Chapter 6 - The Wedding Gift
"Evelyn! Get out of here!" Arthur Whitmore roared, recovering from his shock as he stepped between me and Julian. His face was flushed red with fury. "How dare you interrupt my son's wedding with these street children? Security! Where is security?!"
"Touch me or my children, Arthur, and the press corps sitting in the back row will have a field day with the police report," I said smoothly, gesturing toward the media photographers who were already snapping photos frantically.
Arthur stopped in his tracks, his eyes darting to the flashing cameras.
Julian ignored his father entirely. He walked right past Arthur, his eyes fixed on the four toddlers. He dropped to one knee on the white carpet, his hands trembling violently.
He looked at Noah, who stared back at him with cool, calculating blue eyes. He looked at Ethan, who grinned innocently. He looked at Grace and Lily, whose delicate features mirrored his late mother’s old photographs.
"Evelyn..." Julian whispered, his voice breaking. "They look... they look just like..."
"They should," I said quietly.
I reached into my designer clutch and pulled out a heavy, cream-colored envelope sealed with red wax. I stepped forward and extended it to him.
"A wedding gift," I said. "From me to the happy couple."
Julian’s hands shook so badly he could barely break the wax seal. He pulled out the official legal document inside.
It was a certified report from the International Genetics Institute, stamped by the Supreme Court of New York.
His eyes scanned the technical jargon at the top, racing down to the conclusion at the bottom of the page:
Probability of Paternity: 99.99%. Julian Arthur Whitmore is the biological father of Noah Vance, Ethan Vance, Grace Vance, and Lily Vance.
"Quadruplets..." Julian breathed, the breath leaving his lungs in a ragged gasp. "Four... you had four babies?"
"Two boys," I said, pointing gently to Noah and Ethan. "And two girls. Delivered in Zurich, six months after you paid me twelve million dollars to go away because I couldn't give you an heir."
A collective, massive gasp echoed through the crowd of two hundred guests.
Arthur snatched the paper from Julian’s hands. As the old man read the words, his face turned from red to an ash-gray. "Four? Quadruplets? Two... two male heirs?"
"They are mine," Julian whispered, tears suddenly welling up in his eyes as he looked up at me. "Evelyn... my God, they're my children. Why didn't you tell me? Why did you keep them from me?!"
"You traded us for three boys, Julian," I said, my voice slicing through the air like a razor. "You didn't want a wife. You wanted a pedigree. So I gave you exactly what you paid for—my absence."
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the estate house slammed open.
Vanessa stepped out onto the terrace in her extravagant, million-dollar lace wedding dress. Her veil was trailing behind her, her face fully made up, but as her eyes landed on me, on the four toddlers, and on the paper in Arthur’s hands, her expression transformed completely.
Julian turned to look at his bride. "Vanessa... look. Evelyn had my children. Four of them."
Julian expected Vanessa to blow up in rage. He expected her to scream, to demand that I be thrown out, to cry about her ruined wedding.
But she didn't.
Vanessa stood rooted to the spot. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her eyes were wide with a raw, primal terror. Her skin was so pale she looked like a corpse in a white dress.
I looked away from Julian and locked eyes with Vanessa.
And in that split second of total silence, as I watched the utter sheer horror in her eyes, a puzzle piece that had been floating in the back of my mind for two years suddenly snapped into place with terrifying clarity.
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Vanessa wasn't scared that my children would steal the inheritance.
She was terrified of something else entirely.
