The ultra-wealthy Dwight family had been plagued by male-line infertility for generations. After a decade of grueling IVF cycles and cutting-edge fertility treatments, they finally welcomed a baby girl. At her first-month welcoming gala, I stood in my crisp uniform as the newly hired newborn care specialist. I was about to witness this tiny girl officially become the sole heiress to a multi-billion-dollar empire. But just as the senior nanny, Beatrice Kemp, cradled the baby to take her to the nursery for a diaper change, a soft, whimpering voice echoed directly in my mind. It was a sweet, lisping baby voice, yet the panic in it was unmistakable: [Oh no, oh no! Don’t let this bad nanny take me! She’s going to swap me with her own daughter!] [If anyone can save me from this, I’ll make her my godmother and give her fifty million dollars!] My entire body went rigid. I stared in absolute terror at Beatrice. Before I could even process what was happening, another baby's voice—this one dripping with a strange, calculating malice—echoed from a quiet corner of the room: [Once my mommy finishes the swap, all the Dwight fortune will belong to me!] [It’s a good thing the real heiress and I look so much alike. No one will ever notice. And even if they do, we can just pin it on that new nanny!] I didn’t hesitate for more than a fraction of a second. I lunged forward, throwing myself at Beatrice, and snatched the real baby right out of her arms. … "You can’t let Beatrice take her! She’s planning to swap the baby!" Desperate to protect the newborn, my heart hammered against my ribs, my voice cracking with panic. "Beatrice brought her own daughter here. She has her hidden somewhere, just waiting for the perfect moment to make the switch. You have to believe me! Do not let her near the baby!" The Dwight family and the high-society guests froze. The room went dead silent. George Dwight, the patriarch, clenched his fists, his face flushing a dangerous crimson. "Isabel Ward, have you lost your mind?" he roared. "Stop this lunatic performance and hand over my daughter!" Catherine Dwight looked at me as if I were a wild animal that had wandered into her gilded ballroom. "Beatrice has worked for our family for five years. Her character is impeccable. How dare you stand there and throw such baseless, disgusting accusations at her?" Seeing that no one believed a single word, Beatrice maintained her composure, looking at me with a mixture of pity and offense. "Isabel, I know you’re insecure because I have more experience than you," Beatrice said, her voice smooth and maternal. "You’re afraid I’ll make you look bad. But this is between us. We can discuss this privately. Please, don’t frighten the baby." She took a step forward, her hands reaching out to grab the infant. "She has a dirty diaper. It needs to be changed immediately, or she’s going to get a rash!" George’s eyes narrowed, gesturing for his security detail to move in. The real baby, who had been perfectly quiet until now, suddenly burst into a piercing, frantic wail. [I knew this was coming the moment I was born, but is this really how it ends? Why won’t Daddy believe this smart lady? Isabel is the only one who can protect me now...] The baby’s sharp cries cut through the room. Catherine’s eyes welled with tears. "Isabel, you’re terrifying my baby! What on earth do you want?" Beatrice kept creeping closer, a smug, barely perceptible smirk playing on her lips. I clutched the baby tighter and backed away. "The baby only cries when Beatrice gets close! Look at her—she stops the moment Beatrice steps back. She’s terrified of her! Babies are intuitive. They can sense who is safe and who isn't. Just watch!" The tiny girl was incredibly cooperative. The moment I backed up three yards, her crying ceased, and she let out a soft, shuddering sigh. But the second I stepped back toward Beatrice, she shrieked in terror. Catherine, a fiercely observant mother, paused. Her brow furrowed. "Beatrice, why is my daughter reacting to you like that? And why is she so calm with Isabel?" Beatrice’s face twitched for a split second, but she quickly redirected the blame, pointing a trembling finger at me. "Isabel must have drugged her! She’s putting on this ridiculous show to kidnap the baby! Mr. Dwight, you can't let her keep doing this. The baby is going to choke if she keeps crying like this!" George’s expression darkened to a terrifying pitch. Within seconds, three burly security guards and Beatrice had cornered me against the wall. My legs shook violently. I was trapped. Just as I thought all was lost, the elderly matriarch of the family, Grandmama Josephine, slammed her heavy cane against the marble floor. She stood up slowly, her gaze piercing. "Isabel," the old woman said, her voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "You claim Beatrice is trying to swap my granddaughter." She paused, looking directly into my eyes. "Then tell me. Where is this other baby you claim she brought?" The moment she finished speaking, the real baby let out a series of soft, urgent babbles: [Grandmama is right! Find Beatrice’s baby, and the truth will come out. Come on, Isabel, keep going! My fifty-million-dollar trust fund is waiting for you!] Josephine was giving me a lifeline. I took a deep breath, forcing my racing mind to quiet down. I strained my ears, desperate to catch any telepathic trace of Beatrice’s baby. But Beatrice’s daughter seemed to be actively working against me. At this crucial moment, her mind was completely silent. Seeing my hesitation, Beatrice lunged forward to grab the baby. In a rush of adrenaline, I bolted toward Josephine. But I only managed two steps before Beatrice reached out, grabbing a fistful of my hair and pulling backward with brutal force. My feet slipped on the polished floor. I went down hard. To keep the baby from taking the impact, I twisted my body mid-air, forcing my own shoulder, back, and the back of my head to absorb the full, bone-shattering collision with the marble. Stars exploded in my vision. The pain was blinding, but I forced myself to scramble up, pushing through the dizziness. I desperately thrust the baby into Josephine’s arms. "Grandmama, please," I gasped, blood trickling down my neck. "Do not let her out of your sight. And do not, under any circumstances, let Beatrice touch her!" I locked eyes with Beatrice. The sheer, murderous hatred in her gaze made my blood run cold. Josephine had been skeptical before, but as she looked down, the baby let out a tiny, gummy smile, reaching her miniature hands up toward my face. Something clicked in the old woman's eyes. "When you fell," Josephine said softly, her eyes shifting slowly to Beatrice, "you risked your own life to shield my granddaughter. Yet some people, who claim to care so much, didn't seem to care if the baby was crushed in the scuffle." Beatrice’s face flushed. "I was only thinking of the baby’s safety! I lost my temper. Mr. Dwight, you know me. I’ve served this family faithfully for five years. I would never hurt her!" George, still shaken, stepped forward, his veins bulging on his forehead. "Isabel almost got our daughter killed! She cannot go unpunished!" I wished more than anything that the baby could speak to save me, but no matter how hard she tried, she could only emit sweet, unintelligible coos. To everyone else, it was just baby noise. Catherine looked at my bleeding head, her heart softening. "The baby really seems to like Isabel. I don't think she's a bad person. Since no harm was done, perhaps we should just let it go." With Catherine intervening, George managed to suppress his rage, though his face remained tense. "Today is my daughter's celebration. I will let you go this once. Get out of my sight. If you cause another scene, I’ll make sure you regret it." From the corner of my eye, I saw Josephine holding the baby tightly, with Catherine guarding them closely. Relieved that the baby was safe for now, I slipped away to search for Beatrice’s actual child. I had to find that second infant to put an end to this nightmare once and for all. But for some reason, the other baby remained completely silent. I wandered through the massive estate like a headless chicken, searching the coatrooms, the pantries, the empty lounges. Nothing. Where could she have hidden a newborn? After searching every corner of the main level, I came up empty-handed. I grit my teeth, realizing I had to change tactics. Since I couldn't find the fake baby, I would simply stick to Josephine like glue and watch Beatrice's every move. But the moment I turned back toward the ballroom, a faint, suffocating whimper echoed in my mind. [Help me... it’s so dark... so hot... I can’t breathe...] [Isabel, please help me... I don’t want to die...] My heart stopped. I had only been gone for fifteen minutes, and somehow, Beatrice had already succeeded. Ignoring George’s warning, I threw open the double doors of the ballroom and charged back inside. "Stop! The baby has been swapped!" The room froze again. Everyone stared at me as if I were a lunatic who had escaped an asylum. In Josephine’s arms, the fake baby’s thoughts flared up in a panic: [How does this nanny know? It doesn't matter. She doesn't have proof. I’ll just cry to distract them!] Immediately, the infant in Josephine's arms let out a shrill, ear-splitting cry, turning red and thrashing about. Catherine panicked, her maternal instincts overriding everything else. "Isabel, shut up! We only lost sight of her for a few minutes when we went to the restroom. How could she possibly be swapped?" To the parents, it was the sound of a distressed child. To me, it was a cold, calculated confession: [I just have to cry harder. Make them pity me. This nanny is finished.] George’s eyes were like daggers, but I couldn't back down. If the real baby was trapped in a suffocating space, she had minutes left to live. And if she died, Beatrice would make sure I took the fall. "Beatrice, where did you put her?" I screamed, stepping toward her. "Tell us now, and you might avoid a life sentence. If anything happens to that baby, you are finished!" Beatrice flinched, a flicker of panic crossing her features. I turned to Josephine, raising my voice to carry over the baby's crying. "Grandmama, look at her closely! No two babies are identical. You are sharp. Look at her features—I know you can tell the difference!" Josephine’s brow furrowed. She lifted the baby, trying to examine her face. The fake baby thrashed violently in her arms. [I won't let them look! Mommy, don't back down. Just hold out for a few more minutes, and that real brat will stifle to death!] Beatrice fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face in a masterful display of victimhood. "Isabel, I don't know what I did to make you hate me so much. We can settle this outside, but please, stop terrorizing this family!" The elegant gala had devolved into utter chaos. Losing his remaining patience, George snatched a crystal glass from a passing waiter's tray and hurled it at me. "Isabel, enough! Nobody touches my daughter in my house!" I couldn't dodge in time. The heavy crystal struck my temple. A sharp ringing filled my ears as warm blood poured down the side of my face, blurring my vision. Security guards swarmed me, ready to drag me out. I retreated, my hands raised, shaking as I screamed through the pain: "She is not your daughter! Do a DNA test if you don't believe me! Your real daughter is trapped in a dark, airtight space. We have to find her now! A few more minutes and she will suffocate!" Through the dizzying fog in my head, the real baby’s voice grew fainter, drifting into a whisper: [It's so hot... it feels like fire... my head is so heavy...] [Is anyone coming...?] I caught the detail. "Fire. Hot." If I just ran off now, they would think I was fleeing and tackle me. To force them to follow, I made a desperate split-second decision. I lunged forward, ripped the fake baby out of George's arms, and bolted toward the service corridors leading to the kitchens. "If you want her back, follow me!" I screamed. Catherine shrieked, sprinting after me. George’s roar echoed behind her, vibrating through the tiled hallway: "Protect the baby! Get her!" I ran through the winding corridors, my blood dripping onto the clean tile floor. The fake baby in my arms screamed bloody murder: [Don't let her find her! Don't let her ruin this!] The guards were close, their heavy footsteps loud behind me. I pushed through the double swinging doors of the main kitchen, ignoring the startled gasps of the culinary staff. With one arm holding the fake baby, I used my free hand to tear open the stainless-steel cabinets. "Heat... smoke... it has to be the kitchen..." I muttered, my voice cracking. "Sweetheart, please cry. Just make a sound so I can find you..." But my mind was met with silence. The real baby had stopped projecting. My chest burned. "Please, just hang on. I’m almost there." George burst into the kitchen, flanked by guards and a breathless Josephine. "If you drop my child, I will end you," he hissed. "She’s not your child!" I sobbed, my hands trembling as I ripped open another set of metal doors. "Your daughter is in one of these units! She’s dying! Help me search!" Catherine fell to her knees by the prep tables, weeping hysterically. "Isabel, please... we’ll give you whatever you want. Just give me my baby back..." I ignored them, frantically throwing open pantry doors, storage bins, warming drawers. Nothing but dry goods and clean linen. Then, a tiny, fading sigh brushed against my consciousness: [Isabel... I hear you... I’m right... here...] I spun around, my eyes locking onto the massive, commercial-grade sanitizing dishwasher at the far end of the line. "She’s in there! Open the dishwasher!" I lunged toward it, but before I could reach the handle, two guards tackled me from behind. One wrested the fake baby from my arms, while the other pinned my shoulders to the floor, my joints popping under his weight. "Mrs. Dwight!" I screamed into the tile floor. "Look at the baby in your husband's arms! Look at her face! You know your own daughter's eyes!" Catherine, clutching her chest, instinctively looked at the baby George was holding. She stared at the crying infant, her expression faltering. Beatrice rushed into the kitchen, trying to shield the baby from view. "Mrs. Dwight, don't listen to this madwoman. It's too hot in here for the baby. Let's get her back to the nursery." Catherine hesitated, but looking at the crying child, she let Beatrice guide her toward the exit. My strength was entirely spent. The room spun, and my vision began to darken. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grandmama Josephine. She was standing still, her gaze fixed on the industrial dishwasher. She walked slowly toward it, her cane clicking against the floor. I mustered the absolute last of my strength to cry out: "Grandmama, please... just look. Your granddaughter is in there. Her life is in your hands..." George sneered. "Still babbling your nonsense? My daughter is right here!" Beatrice smirked from the doorway, while the fake baby let out a smug mental laugh: [He bought it. Goodbye, sister. The Dwight fortune is mine.] Josephine’s hand hovered over the heavy metal handle of the dishwasher. Then, she paused, her hand dropping back to her side. Despair washed over me. Tears mingled with the blood on my face. "I'm sorry, little one. I tried." "Throw Isabel in the cold storage until the police arrive," George ordered. But just as the guard began to drag me backward, Josephine leaned closer to the rubber seal of the industrial dishwasher door. Her eyes widened in sudden, absolute horror. "Stop!" she shrieked, her voice cracking. "Nobody move! There... there is a baby in here!"
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "536337", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel