“Turns out the problem was never me.”
Adrian’s face twisted. “That baby isn’t mine. We were careful. You’re trying to trap me for child support, for more money—”
I laughed softly. The sound surprised even me.
“Trap you? Adrian, you served me divorce papers while I was recovering from my third miscarriage. You had Vanessa leak medical records to the press calling me ‘barren.’ You took the penthouse, the Hamptons house, and most of my shares in Carter Holdings. And now you think I’m trying to trap *you*?”
I reached for the folder on the side table and tossed it toward him. Papers spilled across the floor—official documents, lab results, hospital records.
Adrian knelt and picked them up with shaking hands. Vanessa read over his shoulder.
The color drained from both their faces.
“DNA confirmation,” I said. “Done at eight weeks. She’s yours, Adrian. Conceived during that ‘reconciliation weekend’ in Aspen right before you filed. The one where you cried and said you’d made a mistake and wanted to try again. The same weekend you had already proposed to her.”
Vanessa’s hand flew back to her mouth.
Adrian looked like he might vomit. “This… this can’t be happening. Today is my wedding day. I’m marrying Vanessa in two hours. We have a honeymoon in Santorini booked. The merger with her father’s company—”
“None of that is my problem anymore,” I replied.
---
**How We Got Here**
Our marriage had been a fairy tale for exactly eleven months.
