Healer's Revenge at Warren's Wedding

I lay in the hospital bed, my body still trembling from childbirth. The sheets beneath me were stained with blood—my blood—and the sterile smell of antiseptic couldn't mask the metallic scent. My arms ached to hold my baby, but they'd taken him. Sterling had taken him.

The door swung open, and Sterling strode in, his tailored suit immaculate as always. In his hands, he held a small orange bottle—the last of my mother's suppressant medication.

"Harper," he said, his voice eerily calm. "You won't be needing this anymore."

I struggled to sit up, panic rising in my chest. "Sterling, please. That's the last of what my mother made for me. It's irreplaceable."

He unscrewed the cap, the sound of plastic twisting open like a death knell in the quiet room. "Your usefulness has been fulfilled," he said, studying the amber liquid inside. "The baby is born. The placenta has served its purpose. You don't need these... distractions."

"This is my mother's work," I whispered, tears burning behind my eyes. "Her last gift to me before..."

"Before we took her," he finished for me, his smile cold. "Yes, I know. And now that gift is no longer necessary."

He moved toward the small bathroom adjoining my hospital room. I tried to stand, to stop him, but my body betrayed me. Weakness from the birth kept me anchored to the bed.

"Sterling!" I screamed as he disappeared into the bathroom. "Don't do this!"

I heard the toilet flush, followed by the sound of running water. When he returned, the bottle was empty.

"There," he said, dropping the empty container onto my tray table. "Clean slate."

I stared at the bottle, my mother's careful handwriting on the label now meaningless. The last physical connection to her, gone. The medication that had helped me control my healer abilities when they threatened to overwhelm me—flushed away like it meant nothing.

"You're a monster," I whispered.

His expression didn't change. "I'm a Warren."

Before I could respond, he left the room, returning minutes later with a large cage. Inside, vibrant green feathers fluttered frantically.

"Cosmo," I breathed, relief washing over me at the sight of my parrot. "You brought him."

"Did you think I wouldn't notice your attachment?" Sterling set the cage on the windowsill. "Pets are distractions from duty, Harper. You need to understand that everything you love can be taken away."

Cosmo squawked, sensing my distress. "Mama's sad," he called, his small voice breaking my heart. "Mama's sad!"

"It's okay, Cosmo," I lied, reaching toward the cage. "I'm here."

Sterling moved between us, blocking my view. "This is a lesson you need to learn."

From his pocket, he withdrew a small lighter. The click of it igniting echoed in the room like a gunshot.

"No," I gasped. "Sterling, please—he's innocent!"

"He's a distraction," Sterling replied, sliding open the cage door.

Cosmo hopped forward curiously, and Sterling reached in with the flickering flame. The feathers caught instantly.

Fire erupted in the cage. Cosmo's screams pierced the air—high, terrified sounds that tore into my soul.

"Stop!" I sobbed, trying to reach the cage. "Sterling, stop this!"

But he held me back with one arm, forcing me to watch as my beloved companion flapped desperately against the flames. The smell of burnt feathers filled the room.

"Everything you love can be taken away," he repeated, his voice distant through my screams.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The world narrowed to Cosmo's dying struggles and Sterling's cold eyes watching me break.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

When I woke, three days had passed. The hospital discharge papers lay on my tray table. Sterling hadn't visited again.

"Where's my baby?" I demanded of the nurse who came to check my vitals.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, avoiding my eyes. "I can't discuss that."

Alone in a taxi back to the Warren estate, I pressed my forehead against the cool window glass. My body still ached from birth, but the pain was nothing compared to the hollow emptiness inside me.

The driver pulled up to the mansion. I paid him mechanically and walked inside, calling out for Sterling.

Silence answered me.

Driven by desperation, I climbed the grand staircase to the nursery wing. Room after room remained untouched, but I knew—knew with bone-deep certainty—which door would open to reveal my child.

I pushed it open, hope fluttering in my chest despite everything.

The room was empty. Completely bare. No crib, no blankets, no tiny clothes folded neatly in drawers. The walls were freshly painted, the windows gleaming in the afternoon sun.

It was as if no child had ever been expected to live here.

"No," I whispered, moving from room to room. "No, no, no..."

But each nursery was the same—emptied, erased, as if my baby had never existed at all.

I sank to my knees in the hallway, a scream building in my throat that would soon shatter the silence of the Warren mansion.