to the garage, Sarah. Get the car started. I'll finish up here."
"No!" I screamed, lunging toward Sarah.
Ethan intercepted me. He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back brutally, forcing a sharp cry from my throat. I thrashed wildly, my hands clawing at his arms, my nails digging into his skin, but his grip was iron. He threw me backward, and I crashed against the side of the heavy oak crib, the wood biting into my spine.
I slumped to the floor, gasping for air.
"Go, Sarah. Now," Ethan commanded without taking his eyes off me.
Sarah turned and hurried out of the room, the heavy car seat swinging by her side.
"It's over, Clara," Ethan said softly, stepping closer. He uncapped the syringe with his thumb. The small droplet of clear liquid at the tip caught the dim light of the room. "Don't make this harder than it has to be. Just hold still, and you can go to sleep."
"You're a coward," I hissed, pressing myself back against the bars of the crib.
"I'm a survivor," he replied coldly.
He knelt down, reaching for my arm.
I waited until he was perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet. As his hand shot out to grab my wrist, I didn't pull away. Instead, I drove my knee upward with every ounce of strength I had left in my exhausted body.