I had never seen those three children before, yet the moment they looked at me, an entire restaurant went silent. Three toddlers pointed straight at me and called me **""Mom,""** leaving a feared millionaire frozen in disbelief and forcing everyone to question a tragedy I thought had buried my past forever.

The morning sun broke over Lake Michigan, casting golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the estate's private study. I sat in a high-backed leather armchair, wearing borrowed silk loungewear, cradling a mug of hot tea while the children played quietly on a plush carpet nearby under the watchful eye of a trusted nanny.

Roman sat across from me at a massive mahogany desk littered with computer monitors, manila folders, and encrypted tablets. Beside him stood Marcus, his head of security—a tall, imposing man with a jagged scar running down his cheek.

"Dr. Aris Thorne has vanished," Marcus reported, tapping a tablet screen. "The moment news broke yesterday that you brought Miss Hayes into your residence, Thorne cleared out his office at St. Jude’s and attempted to board a private flight to Belize."

Roman’s eyes turned dangerously dark. "Attempted?"

"My men intercepted him at the airfield," Marcus replied smoothly. "He is currently being held in an undisclosed holding facility in the Industrial District. He is... eager to talk, provided we guarantee his physical survival."

My hands shook as I set my teacup down. "Dr. Thorne... he was the one who handed me those death certificates. He told me I was too weak to see their bodies. He said they were incinerated as medical waste according to county protocol for premature stillbirths."

A terrifying chill ran down my spine as I remembered the cold, detached way the doctor had spoken to me while I wept in that hospital bed.

Roman stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. "We leave now. Pamela, stay here with the security detail."

"No," I said instantly, standing up to meet his gaze. My voice was firm, stripped of the timid hesitation that had defined my last year of survival. "I am coming with you."

Roman frowned, stepping around the desk. "It won't be pleasant. Thorne is a desperate man, and I intend to extract every detail of his betrayal."

"He stole my babies, Roman," I said, stepping closer to him, looking straight into his dark eyes. "He forced me to live in hell for over a year. I want to look him in the eye when he answers for it."

Roman searched my face for a long moment. A faint, approving smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Very well. Grab your coat."

Thirty minutes later, our dark convoy pulled up to a non-descript warehouse near the Chicago River. Inside, under the glare of a single overhead halogen lamp, Dr. Aris Thorne was tied to a steel chair. His hair was disheveled, his expensive wire-rimmed glasses crooked on his nose.

When the heavy steel door clicked open and I stepped into the light alongside Roman, Thorne’s breath hitched. His eyes bulged in pure terror as he recognized me.

"Pamela..." Thorne stammered, his voice trembling violently. "You... you shouldn't be here."

"Dr. Thorne," I said, my voice echoing off the concrete walls. "You told me my babies died."

"I had no choice!" Thorne pleaded, thrashing against his restraints as Roman stepped forward, his tall frame casting a long, terrifying shadow over the physician. "Julian Voss threatened to ruin my license! He had dirt on my gambling debts! He offered to clear thirty million dollars in liability if I faked the stillbirth!"

"Who else was involved?" Roman demanded, his voice a low, thunderous rumble that vibrated through the cold room. "My brother didn't execute a multi-state medical abduction alone. Who altered the genetic registries? Who issued the forged European birth certificates?"

Thorne swallowed hard, sweating profusely under the bright light. "It wasn't just Julian... Julian was working with someone higher up in your family, Roman! Someone inside the Voss Board of Directors!"