Chapter 4 - The House of Cards CollapsesThe words hung in the air like poison gas.
Zero genetic match to Mr. Preston Hale.
For a moment, time seemed to stop. The high-end medical clinic, the velvet sofa, the expensive designer clothes, the millions of dollars in family trust funds—everything vanished beneath the crushing weight of those nine words.
Preston slowly turned his head to look at Brielle. The transformation in his eyes was terrifying to witness. The arrogant, untouchable billionaire heir was gone, replaced by a man staring directly into the abyss of his own utter humiliation.
“What... what did you just say?” Preston whispered, his voice cracking violently.
Brielle pressed herself back against the pillows of the exam table, her hands trembling so hard she could barely keep them steady. “She’s... she’s lying! Preston, don't listen to her! It’s a bribe! Lena! This has to be Lena! She must have paid off the clinic to sabotage us—she’s jealous, she wanted revenge because we left her with nothing—”
“Quiet!” Arthur Hale roared, his face turning a deep, dangerous shade of purple. He stood up so fast his cane clattered against the tile floor. “Shut your mouth, woman! Doctor, explain yourself right now! Are you telling me my son’s name is not on this child’s paternity profile?”
Dr. Harrison remained completely unfazed by the billionaire patriarch’s fury. She simply slid a printed medical report across the desk toward Arthur, her expression icy.
“I am stating, Mr. Hale, that the genetic markers present in this fetus do not share a single strand of DNA with Preston Hale. Furthermore, our cross-reference database indicates that Ms. Foster registered an independent genetic profile match just twenty-two days ago with a male individual whose primary residence is listed in downtown Boston—a man who, according to public records, happens to be a junior partner at your own corporate law firm, Mr. Hale.”
The room erupted into absolute chaos.
Evelyn let out a high-pitched gasp and clutched her chest, collapsing back onto the sofa as if she were about to faint. Preston’s sisters started shouting over one another, demanding answers, their pristine corporate poise shattering into jagged shards of panic and rage.
Preston stared at Brielle as though he were looking at a complete stranger.
“Julian?” Preston breathed out, the name slipping past his lips like a curse. “Julian Vance? My lead associate? The man I invited into my home? The man I trusted with my accounts?”
Brielle stopped trying to deny it. Her shoulders slumped, and the mask of sweet innocence melted away, replaced by a cold, bitter defiance. Her eyes flashed with sudden venom as she glared up at Preston.
“And what if it is?!” Brielle snapped, her voice echoing shrilly off the sterile walls. “What did you expect, Preston?! You’re a cold, obsessive, workaholic bore! You spent our entire relationship talking about your father’s approval, your family trust, and your miserable, loveless marriage to Lena! I wanted security, Preston! Not endless lectures about corporate compliance!”
“You lied to me!” Preston screamed, lunging forward, his hands slamming onto the desk so hard the computer monitor rattled. “You told me you were pregnant with my son! You told me that was why I had to divorce Lena immediately! You made me throw away my entire family—you made me tell my daughters to leave!”
“Your daughters?” Brielle laughed hysterically, tears of rage welling in her eyes. “Oh, please! You didn't care about those girls for a single second! You traded them without blinking an eye! Don't act like a heartbroken father now when you’re just a pathetic, insecure hypocrite who couldn't even satisfy his own wife!”
Arthur Hale raised his hand and struck the wall with his fist, his face contorted with rage. “Get out! All of you! Out of my sight! This is an unmitigated disaster—our stock prices will be public laughingstocks by morning when the gossip columns get hold of this!”
Preston stumbled backward, his legs suddenly unable to support his weight. He hit the examination chair, knocking a tray of surgical instruments clattering to the floor. He stared down at his hands—the same hands that had signed the divorce papers less than two hours ago, the same hands that had casually waved away his nine-year marriage and his two little girls as if they were worthless trash.
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He had traded his entire life for a lie.
And out there, somewhere thousands of feet in the air above the Atlantic Ocean, Lena and his daughters were flying away into freedom, completely free of him forever.
