Zara was worried sick.
It became worse when Roland and Hanna called her on the phone, something they never did.
"Where's our daughter?" They asked like they had employed Zara as Bertha's nanny.
Zara almost flung the phone across the room. "Are you out of your minds?!"
"Zara—"
"No, shut up and let me talk!" she snapped, her voice rising in frustration. "You have the audacity to call me like this—after everything—and then demand to know where your daughter is like you didn't throw me to the wolves?! You think I'm her personal bodyguard?"
There was a brief silence on the other end, and when Roland's voice returned, it was quieter. "You're right. We're sorry."
Zara blinked. "What?"
Hannah took over, her tone shaky. "We didn't know what else to do. Please, Zara… we're sorry. We were threatened. That's the only reason we said those things about you at the gala."
"Threatened by who?" Zara demanded, pacing the floor of her suite with her free hand tangled in her hair.
