Chapter 3 DNA Deception, Uterine Warfare

# Chapter 3: DNA Deception, Uterine Warfare

Three weeks into our luxurious captivity, I discovered the first real opportunity for escape. Luna had been invited to a "special training session" with some of Marsh's security team—a euphemism for teaching my five-year-old advanced weapons recognition—giving me two uninterrupted hours to work.

I'd spent our time at the Pink Palace meticulously documenting security rotations, camera blind spots, and the patterns of the staff. The east garden had a section where the surveillance cameras overlapped imperfectly, creating a three-second gap in coverage. If timed right, we could reach the perimeter wall, and with the tools I'd slowly collected—a dinner knife here, a nail file there—we might have a fighting chance.

I was marking the final escape route on a makeshift map hidden in my pillowcase when my bedroom door swung open without warning. Marsh stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "Alone."

I slipped the map under my thigh. "Where's Luna?"

"Still with Dmitri, learning the difference between Semtex and C4." His mouth quirked slightly. "She's quite insistent that the latter is 'more efficient for structural damage but less artistic.'"

Despite everything, I felt a flicker of pride. "She has strong opinions."

"Wonder where she gets that from." Marsh stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him. "I want to know why."

"Why what?"

"Why you stole my genetic material." He moved closer, looming over me where I sat on the bed. "The full truth this time, not the revenge fantasy you've been selling."

I stood, refusing to be physically intimidated. "I told you the truth. Your organization bombed my family's compound. I wanted payback."

"My organization did not bomb Armitage Technologies," he said, each word precise and cold. "That attack had all the hallmarks of an inside job—someone who knew the security protocols, the building layout. Someone with access codes."

My anger flared white-hot. "Are you accusing me of killing my own family?"

"I'm saying you're not telling me everything." He circled me slowly, like a predator. "You had access to the best fertility specialists in the world. You could have chosen any donor. Why choose the man you believe murdered your family?"

The question hit too close to truths I'd buried deep. I went on the offensive instead.

"Why does it matter? You have what you want now—your biological child under your roof, calling you Daddy, drawing you cute little pictures. Isn't that enough?"

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "No, it's not. Because Luna deserves the truth about where she came from. And I deserve to know why the woman who hates me enough to steal my DNA also chose to carry and raise my child."

"Fine," I snapped. "You want the truth? I needed the best genetic material I could find. Someone with intelligence, physical resilience, and strategic thinking. Your family has always produced natural leaders with high IQs and exceptional survival instincts. It was a pragmatic choice, nothing more."

Marsh stared at me for a long moment, then laughed—a short, harsh sound. "That might be the most cold-blooded compliment I've ever received."

"It wasn't a compliment. It was a calculation."

"And what about Luna? Was she just a calculation too? An experiment in genetic superiority?"

The accusation stung precisely because it contained a kernel of truth—at least in the beginning. "She was supposed to be. But the moment I felt her kick..." I stopped, unwilling to expose that vulnerability.

Marsh's expression softened fractionally. "She changed everything."

It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway. "She deserved better than to be a pawn in an old war. That's why I ran—to give her a chance at a normal life."

"Normal," he repeated, the word dripping with skepticism. "With bomb-making lessons and firearms training before kindergarten."

"Protection," I corrected. "I knew someday you might find us. I needed her to be ready."

He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his expensive cologne. "And now I have found you. But not in the way you expected, is it? I haven't hurt either of you. I've provided safety, education, comfort."

"A gilded cage is still a cage, Marsh."

"Is it really so terrible?" His voice dropped lower. "Luna is thriving. She has stability for the first time in her life. And you..." His eyes tracked over me, sending an unwelcome heat through my body. "You could have worse arrangements."

I stepped back, needing distance. "What happens when she asks real questions about why I took your sperm? When she's old enough to understand what your family really does?"

"My family," he said, something dangerous threading through his tone, "protects what belongs to us. Speaking of which—" He pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to me.

It was a DNA report—more comprehensive than the one he'd shown me at our first meeting.

"I had the lab run a more detailed analysis," he explained. "The results are... interesting."

I scanned the document, my blood running cold. The test confirmed Luna was Marsh's biological daughter but revealed something I'd hoped would never come to light: genetic markers indicating she'd been conceived through laboratory methods rather than traditional means.

"You didn't visit a sperm bank," Marsh said quietly. "You harvested directly from the source. Which means we've met before, in a setting where you had access to my body. When was it, Jocelyn? Which of my numerous security-cleared female acquaintances were you impersonating?"

I kept my face neutral, though my mind raced through the implications. "Does it matter? The result is the same."

"It matters because it means you were close enough to kill me and chose not to." His eyes narrowed. "Instead, you stole a piece of me to create new life. That's not revenge. That's something far more complex."

Before I could formulate a response, alarms blared throughout the compound. Marsh's phone buzzed immediately. He answered, his expression darkening as he listened.

"Lock down the east wing," he ordered. "Full security protocol alpha. I'm on my way." He turned to me. "Stay here. That's not a suggestion."

The moment he left, I retrieved my hidden map and supplies. Whatever had triggered those alarms might be our only chance at escape. I moved quickly to Luna's connecting door, only to find it locked from the other side.

"Luna?" I called, pounding on the wood. "Baby, can you open the door?"

No answer. Panic surged through me as I searched for something to force the lock. I was halfway through dismantling a metal hairbrush when the main door burst open again. Marsh stood there, his suit jacket discarded, a gun visible in his shoulder holster.

"Where's Luna?" I demanded.

"Safe," he said tersely. "Which is more than I can say for anyone else in this compound right now. We have intruders on the grounds—heavily armed and using military-grade tactics."

My blood ran cold. "Who?"

"The Vasquez family. Seems they've finally found one of my safe houses." His eyes narrowed. "Convenient timing, wouldn't you say? Almost as if someone sent them a signal."

I bristled at the accusation. "I've been watched 24/7. When exactly would I have contacted your enemies?"

Before he could answer, another explosion rocked the building—much closer this time. Plaster dust rained from the ceiling.

"We need to get to the panic room," Marsh said, grabbing my arm. "Now."

I jerked away. "Not without Luna."

"She's already there with Dmitri. Come on."

We moved swiftly through corridors I hadn't been allowed to access before, Marsh leading with his weapon drawn. The security teams we passed were in full tactical gear, positioning themselves at strategic points throughout the mansion.

"Your rivals find out about Luna?" I asked as we descended a hidden staircase.

"If they had, they'd have come with different orders," he replied grimly. "Right now, they're just here to kill me and anyone associated with me. Including you."

The panic room was hidden behind a false wall in the wine cellar. Marsh pressed his hand against a panel, and the wall slid open to reveal a steel door. Inside, Luna sat on a small bed, playing with what looked like a toy piano.

"Mommy!" she cried, launching herself into my arms. "Did you hear the big booms? Mr. Dmitri says it's bad guys!"

I held her tight, checking for any injuries. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"Nope! I was in the special room with the guns when the alarms started. Mr. Dmitri carried me here real fast." She looked up at Marsh. "Are you going to make the bad guys go away, Daddy?"

Marsh knelt to her level. "That's right, princess. But I need you and Mommy to stay here where it's safe. Can you be brave for me?"

Luna nodded solemnly. "I'm always brave."

"That's my girl." He kissed her forehead, then stood to address the guard. "Dmitri, no one enters except me. Authorization code delta-nine-seven."

The guard nodded, his hand resting on the substantial firearm at his hip.

Marsh turned to me. "There's food, water, and medical supplies. The room is fortified to withstand direct artillery hits. You'll be safe."

"And where will you be?" I asked, hating the concern that crept into my voice.

His smile was cold and predatory. "Sending a message about what happens to people who threaten my family."

After he left, Luna returned to the toy piano, plinking out a simple melody. I examined our surroundings—an impressively equipped space with multiple screens showing security feeds from around the property. On one, I could see Marsh organizing his men in the main hall. On another, dark figures moved through the gardens, heavily armed.

"Luna, what are you playing?" I asked, noticing she kept returning to the same sequence of notes.

"A song Mr. Dmitri taught me," she said innocently. "He said if I ever feel scared, I should play it and think of happy things."

I froze, a horrible suspicion forming. "Can you show me exactly what he taught you?"

Luna demonstrated—a specific sequence of eight notes, repeated three times.

A code. An activation code.

"Dmitri," I said carefully, watching the guard who stood impassively by the door. "What happens when that sequence is played three times?"

His expression remained neutral. "The young miss likes music. Mr. Marsh encourages her talents."

Before I could press further, the security feed showed a group of intruders breaching the east wing. Gunfire erupted, and I instinctively pulled Luna away from the screens.

"It's okay, Mommy," she said, patting my hand. "Daddy will stop them. He said he's very good at making bad people go away forever."

The casual way she said it chilled me to the bone. Three weeks with Marsh, and already she was adopting his worldview.

Another explosion rocked the building, closer this time. On the screens, I saw part of the east wing collapse, flames engulfing the beautiful gardens.

"Luna," I whispered, "did Mr. Dmitri say anything else about your special song?"

She thought for a moment. "He said it's magic. That it can make big problems disappear."

I looked at the toy piano with growing horror. Not a toy at all, but a trigger mechanism disguised as a child's instrument. And Marsh had left it with Luna, knowing exactly what she might do if she felt threatened.

He'd turned our daughter into his final failsafe.

As if reading my thoughts, Dmitri spoke quietly. "Mr. Marsh believes in contingency plans, ma'am. The young miss is very good at remembering patterns."

Another explosion, violent enough to make the reinforced walls of our shelter tremble. Luna's eyes widened with fear for the first time.

"Mommy, the bad men are getting closer."

"It's okay, baby. We're safe in here." I stroked her hair, mind racing through options.

Luna wiggled out of my embrace and returned to the piano. "I'm going to play my special song. Mr. Dmitri said it helps Daddy."

"Wait—" I lunged for her, but she had already started the sequence, her small fingers dancing across the keys with perfect recall.

Eight notes. Repeated once.

Dmitri moved to the door, checking something on his phone. "Ms. Armitage, I suggest you brace yourselves. The countermeasures can be... substantial."

Eight notes. Repeated twice.

On the security feed, I saw Marsh look directly at the camera, as if he could see us. His lips moved, forming words I couldn't hear but somehow understood:

"Cover her eyes."

Luna's fingers hovered over the keys for the final sequence. I had a split-second choice—stop her and face whatever was coming through that door, or let her become the weapon Marsh had designed her to be.

Eight notes. Repeated three times.

The reaction was immediate. On every security screen, strategic points throughout the grounds erupted in precisely controlled explosions. The east wing—now overrun with intruders—simply disappeared in a ball of flame. The beautiful gardens became a hellscape of fire and destruction.

Luna watched the screens with fascination rather than fear. "Wow," she breathed. "My song did that?"

I pulled her against me, shielding her from the worst of the images. "Yes, baby. Your song is very powerful."

Hours later, when the smoke had cleared and Marsh's security teams had confirmed no survivors among the intruders, the panic room door finally opened. Marsh stood there, his suit replaced by tactical gear, a smear of blood across one cheek.

"Daddy!" Luna ran to him, and he swept her up into his arms. "Did my song help? Mr. Dmitri said it would help!"

"It helped very much, princess," he said, his voice gentle despite the destruction he'd just orchestrated. "You saved us all."

Over Luna's head, his eyes met mine—challenging, unapologetic. He'd turned our five-year-old daughter into a living weapon and saw nothing wrong with it.

Later that night, after Luna had finally fallen asleep amid excited retellings of her "magic piano," I confronted Marsh in his study. The smell of smoke still clung to him despite his shower and change of clothes.

"You used her," I said without preamble. "You turned our daughter into a trigger for your death trap."

He didn't bother denying it. "I gave her a way to protect herself if everything else failed. The explosions were precisely targeted—the panic room was never in danger."

"That's not the point! She's five years old, Marsh. She shouldn't have that kind of power or responsibility."

"And yet she handled it perfectly," he countered, pouring himself a drink. "Luna understands more than you give her credit for. She knows there are people who want to hurt us."

"Us?" I laughed bitterly. "There's no 'us,' Marsh. You kidnapped us, remember?"

"I brought my daughter home," he corrected. "And the woman who stole from me to create her."

"About that." I moved closer, deciding it was time to reclaim some power in this twisted dynamic. "You want to know why I really took your sperm? Why I chose you specifically?"

His eyes narrowed. "Enlighten me."

"Because the bomb that killed my family wasn't planted by your men. It was planted by your father." I watched his face carefully. "The great Elias Marsh, who had been partnering with my family for decades, decided we'd become too powerful. So he eliminated the competition—except he missed me because I was in Geneva that weekend."

Marsh's expression hardened. "My father would never have—"

"Save it," I cut him off. "I have the proof. Security footage, financial trails, even the signature on the explosives. Your father murdered my family, then framed your rival organization to start a gang war that would eliminate two threats at once."

"If that were true," he said slowly, "why not kill me too? Why create a child with my DNA?"

I smiled coldly. "Because the best revenge wasn't killing you. It was making sure that when your father died, the only heir to the Marsh empire would be a child with Armitage blood. My family would control yours within a generation."

The silence that followed was deafening. Marsh set down his glass with deliberate care.

"Well," he finally said, "it seems we've both been playing a very long game."

Before I could respond, another explosion rocked the compound—different from the controlled detonations earlier. Alarms blared again.

"That's not one of ours," Marsh said sharply, reaching for his weapon. "Stay here."

But I was already moving toward Luna's room. I threw open the door to find her sitting up in bed, clutching her teddy bear, completely unafraid.

"More bad men, Mommy?" she asked calmly.

"I don't know, baby." I gathered her into my arms. "But we need to—"

The window exploded inward, showering the room with glass. I curled my body around Luna, feeling shards slice into my back. Through the smoke and debris, a figure appeared—not one of Marsh's men, based on the unfamiliar tactical gear.

"Target acquired," the intruder said into a radio. "I have the child."

I felt Luna slip something into my hand—a small, hard object. One of her "special toys" that Marsh had given her. A grenade, I realized with horror and pride.

"Mommy," she whispered in my ear, "push the red button and count to three."

As the intruder moved toward us, I did exactly as my five-year-old instructed. One, two...

On three, I threw the device at the window. The resulting explosion wasn't large, but it was precise—just enough to knock the intruder back and create a wall of smoke.

I scooped Luna up and ran into the hallway, where I collided directly with Marsh. He steadied me with one hand, the other holding a semi-automatic weapon.

"The north passage," he said urgently. "Go now."

"What's happening?" I demanded, even as I moved in the direction he indicated.

"My father's old contingency plan," he replied grimly. "Apparently, I'm not the only one who planned for emergencies."

We raced through the burning mansion, Marsh leading and clearing each section before allowing us to follow. Luna clung to me, her face buried in my neck, finally showing fear now that the danger was immediate and physical.

We reached a garage I hadn't known existed, containing a single armored SUV. Marsh ushered us inside, then took the driver's seat.

"Your father is dead," I said as we sped away from the burning Pink Palace. "Who activated his contingency plan?"

Marsh's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "That's what we're going to find out."

In the backseat, Luna finally lifted her head. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe," Marsh and I answered simultaneously.

Luna nodded, apparently satisfied with this united parental front. Then she pulled something from her pajama pocket—a small frame containing the crayon drawing of our "family" standing in front of the Pink Palace.

"I saved our picture," she said proudly, holding it up for both of us to see. "Now we can remember home."

Marsh's eyes met mine again in the mirror, and I saw in them the same realization that had just hit me: home, for Luna, was wherever the three of us were together. And despite everything—the lies, the manipulation, the violence—a small, traitorous part of me wondered if she might be right.