I THOUGHT THE BABY IN MY GARDEN COULD SAVE ME FROM LONELINESS - THEN A DYING WOMAN SAID THE REAL HEIR WAS ALREADY INSIDE

The drive back to the Drummond estate was silent. The rain had turned into a torrential downpour, slapping against the windshield of my Maybach like a warning. In the back seat, Sophia sat rigidly, her eyes glued to the baby sleeping in the car seat beside her.

I watched her in the rearview mirror. How had I not seen it? The resemblance was not a mere coincidence; it was a mirror image of my own childhood photographs. The same solemn expression, the same quiet intensity.

When we arrived, my housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, was waiting at the door. Her eyes were red-rimmed.

"Sir," she whispered, looking at Sophia and then at me. "Mr. Vance is inside. He... he insisted on waiting in your study. He has some men with him."

"Men?" I asked, my grip tightening on the steering wheel.

"Security," she said, her voice shaking. "From the firm."

I got out of the car, opened the door for Sophia, and unbuckled the baby. "Mrs. Gable, take Sophia and the baby to the third-floor guest suite. Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone but me. If you hear anything unusual, call the private line I gave you."

"Yes, Mr. Drummond," she said, quickly ushering the children away. Sophia looked back at me once, her blue eyes wide with a mixture of terror and trust. It was the trust that broke something open inside me. I had to protect them.

I walked into my study. The room was dark, lit only by the embers of the fireplace. Richard was sitting in my leather chair, a glass of my twenty-year-old Scotch in his hand. Two large men in tailored grey suits stood by the window, their hands folded politely in front of them.

"Edward," Richard said, not rising. "You've been hard to reach. I went to the children's store, but you had already departed. And then I hear you were at the municipal hospital. Really, Edward, visiting the dying grandmother of a gutter child? This is beneath you."

"Get out of my chair, Richard," I said softly.

Richard chuckled, placing the glass on the desk. He stood up, smoothing his tie. "We've been partners for a long time, Edward. I've managed your estate, your taxes, your legal battles. I know you're emotional right now. The shock of a child appearing on your doorstep... it's bound to disrupt your logical processing."

"Isabella told me," I said, stepping closer to the desk. "She told me she used my genetic material without my consent. But she didn't tell me the whole truth. She didn't tell me about Sophia."

The room grew very cold. One of the grey-suited men shifted his weight.

Richard's smile didn't fade, but his eyes turned to ice. "Isabella always was a loose thread. Too much conscience, not enough business sense. She actually believed she was doing it for science. For the 'advancement of reproductive technology.' She didn't realize that a Drummond heir is worth approximately four billion dollars in trust funds alone."

"You forged my fertility reports," I said, the truth tasting like ash in my mouth. "Twelve years ago. You paid off the clinics. You made sure I believed I was the end of the line, so that when I died, the Drummond Group would revert to the secondary branch. To you."

"It was a perfect plan," Richard admitted, taking a slow step toward me. "And it still is. The boy you have upstairs? He's a legal anomaly. A child born of stolen genetic material has no automatic right to inheritance under the current state bylaws—especially if the father's estate has a pre-existing clause naming me as the sole executor in the event of childlessness."

"He is my son," I growled, my hands curling into fists.

"He is a scientific experiment," Richard countered, his voice sharp. "And the girl? Sophia? She is nothing. A mistake. Maria was supposed to terminate that pregnancy. She ran away, hid in the slums, and raised that brat on scraps. We've been looking for them for years, Edward. Imagine my surprise when they ended up on your doorstep."

"You killed Maria," I said, the realization hitting me. "And you killed Clara."

"Clara was old. Her heart was weak. As for Maria... let's just say she had an unfortunate reaction to her medication," Richard said, his tone entirely casual. "Now, Edward. Be reasonable. Hand over the children. We will place them in a private, secure facility in Switzerland. They will be cared for. You can go back to your life. Your quiet, peaceful, lonely life."

"And if I refuse?"

Richard signaled the two men by the window. They stepped forward, their jackets shifting to reveal the holstered weapons beneath.

"Then we will have to declare you mentally incompetent," Richard said softly. "The grief of your sudden realization of 'fatherhood' has clearly broken your mind. I will take conservatorship over you, and the children will disappear anyway. Choose, Edward. The illusion of freedom, or the reality of a cage."

I looked at the two men, then back at Richard. He thought he knew me. He thought my wealth had made me soft.

He forgot that before I was a billionaire, I was a street fighter from the docks of Boston who fought his way up through blood and broken glass.