They were impossible.
Then she placed her hand over mine on my belly. When the baby moved, she closed her eyes, and a tear slipped down her face.
Then she turned toward Julian.
The grieving woman vanished.
In her place stood the billionaire from the magazine covers.
“My daughter and my grandchild,” Eleanor said coldly, “will live far better without you, Mr. Vance.”
In the next seven minutes, Julian’s entire life collapsed.
Six attorneys entered behind her security team, carrying heavy briefcases. The lead attorney placed a thick dossier on the judge’s bench.
Twenty-eight years earlier, he explained, Eleanor Sterling’s infant daughter had been taken from her during a corporate espionage attack connected to a hostile business takeover. Forged death certificates, corrupted adoption records, and paid intermediaries had convinced Eleanor her baby had died.
For nearly three decades, she had spent millions searching for the truth.
I gripped the table.
Not abandoned.
Stolen.
Not unwanted.
Mourned.
Three years earlier, Julian had discovered the truth during an illegal background investigation tied to a merger. A medical record had revealed that my genetic profile matched the Sterling family’s private records.
He knew who I was before I did.
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He had not told me.
He had not told Eleanor.
Instead, he arranged to meet me at the bookstore.
