Chapter 3 - THE BREAKING POINT
Viral Hook: “The DNA results are in. But before the billionaire can kick his toxic fiancée out, she delivers a chilling ultimatum that changes everything.”
“It’s a fabrication!” Celeste screamed, backing away as Nolan advanced on her like a predator cornering its prey. “She forged that! My father would never do such a thing, and neither would I! Nolan, you have to believe me! I love you! Everything I did, I did to protect our future!”
“So you admit you did it?” Nolan barked, his voice shaking the glass cabinets in the study.
“No! I mean—no, I didn't do it! She’s framing me!”
Just then, a soft chime echoed from Dr. Sterling’s laptop. The doctor looked at the screen, sighed, and looked up at Nolan with a mixture of sadness and profound respect.
“The probability of paternity,” Dr. Sterling announced, “is 99.99%. Nora Harper is your biological daughter, Nolan.”
The words hung in the air like a physical blow.
Nolan closed his eyes for a brief moment. A daughter. He had a daughter. The quiet, beautiful little girl who had looked at him and asked why he was her mirror... she was his flesh and blood. The child he had unknowingly craved, the continuation of his family line, born from the only woman he had ever truly loved but had lost to a web of lies.
When Nolan opened his eyes, all warmth was gone. He looked at Celeste.
“Get out of my house,” he said flatly. “The engagement is off. My lawyers will contact your father’s foundation by tomorrow morning. I am pulling all Ashford funding from your family’s businesses. By the time I am done, the Wainwright name will be synonymous with blackmail and child abuse.”
Celeste’s panic suddenly morphed into something ugly, sharp, and desperate. She stopped backing away. She straightened her posture, a cold, venomous sneer spreading across her face.
“You think you can just discard me, Nolan?” she hissed, her voice dripping with malice. “You think you can just bring your little maid and her bastard into high society and live happily ever after? Think again.”
Nolan frowned. “Are you threatening me?”
“I’m stating facts,” Celeste said, crossing her arms. She pulled her phone from her clutch and tapped the screen, turning it to face him. “Do you know what this is? It’s a contract. Signed by your late father, Charles Ashford, ten years ago. A contract that states if you do not marry a woman of equal social standing—specifically from one of the founding four families of the Manhattan Council, of which the Wainwrights are the prominent leaders—by your thirty-second birthday, eighty percent of the Ashford conglomerate shares automatically transfer to your stepbrother, Richard.”
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Nolan’s eyes narrowed. He knew about his father’s archaic will, but he had believed his lawyers had bypassed those clauses years ago.
“Oh, did you think your high-priced attorneys fixed that?” Celeste laughed, a mocking, triumphant sound. “They didn't. My father made sure of it. Your thirty-second birthday is next week, Nolan. If you call off this wedding, if you try to marry her,” she spat the word with disgust, “you will lose your empire. You will be stripped of your CEO title. You’ll be just another man with a pretty face and a bankrupt bank account. So tell me... is your little bastard worth eighty billion dollars?”
