Chapter 1 - The Paternity Bomb
The living room, decorated in opulent pink and gold, went dead silent. The soft ambient jazz playing from the surround-sound speakers suddenly felt mockingly loud until someone near the back quickly turned it off. More than fifty guests—investors, high-society friends, Grant’s business associates, and his extended family—stood frozen with champagne flutes poised mid-air.
Grant’s face twisted in confusion before settling into a scowl. “What the hell are you talking about, Naomi? Stop embarrassing yourself.”
I didn't look at him. My eyes stayed locked on Kayla, whose hand was shaking so violently against her swollen belly that her glass of sparkling cider spilled onto her white maternity dress.
“A paternity test, Grant,” I said, my voice smooth, amplified by the silent room. “You see, when Kayla started visiting the clinic in upper Manhattan three months ago under her maiden name, she made a very specific request. She wanted a non-invasive prenatal paternity test done discreetly.”
My mother-in-law, Eleanor, stepped forward, her expensive silk dress rustling loudly. Her face was dark with fury. “Naomi! You barren, bitter woman! How dare you lie like this at a celebration for my grandchild!”
“Oh, it’s no lie, Eleanor,” I replied, taking a folded sheet of paper from my inner blazer pocket. “Kayla didn’t send the DNA sample to a private lab. She sent it through the laboratory network associated with St. Jude Medical—where my uncle happens to be the Chief of Pathology.”
I unfolded the paper with a crisp, sharp snap.
“According to the certified lab results signed at 9:00 a.m. today, Grant is excluded as the biological father with a 99.9% probability.”
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Murmurs erupted like a swarm of bees.
Grant’s face drained of color. He whipped his head toward Kayla. “Kayla? What is she talking about?”
Kayla squeezed her eyes shut, fat tears spilling down her cheeks. “Grant, baby, she’s lying! She forged it! She hates me because I’m giving you what she couldn’t!”
“Is that so?” I pulled out my phone and tapped the screen twice. The large smart TV mounted on the wall above the fireplace—the one currently displaying a slideshow of Grant and Kayla’s vacation photos—flickered.
Suddenly, a high-definition video began playing.
It showed Kayla at a high-end lounge downtown, seated in a VIP booth. A man was sitting beside her, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. It wasn't Grant. It was Marcus Sterling—Grant’s primary rival, the man who had been ruthlessly trying to buy out Grant’s company for the past two years.
In the video’s clear audio, Marcus chuckled, patting Kayla’s stomach. “Has the idiot bought the story yet?”
Kayla’s voice echoed through my living room speakers: “Grant believes every word. He thinks he’s the king of the world right now. Once he puts my name on the house deed and the company shares, we can file for his bankruptcy and take everything.”
The living room turned into absolute chaos.
Grant stared at the screen, his chest heaving, his mouth open in total horror. “Marcus? You… you slept with Marcus Sterling?!”
Kayla dropped to her knees, sobbing hysterical, incoherent apologies. “Grant, please! He threatened me! He made me do it!”
Eleanor clutched her chest, staggering backward onto the sofa, her face turning a dangerous shade of purple. “My heir… my true heir…”
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I stepped over the fallen balloons, holding the emerald bracelet in my hand. I set it gently on the edge of the cake table, right beside the mortgage documents Grant had tried to threaten me with.
“You thought you were playing chess, Grant,” I whispered into his ear as I walked past him. “You forgot who built the board.”
