Chapter 3 - THE TESTMiles did not invite Julian inside because he wanted a father.
He invited him inside because it was cold.
That distinction mattered immensely to a five-year-old.
“You can stand in our hallway,” Miles explained, “but Mommy says strangers don’t go upstairs.”
Julian looked at me.
“Your mother is absolutely right.”
Miles considered him.
“And don’t touch the dinosaur.”
“Understood.”
We stood awkwardly beneath the entry light.
I felt ridiculous.
The billionaire CEO of Sterling Capital was standing barefoot—because Miles had noticed snow on his shoes and ordered him to remove them—in my front hallway at three in the morning.
I poured coffee.
Julian sat at the kitchen table.
Miles climbed into my lap.
“What’s DNA?” he asked.
Of course he had heard us.
“It’s something inside your body that helps make you you.”
“Like bones?”
“Smaller.”
“Blood?”
“Sort of.”
Julian smiled faintly.
Miles noticed.
“You have the same crooked tooth as Declan.”
Julian’s smile vanished.
He ran his tongue over the slightly overlapping incisor I had teased him about when we were married.
“Apparently I do.”
Miles leaned closer.
“Do you have allergies?”
Julian blinked. “To shellfish.”
Miles pointed triumphantly at me.
“See?”
I wished I could disappear.
Miles had the same allergy.
He also had Julian’s unusual gray-green eyes.
Declan had Julian’s exact hairline.
Harper had the Sterling dimple.
Genetics had not been subtle.
Eventually I carried Miles upstairs.
When I returned, Julian was standing at the refrigerator.
Three school photographs were held there by magnets.
He didn’t touch them.
“Which is which?”
“Declan on the left. Harper in the middle. Miles on the right.”
He stared.
“What are they like?”
It was such a simple question.
I hated how much it hurt.
“Declan talks before thinking. Harper thinks before talking. Miles notices everything.”
“What do they like?”
“Declan likes dinosaurs and anything involving mud. Harper likes ballet but refuses to wear tutus because she says they’re itchy. Miles likes astronomy.”
Julian swallowed.
“Birthdays?”
“You already know.”
“No. I mean… what do they do?”
I understood.
He wanted memories.
“They insist on separate cakes.”
“Three cakes?”
“Yes.”
A faint smile.
“I approve.”
“You would.”
He looked back at the photographs.
“First words?”
I hesitated.
“Declan said ‘truck.’ Harper said ‘Mama.’ Miles said ‘light.’”
Julian nodded as if storing each word somewhere permanent.
Then he asked, “Were they healthy?”
“Eventually.”
He turned.
“What does eventually mean?”
My throat tightened.
“They were premature.”
“How premature?”
“Thirty-two weeks.”
His face drained.
I told him about the NICU.
The breathing support.
The feeding tubes.
Miles dropping weight.
Harper developing an infection.
Declan requiring emergency respiratory treatment at eleven days old.
Julian sat down.
“You did that alone?”
“My friend Natalie helped.”
“I should have been there.”
“Yes.”
I didn’t soften it.
He deserved the truth.
“So should I.”
“What?”
“I should have tried harder to reach you.”
“Elena—”
“I got one letter and stopped fighting.”
“You had no reason to suspect—”
“I knew your mother.”
That silenced us both.
Morning arrived before either of us noticed.
At seven, Harper came downstairs.
She saw Julian.
Screamed.
Then ran back upstairs.
Declan followed, carrying a toy T-Rex.
He looked at Julian.
Looked at Miles.
Looked back.
“Whoa.”
Julian actually laughed.
Breakfast was surreal.
Three children firing questions at a man who still hadn’t been confirmed as their father.
“Are you rich?”
“Declan!”
“What? Owen at school says billionaires have helicopters.”
Julian cleared his throat. “I don’t personally own a helicopter.”
“So you’re not rich?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Do you have a swimming pool?”
“Yes.”
Harper leaned forward. “Indoor or outdoor?”
“Both.”
All three children gasped.
I pointed my spoon at him.
“Do not use swimming pools to purchase affection.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Declan whispered to Miles, “He has two pools.”
Julian heard him.
His mouth twitched.
By nine, we had agreed to a private DNA test.
I chose the clinic.
Julian agreed without argument.
No lawyers.
No Sterling employees.
No publicity.
The results would come directly to both of us.
Four days.
Those became the longest four days of my life.
Julian respected my boundaries.
Mostly.
He sent one message every evening.
How are they?
I responded briefly.
Fine.
On the second day:
Did Harper’s ballet class go well?
I stared at the message.
I had mentioned ballet once.
He remembered.
She refused to participate because the teacher changed the music.
His reply:
Understandable. Creative differences.
I laughed despite myself.
Then hated that I laughed.
On the third day, Vivian Sterling appeared at my office.
My receptionist called upstairs.
“Elena, there’s a woman here who says she’s Julian Sterling’s mother.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“Tell her to leave.”
“She says she won’t.”
“Call security.”
Vivian walked into my office before they could.
At sixty-seven, she remained elegant in a way that almost seemed aggressive.
Silver-blonde hair.
Pearls.
Camel coat.
The same expression she wore while offering me five million dollars.
“Hello, Elena.”
“Get out.”
“We need to speak.”
“No. You need to leave.”
She closed the door.
“I understand you’ve agreed to genetic testing.”
“How do you know?”
“Julian is my son.”
“That stopped meaning what you think it means five years ago.”
Her mouth tightened.
“You’re angry.”
I stood.
“You stole my children’s father.”
She flinched.
Good.
“I made decisions based on the information available at the time.”
“You forged a letter.”
“Yes.”
“You intercepted my communications.”
“Yes.”
“You paid people to keep Julian from knowing I was pregnant.”
Her silence answered.
“You visited me while I was terrified and alone and told me their father wanted nothing to do with them.”
“I believed separation was best.”
“For whom?”
“For everyone.”
I stared at her.
“You really believe that.”
Vivian placed her handbag on the chair.
“There are things about the Sterling family you never understood.”
“Try me.”
“Julian’s father left specific succession instructions.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with my children?”
“Everything.”
Arthur Sterling had been obsessed with legacy.
I knew that.
He had treated Sterling Capital less like a company and more like a kingdom.
Vivian continued.
“The family trust transfers voting control differently when Julian has biological descendants.”
My stomach tightened.
“How differently?”
“If Julian has no children, significant control remains with the extended Sterling family.”
“And if he does?”
“Upon confirmation of a biological child, Julian gains sole authority over a block of shares currently controlled by the family trust.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“To remove several members of the family board.”
Now I understood.
This had never merely been about Vivian thinking I was beneath them.
My children changed the balance of a fortune.
Three five-year-olds were unknowingly sitting at the center of a corporate war.
“You hid them because of stock.”
“I protected Julian.”
“From his own children?”
“From men who would have used them.”
“And your solution was to erase their father?”
Vivian’s voice cracked.
“You don’t know what happened after Arthur died.”
“Then tell me.”
She looked toward my office window.
“Arthur’s brother, Conrad, intended to challenge Julian for control. If Julian had an heir—”
“Three heirs.”
“At the time I knew only that you were pregnant.”
“So you made me disappear.”
“I made sure Conrad never learned.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“You could have told Julian.”
“I couldn’t trust anyone.”
“Not even your son?”
Her eyes sharpened.
“Especially my son. He loved you.”
That sentence hit unexpectedly.
“You think that made him weak?”
“I thought it made him predictable.”
She reached for her purse.
I stopped her.
“One question.”
Vivian looked at me.
“Were the hotel photographs real?”
Her eyes flickered.
There.
The tiniest hesitation.
My heart sank.
“Were they?”
“They were photographs.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She turned away.
“Julian was never having an affair with Camille.”
I felt the room tilt.
I gripped the desk.
“Then what were they doing at that hotel?”
“Meeting an investigator.”
“What investigator?”
Vivian said nothing.
I stepped toward her.
“What investigator?”
She finally answered.
“One Julian hired because he believed someone inside Sterling Capital had arranged his father’s death.”
Everything stopped.
“What?”
“He didn’t tell you because he was afraid.”
“Of me?”
“For you.”
I stared at her.
“You’re lying again.”
“I wish I were.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I looked down.
The clinic.
Vivian saw the screen.
For once, she looked frightened.
I answered.
“Ms. Marlowe?”
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Hayes from Northbrook Genetics. I’m calling because your family test results are complete.”
My heart pounded.
“Okay.”
“Would you prefer to receive the full report electronically, or would you like me to explain the findings?”
“Tell me.”
I looked at Vivian.
She didn’t move.
“The probability of Mr. Sterling being the biological father of Declan, Harper, and Miles is greater than 99.99 percent.”
I closed my eyes.
Confirmed.
I had always known.
Yet hearing it changed something.
The doctor continued speaking, but I barely heard her.
Then another voice came from my office doorway.
“So it’s official.”
Julian.
Vivian spun around.
He stood there holding his phone.
Apparently the clinic had called him too.
His eyes moved from his mother to me.
Then he said quietly:
“I have three children.”
No triumph.
Only awe.
Then his expression turned toward Vivian.
“And now I want every name.”
Vivian stiffened.
“What names?”
“Everyone who helped you keep them from me.”
He stepped inside.
“Every lawyer. Every employee. Every family member.”
His voice became colder.
“And then I want to know exactly why my father was being investigated before he died.”
Vivian’s lips parted.
Julian stared at her.
“Because if Elena and my children were hidden to protect them from someone…”
He paused.
“…I want to know whether that person still thinks they don’t exist.”
Outside my office window, a black SUV had been parked across the street for twenty minutes.
I had noticed it earlier.
For the first time, I looked closely.
May you like
A man in the driver’s seat was holding a camera.
Pointed directly at us.
Related Stories
