Chapter 1 - The Shadow of the Third Child
The steering wheel felt ice-cold beneath my trembling hands.
The air inside the investigator’s dim, paper-stacked office grew heavy, almost suffocating. The words on the faded white paper blurred together, yet one line remained violently clear:
"If Rowan ever discovers the truth, make sure he never learns what happened to the third baby."
"Where is it?" My voice sounded hollow, like a whisper coming from someone else's chest. "Where is the rest of this file, Vance?"
The private investigator, Vance Miller, took a slow drag from his cigarette, avoiding my eyes. He looked older than he had a year ago—tired, nervous, and visibly shaken.
"You were paying me to build a case against your wife, Rowan," Vance said softly, flicking ash into a dirty plastic tray. "You wanted proof she was cheating. You wanted proof she was stealing your assets. You were blinded by pride, man. When Tessa Whitmore showed up at my office with a briefcase full of unmarked cash and pre-packaged evidence, I didn't ask questions. I took the money."
"And the third child?!" I slammed my palm against the oak desk, sending folders flying onto the floor. "Maren was pregnant with triplets?!"
Vance winced, leaning back. "It was a high-risk pregnancy. When you threw her out of your mansion that night, she didn't have money, a coat, or a home. She collapsed at a rural clinic thirty miles outside Nashville. She delivered triplets prematurely."
My chest seized. I couldn't breathe. Triplets.
"The twins survived," Vance continued, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "A boy and a girl. But the third baby... the third baby had complications. And Tessa... Tessa didn't just pay me to hide the truth. She paid off the clinic staff. She did something to that third child, Rowan."
"What did she do?!" I grabbed Vance by his collar, dragging him across the desk until our faces were inches apart. "Tell me before I burn this office to the ground with you inside it!"
"I don't know!" Vance gasped, clutching my wrists. "I swear to God, I don't know! Tessa handled that part herself! All I know is that the clinic's records were erased three days later. Maren was told the third baby died at birth... but there was no death certificate issued. None!"
My stomach lurched violently.
I released Vance, staggering backward into the center of the room. The reality of what I had done—what I had allowed to happen—crashed over me like an avalanche.
For twelve months, I had lived under the same roof as Tessa Whitmore. I had kissed the woman who systematically dismantled my life. I had shared my bed with a monster while Maren, the woman who had loved me since we had nothing, walked dusty country roads collecting aluminum cans just to afford formula for my children.
And worst of all, Tessa had done something unthinkable to our third baby.
My phone rang in my pocket. The digital display blinked with the name that now sent chills down my spine:
Tessa.
I slid the screen open, forcing my breath to remain steady. "Hello?"
"Rowan darling?" Tessa’s sweet, melodic voice echoed through the speaker—a voice I had once found comforting, now sounding like the hiss of a viper. "Where are you? The caterers for the rehearsal dinner are waiting at the house. We need to choose the champagne pairing."
I stared at the clinic document in my hand, my knuckles turning white.
"I had a last-minute emergency at the office," I lied, my voice deathly calm. "I'll be home soon."
"Don't be too long, honey," she cooed. "Oh, and... don't let that sad little scene on the road ruin your mood. Some people just aren't built for success. See you at home."
She hung up.
I stood in the silence of the office, staring down at the paper. The game was over, but the war had just begun.
May you like
I didn't head toward my estate in the gated hills of Franklin. Instead, I fired up the engine of my SUV and slammed the accelerator, speeding back down the dark, unlit backroads where I had left Maren hours ago.
I was going to find my wife. And I was going to unearth every single lie Tessa had buried.
