Hours before I was supposed to propose to another woman, I found four six-year-old boys in a restaurant bathroom who looked exactly like me. That encounter was about to shatter the future two powerful families had arranged for me. But the most disturbing discovery was still waiting just outside the door.

The sun rose over the Boston skyline in streaks of pale gold and slate gray.

At 6:30 a.m., the penthouse living room was transformed into an energetic hurricane. Whatever fear had gripped Clara and me through the midnight hours was utterly ignored by four six-year-olds who had just discovered the miracles of luxury room service.

Silver trays covered the marble dining table: towers of Belgian waffles dusted with powdered sugar, stacks of crispy bacon, bowls of fresh strawberries, and four tall glasses of orange juice.

"Look, Julian! The syrup is in tiny silver pots!" Theo shouted, waving a miniature pitcher in the air before Clara deftly intercepted it.

"Inside voices, Theo," Clara cautioned, though the exhausted lines around her eyes had softened into an affectionate smile. "And napkins. On your lap. Now."

Nate was already sitting cross-legged on an upholstered dining chair, his face smeared with strawberry syrup. "Dominic? Are you really our dad?"

The room suddenly went silent. Julian paused with a fork halfway to his mouth. Leo stopped arranging his bacon into a geometric triangle. Theo set his syrup down.

Four pairs of slate-gray eyes turned to look up at me.

I sat at the head of the table, having stripped off my dinner jacket and tie, rolling the sleeves of my white dress shirt up past my forearms. I set my coffee cup down with deliberate care.

"Yes, Nate," I said evenly, looking at each of them in turn. "I am. And I'm sorry I wasn't there for the last six years."

Leo, who was clearly the oldest by a matter of minutes and took his self-appointed role as spokesman very seriously, frowned with that familiar, stubborn crease between his brows. "Why weren't you there? Mom said you were working in a big castle."

I looked across the table at Clara. She held her breath, watching how I would navigate the minefield of a six-year-old’s question without destroying their innocence.

"A long time ago, someone told me a very big lie," I said gently. "They made me believe that your mother had moved far away and didn't want to see me anymore. And they told your mother that I didn't want to see her. We both believed the lie because we were foolish. But yesterday, when you boys walked into that washroom, the lie broke."

Julian wiped his chin with his forearm. "Are you going to stay now?"

"Yes," I said without a heartbeat of hesitation. "I am never going away again."

Theo grinned, his missing front tooth on full display. "Cool. Can we get a dog?"

Clara burst out laughing—a bright, musical sound that filled the cavernous suite and washed away the grim shadows of the night before. I smiled, reaching out to ruffle Nate’s thick, dark hair.

The moment was interrupted by a sharp knock at the suite’s double doors.

Frank, my head of personal security, stepped into the foyer. His face was grim. He caught my eye and signaled slightly with his head.

I stood up, kissed Clara gently on the top of her head—a gesture so natural it was as if six years had never existed—and walked to the entryway.

"What is it, Frank?"

"Peter Sterling is downstairs with the medical lab technicians for the expedited DNA swab. But that's not why I'm interrupting," Frank spoke in a low voice, handing me a manila envelope sealed with a red wax stamp. "A courier just dropped this off at the lobby desk. It was addressed to you, marked personal and confidential."

I broke the seal and pulled out the contents.

Inside was a single typed page, accompanied by a USB drive. The letterhead belonged to the private law offices of Barrett & Associates.

It wasn't from Arthur Barrett.

It was from Sloane.

*Dominic,* the note read.

*You humiliated me in front of everyone I know last night, and under normal circumstances, I would happily watch your grandfather ruin you. But I despise being used as a pawn even more than I despise being jilted. My father and Enzo didn't just want this marriage to consolidate real estate. My father found something three weeks ago while reviewing the Moretti family trusts. Enzo has been quietly liquidating the offshore accounts belonging to your late mother’s estate to cover fifty million dollars in unhedged maritime derivative losses. If you marry me, the merger clauses would have sealed the trust permanently under Barrett-Moretti control, preventing an internal audit. The USB drive contains the wire transfer receipts and the altered ledger pages. Enzo isn't trying to protect the Moretti legacy, Dominic. He’s trying to hide his own fraud before the SEC notices. Crush him.*

*—Sloane.*

I stared at the paper, the final piece of the puzzle falling into place with terrifying clarity.

Enzo hadn't just separated me from Clara to maintain social status. My mother’s trust held forty percent of the voting shares of Moretti Enterprises, which had been set to pass fully to me on my thirtieth birthday—or upon the birth of a legitimate Moretti heir.

By eliminating Clara and hiding the quadruplets, Enzo had kept full control over my mother’s money. He was going to use Sloane to lock it away forever.

"Frank," I said, my voice dangerously calm.

"Yes, boss?"

"Get the lab techs up here. We get the swabs done in five minutes. Then get Marcus Vance on a secure line. We are not just going to defend our custody in court today."

I clenched the USB drive in my fist until the plastic cut into my palm.