Beverly's POV

The doorbell rang at seven in the morning. I was still in Bruce's shirt, barefoot, hair tangled from sleep. Margaret answered before I could stop her. My mother's voice echoed through the penthouse like a gunshot.

"Where is my daughter?"

I froze in the hallway. Through the bond, I felt Bruce's alarm from the bedroom. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not yet. Not like this.

My mother pushed past Margaret, her eyes scanning the luxury around her with growing horror. When she saw ...