Chapter III — Inheritance

January 14, 1990

The winter sun was pale and weak, filtering through the hospital window in fractured beams. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and something warm—linen fresh from the dryer. Beyond the thin walls, the muffled rhythm of the maternity ward carried on: the squeak of cart wheels, the soft, soothing tones of nurses, a distant wail of a newborn finding its voice. Rosemary Denise Klein—soon to be Rose Noulgates—lay propped against the thin hospital pillows. Her hair clung damply to her temples, her breathing shallow but steady. Her hands, pale and trembling, cradled the swaddled bundle she had brought into the world less than an hour ago. The child’s warmth seeped into her, grounding her in a moment that already felt fragile. Andrew Dereck Noulgates Sr. stood at the foot of the bed, suit jacket folded neatly over the chair, his tie loosened but still precise. He was composed, as though business had merely paused for this event. His eyes weren’t on Rose—they were fixed on the child. His child. “He’s… perfect,” Rose whispered, her voice a fragile mix of exhaustion and awe. Andrew stepped closer, his shadow falling over them. He reached out, brushing a single finger along the infant’s cheek. The baby stirred at the contact, letting out a sharp cry that cut through the quiet. Rose smiled weakly, fighting the heaviness in her eyelids. “Andrew Dereck Noulgates Jr.,” she said softly, as if speaking the name would anchor it in the world. Andrew’s gaze lingered on the boy longer than she expected. His expression was unreadable, but there was a glint there—pride, possession, and something else she couldn’t name. “He’ll carry the name well.” The nurse slipped in quietly, her shoes whispering against the linoleum. She checked Rose’s vitals, adjusted the blankets, and glanced at the father with a polite but reserved smile before leaving them in silence once more. Rose’s mind wandered, unbidden, to the man she had fallen in love with—the one who had charmed her in smoky bars, who made her laugh so hard she cried, who spoke about the future as though it was something he could bend to his will. But shadows clung to him. Whispers she had ignored. Deals she never asked about. And now, holding her son, she felt those shadows edging closer. She looked down at the sleeping infant. His tiny fingers curled around the fabric of the blanket, and her chest ached with love so fierce it bordered on pain. Yet beneath it was a thread of fear—fear of what inheriting the Noulgates name might truly mean. Andrew moved to sit on the edge of the bed. She caught the faint scent of his cologne—clean, crisp, and touched with winter air. “He’ll have everything he needs,” he said quietly. Rose studied his face, searching for softness there, for something human beyond the steel. “Everything,” she repeated, though in her mind she wondered if it was a promise… or a warning.