“Your children live in my house. That makes them my concern too.”
“Since when? You’ve never cared about them before.”
“I’ve always cared. You’ve just been too busy blocking access to notice.”
She shakes her head. “Something changed. Yesterday, you were arguing with me in the hallway. Today you’re analyzing them. What happened?”
“I’m allowed to observe children living in my household.”
“Observe. That’s an interesting word choice.” She moves closer to my desk. “What are you looking for?”
“What do you think I’m looking for?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
We stare at each other across the desk. She’s trying to read me, figure out what shifted. But I’ve spent thirty years controlling my expressions. She won’t see anything I don’t want her to see.
“Go home, Anna.”
“This is my home too. Whether I like it or not.”
“Then go back to the estate. I have work.”
“Luca—”
“We’re done here.”
She stands there for another moment, searching my face for answers. Then she turns and walks out without another word.
I wait until the door closes. Then I pull out my phone and text Pavel:How much longer?
Three hours.
At six o’clock, I’m standing at the window again when Pavel walks in. He’s holding a manila envelope.
“The results?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I take the envelope. Don’t open it immediately. Just hold it and look at Pavel. “What do they say?”
“You should read it yourself.”
I open the envelope and pull out the report. Medical terminology, genetic markers, probability percentages. Bottom line, highlighted in yellow:Probability of Paternity: 99.97%
Positive match. The twins are mine.
I set the report on my desk and stare at it.
Five years. Anna has known for five years that I fathered her children. She tried to find me after that night. Learned who I was. And decided to keep them secret.
Then her father’s debt brought us together. She walked into that wedding venue, saw me standing there, and recognized me immediately. She married me, knowing exactly who I was. Knowing those children sleeping under my roof every night are mine.
And she said nothing. Kept them away from me. Blocked every attempt I made to connect with them. Lied to my face when I asked about their father.
The anger is cold. Controlled. The kind that doesn’t explode but calculates.
“Call Viktor and Svetlana,” I tell Pavel. “Tell them to come to the estate immediately. Tonight. Not negotiable.”
