The wind blew hard across the open deck of the white luxury yacht, spray from the waves soaking Clara’s thin cotton dress[cite: 1]. Her right fingers were slipping off the cold steel railing, every muscle in her body straining as she held her baby tight to her chest[cite: 1]. Wrapped in a light blue blanket, three-month-old Toby let out a soft cry against her neck[cite: 1].
Clara: Please! Someone help me! I'm slipping!
Marcus: Clara! Hold on! Don't let go!
From the upper deck, Marcus leaned over the wooden railing, his face pale as he reached out his hand[cite: 1]. But he was too far away[cite: 1]. Standing right beside him was his mother, Evelyn Sterling, wearing a cream designer dress and a heavy diamond necklace that caught the bright sunlight[cite: 1]. She didn't move an inch[cite: 1]. Her dark eyes were cold, watching Clara struggle without a single trace of pity[cite: 1].
Marcus: Mom, do something! Call the crew! Lower the safety ladder!
Evelyn: Why would I do that, Marcus? She doesn't belong in our family[cite: 1]. She never did[cite: 1].
Clara: Marcus, please! I can't hold on much longer! Think of your son!
Evelyn: That child is not an heir to the Sterling estate[cite: 1]. He's a mistake[cite: 1]. And today, mistakes get cleaned up[cite: 1].
Evelyn took a step closer to the railing, leaning down with a cruel, cold smirk on her face[cite: 1]. She looked straight into Clara's terrified eyes[cite: 1].
Evelyn: Goodbye, Clara[cite: 1].
Clara’s hand lost its grip on the wet metal railing[cite: 1]. A sharp gasp left her throat as air rushed past her ears[cite: 1]. She wrapped both arms around little Toby, shielding his tiny head with her body as they plummeted three stories down toward the dark, churning Atlantic Ocean below[cite: 1].