Chapter 5 - The Truth on the Floor
I dropped to my knees beside her, pulling her thin, fragile frame into my arms.
For a second, she fought me, her small fists beating weakly against my chest, crying out in pure, unfiltered agony for the child she had mourned for twelve long months.
“They told me he didn't breathe!” she sobbed, her fingers digging into the shoulders of my coat. “They told me his heart stopped before he was born! I asked to hold him, Rowan! I begged the nurses to let me see his face, and they told me it was better if I didn't look!”
“I know, my love, I know,” I wept into her hair, holding her tight against my chest. “I’m so sorry. God forgive me, Maren, I am so sorry I didn't believe you.”
She wept until her breaths came in short, ragged gasps, collapsing into my lap as the realization that her baby was alive washed over her.
On the floor nearby, one of the twins stirred. A tiny blond head peeked out from beneath the quilt, letting out a soft, whimpering cry.
Maren tried to pull away to go to the bed, but I gently placed my hand on her shoulder. “Let me,” I whispered.
I stood up on unsteady legs and walked over to the mattress.
I knelt down beside my children.
Up close, the resemblance was undeniable. The baby girl had Maren’s soft nose and delicate forehead, but her eyes—wide, clear, and strikingly blue—were my own. Beside her, his little fist tucked under his chin, was my other son. He had a small tuft of bright blond hair sticking up on top.
I reached down with a trembling hand, letting my pinky finger rest in the girl’s tiny palm. Her small fingers instantly curled around mine, holding on with a gentle, firm grip.
“Their names are Leo and Clara,” Maren whispered from the doorway, her voice hoarse. “I named them after your grandparents.”
A tear fell from my chin onto the edge of the blanket. Even while living in a ruined cabin, stripped of her dignity and abandoned by the world, she had named our children after the people who had raised me with honor.
“And the third?” I asked, turning to look at her. “What were you going to name him?”
Maren wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, her eyes fixing on mine with a fierce, quiet intensity. “Julian. After the doctor who told me he was dead.”
The cruel irony hit like a blade.
“We’re going to get Julian back, Maren,” I said, standing up and walking back to her. “I swear to you on my life, on my soul, on everything I own—I will bring our son home to you.”
“How?” she asked, looking up at me with a mixture of hope and deep-seated terror. “The Whitmores own the judges, Rowan. Richard Whitmore has enough political power to bury you before you can even file a custody suit.”
“They own the courts,” I said, my voice hardening as the CEO they had tried to manipulate returned with ruthless clarity. “But they don't own my company. They don't own the media. And they don't know that I already have Arthur Vance’s sworn confession locked in a vault.”
I took her hands in mine—they were rough, calloused from hard labor, but to me, they were the most precious things in the world.
“You’re leaving this cabin tonight, Maren,” I told her. “Sam Rivera is outside. He’s taking you and the twins to my private estate in the mountains. It’s completely off the grid, guarded by independent security, and no one in the Whitmore family knows it exists.”
“And what are you going to do?” she asked, her eyes searching mine with worry.
May you like
I reached out, gently wiping a tear from her cheek.
“I’m going back to Tessa,” I said, a cold, dark smile touching my lips. “I’m going to pretend I still know nothing. I’m going to let them plan their grand wedding. And when they bring my son into that ballroom next week... I am going to tear their entire world down to the dust.”
