Chapter 3

The words hung in the suffocating air of the living room, freezing the blood in my veins.

She's raised my son long enough.

I stared at Nadine, my mind violently rejecting the syllables that had just left her perfectly painted lips. I looked up at the top of the grand staircase.

Noah was still standing there, clutching his stuffed bear, his small chest heaving with terrified sobs.

I had felt him grow inside me. I had endured twenty hours of agonizing labor.

I had nursed him, rocked him to sleep, and kissed every scraped knee for three years.

"What are you talking about?" I whispered, my voice trembling so violently I barely recognized it. "I gave birth to Noah. He is my flesh and blood."

"You gave birth, Donna," Garrett stated, his voice smooth and entirely devoid of remorse. "But not to Noah."

The room started to spin. The heavy velvet curtains, the polished hardwood, the smug faces of my in-laws—everything blurred into a dizzying nightmare.

"Nadine and I never stopped seeing each other," Garrett confessed, slipping his hands into his tailored pockets. "But my father demanded I marry a respectable, low-maintenance woman to secure my position in the family. A sweet, naive nurse fit the bill perfectly. But then, Nadine got pregnant. Right around the same time you did."

I couldn't breathe. The oxygen had been violently sucked from the room.

"I couldn't let my true heir grow up in the shadows," Garrett continued, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "I couldn't let Nadine's child be a secret while your brat inherited the Graham family wealth. So, when you both went into labor on the exact same night at the private clinic, I made a few strategic investments. I bribed the attending physician and the nursery staff."

"No," I gasped, stepping backward, my hands flying to my mouth. "No, you couldn't have. That's impossible."

"Money makes anything possible, Donna," Nadine purred, stepping forward. She gently pushed the dark-haired, blue-eyed boy she was holding toward me. "Garrett swapped the bassinets. You took my son home. And I took yours."

I looked down at the little boy standing beside Nadine’s designer boots. He had my nose. He had my soft, curling hair.

He was looking around the room with wide, frightened eyes, completely unaware that the bleeding, broken woman staring at him was his real mother.

They had stolen my baby. They had forced me to raise the product of their dirty, deceitful affair, while my own flesh and blood was kept hidden away as a hostage, raised by the woman who was sleeping with my husband.

The sheer, unadulterated evil of it was paralyzing.

It was a violation so deep, so monstrous, that it shattered my soul into a million jagged pieces.

"You're monsters," I choked out, tears of pure agony finally spilling over my bruised cheeks. "You are sick, twisted monsters! I will kill you! I will kill both of you!"

I lunged at Garrett, my fingers curled into claws, desperate to tear his eyes out.

But he easily caught my wrists, shoving me brutally back against the heavy oak coffee table.

"It's over, Donna," Garrett sneered. "You're going to sign the divorce papers, and you're going to walk away. You will leave Noah with us, and Nadine will keep your biological son. If you ever go to the police, if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone, you will never see your real child again. We will disappear with him."

I was trapped. A perfect, inescapable checkmate.

But suddenly, a harsh, booming voice shattered the sickening triumph in the room.

"Wait a damn minute!"

Leonard stepped forward. He wasn't looking at me. He wasn't looking at his precious son. He was staring down at the crumpled DNA report still clutched in his trembling fist.

"Garrett, what the hell are you saying?" Leonard demanded, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.

"I'm saying Noah is my biological son, Dad," Garrett said, rolling his eyes slightly, annoyed by the interruption. "I swapped the babies. Noah is a true Graham. He has my blood."

"No, he doesn't!" Leonard roared, waving the paper violently in the air. "I took Noah to the clinic myself! I watched them swab his cheek! The lab ran his DNA against mine! If Noah is your biological son, Garrett, then why does this test say he shares absolutely zero percent of my DNA?!"

The room fell dead silent.

Garrett frowned, his arrogant mask slipping for the very first time. "What? That's impossible. The test must be wrong. The lab made a mistake."

"The best lab in the state doesn't make mistakes!" Leonard shouted, his face turning a dangerous, mottled red. "Zero percent, Garrett! He is not related to me!"

My medical training, honed by years of high-pressure emergency room trauma, suddenly flared to life.

My brain bypassed the grief and the shock, latching onto the cold, hard science.

I remembered organizing the family medical files for our insurance last year. I remembered the blood types.

Leonard was Type O.

Erika was Type O.

Two parents with Type O blood can only ever produce a child with Type O blood. It was basic, undeniable genetics.

But Garrett was Type A.

I had always assumed it was a clerical error on the insurance forms. But standing here, looking at the DNA test in Leonard's hand, the final, devastating puzzle piece clicked perfectly into place.

Noah was Garrett's son. The DNA test proved Noah wasn't related to Leonard.

Which meant the broken link in the bloodline wasn't Noah.

It was Garrett.

I wiped the blood from my split lip and slowly pushed myself off the coffee table. I stood tall, the victim no longer.

"The lab didn't make a mistake, Leonard," I said.

I turned my gaze away from my cheating husband and locked eyes with my arrogant, cruel mother-in-law.

"What are you babbling about, you crazy bitch?" Erika snapped, though her voice suddenly lacked its usual venom. Her perfectly manicured hands were trembling.

"You both have Type O blood," I stated, taking a slow, deliberate step toward Leonard. "Garrett is Type A. It's biologically impossible for you to be his father, Leonard."

Leonard froze. The color drained from his face as the reality of my words slammed into him.

I let out another cold, merciless laugh, pointing a shaking finger directly at Erika.

"You want to know why Noah doesn't have your DNA, Leonard?" I shouted, dropping the ultimate bombshell into the center of their perfect, wealthy lives. "Because Garrett isn't your son! Your precious, aristocratic wife is the real cheater!"