Incubator No More: The Billionaire's Secret Heir

The interior of the Maybach was silent. The partition was up.

Garnett was staring at Florence's wrist. The emeralds caught the passing streetlights.

"Grandmother gave you the Emerald Cuff," he said. His voice was tight. "That's worth half a million dollars."

"Is that all you see?" Florence asked. She unclasped the bracelet and dropped it into her purse. "It's heavy. It hurts my wrist."

"Put it back on," Garnett snapped. "It shows status. It shows you're accepted."

"I don't need jewelry to feel accepted, Garnett. I'm carrying your child. Isn't that enough?"

Garnett looked away, out the window. "You're ungrateful. Just like your family."

Florence felt the anger bubble up, but she shoved it down. She clutched her stomach and let out a small groan.

"Ouch," she whispered.

Garnett whipped his head around. "What? What is it?"

"Just a cramp," Florence said, grimacing. "The dinner... maybe something didn't agree with me."

"Driver!" Garnett yelled. "Slow down! Avoid the potholes!"

He turned back to Florence, his face pale. "Are you okay? Do we need to go to the hospital?"

He was terrified. Not for her. For the asset inside her.

"I think I just need to rest," Florence said. "But... I need my things from the apartment. My sketchbooks. My tools. If I'm going to be stuck at the Estate, I need something to do."

"Fine," Garnett said. "We'll stop at the apartment. Just be quick."

Inside the apartment, Florence moved fast. She didn't go for the sketchbooks immediately.

She went to the safe in the study. She punched in the code. She retrieved a small, burner SIM card she had hidden inside a hollowed-out book two years ago.

She swapped the SIM into her phone. It booted up.

She dialed a number she hadn't called since her wedding day.

"Who is this?" A woman's voice answered. Lazy, annoyed.

"It's me, Sloane," Florence said. Her voice changed. It became deeper, more authoritative. "Vivian."

There was silence on the line. Then, a screech. "Vivian? You're alive? We thought you died! The art world has been mourning 'W' for two years!"

"I'm back," Florence said. "But I need to be invisible."

"Sotheby's has an autumn auction," Sloane said, her voice rapid-fire. "They are desperate for a headliner. If you have anything..."

"I have a collection," Florence said. "Jewelry designs. And sketches. I'll send you the digital files tonight. The name is still Vivian. The artist is still W."

"The commission?" Sloane asked.

"Put it in the offshore account. The Caymans one."

"Done. God, it's good to hear your voice. You ready to set the world on fire again?"

"I'm ready to burn it all down," Florence said.

She hung up. She swapped the SIM card back.

She grabbed a stack of old sketchbooks from the shelf.

She walked out into the living room. Garnett was pacing, checking his watch.

"Took you long enough," he grumbled. "Let's go. Mother is waiting."

Florence held the sketchbooks against her chest. Inside them were the designs that would make her millions. Millions that Garnett couldn't touch.

"I'm ready," she said.