Chapter 2

The backstage lounge smelled like expensive cigars and leather polish. It was a suffocating mix that made Seraphina's stomach churn. She sat on the edge of the leather sofa, her arms wrapped around Fiona, while Pax and Rowan stood in front of them like two tiny soldiers facing a firing squad.

The heavy oak door swung open. Donovan walked in, his face set in hard lines, followed by Theodore in his wheelchair.

Seraphina's throat closed up. She pressed her face into Fiona's hair, breathing in the scent of cheap strawberry shampoo to ground herself.

Donovan didn't sit. He stood by the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at her like she was a specimen under glass. "Well?"

Theodore ignored his son's tone. He rolled his chair closer, his eyes softening as he looked at the boys. He stopped right in front of Pax.

"What's your name, son?" Theodore asked, his voice gentle.

Pax didn't blink. "Pax Fletcher. This is my brother Rowan, and my sister Fiona."

Theodore let out a short, surprised laugh. He glanced up at Donovan. "When you were five, you threw a tantrum because the nanny cut your sandwiches into squares instead of triangles. This kid has better composure than the CEO of a Fortune 500 company."

Donovan didn't smile. His attention had shifted to Fiona. The little girl was peeking out from behind her mother's arm, her big eyes-eyes that were a striking, vivid shade of green-watching the room. They were the exact same shade as Donovan's late mother.

Seraphina noticed where he was looking. She immediately pulled Fiona tighter against her, hiding the child's face.

Theodore saw the defensive move. He reached into the pocket of his blazer and pulled out a small, silver music box. He wound it gently, a soft lullaby filling the tense room, and held it out to Fiona. "For you, little lady."

Fiona looked up at Seraphina. Seraphina hesitated, the instinct to refuse warring with the knowledge that she couldn't afford to offend these people. She gave a tiny nod.

Fiona took the box, her face lighting up as the tune played.

Theodore watched the three children, his expression growing serious. He looked back at his son, dropping his voice so only Donovan could hear. "Look at them, Donovan. Put a photo of you at five next to Pax. Nobody would doubt it. And you know Gwendolyn Kensington is flying in from Paris next week. You'd best have your house in order before she arrives with her own ideas."

Donovan's heart gave a violent thud against his ribs. The words confirmed the insane thought that had been spinning in his head since he saw the birthmark. He cleared his throat, forcing his voice to stay flat. "Ms. Fletcher. We need to talk."

Seraphina stood up, pushing the kids slightly behind her. "Mr. Vance, if this is about the raffle prize, we don't need the car. We can just take the cash value, or-"

"No," Theodore interrupted, his voice suddenly sharp. "This isn't about the prize." He locked eyes with Seraphina. "We want to talk about your children."

The blood rushed from Seraphina's head. Her worst nightmare was unfolding. They knew. They somehow knew, and they were going to take them away.

Before she could speak, Theodore doubled over. A harsh, wet cough tore from his chest, shaking his entire frame. His face went from pale to gray in seconds. A private doctor materialized from the corner of the room, rushing to the old man's side.

Donovan was at his father's shoulder in an instant, his cold facade cracking to reveal genuine fear. "Dad?"

Fiona's lip trembled. "Is the grandpa okay?"

Theodore waved the doctor off, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped his mouth and looked at the kids, his eyes unnervingly kind despite the pain. "Don't worry, little ones. Grandpa is just old and tired."

The word hit Seraphina like a physical blow. Grandpa.

Donovan froze. He stared at his father, then at the kids, the pieces slamming into place in his mind.

Theodore looked up at his son, his expression hardening. "Donovan. Have Alex take the children to the game room. I need to speak with Ms. Fletcher alone."

Donovan hesitated. He didn't want to let them out of his sight. But the look in his father's eyes brokered no argument. He nodded at Alex.

Alex ushered the kids toward the door. Pax glanced back at Seraphina. He gave her a tiny, reassuring nod, and as he passed the sofa, his hand moved swift as a shadow, sticking a small black dot underneath the frame.

The door clicked shut.

Seraphina stood alone in the vast room, facing the man in the wheelchair. The silence was deafening.

Theodore didn't waste time. "Ms. Fletcher," he said, his voice raspy but firm. "I don't have much time left. The cancer is in my pancreas. Six months, maybe less."

Seraphina's breath caught. The anger and fear deflated, replaced by an unexpected pity. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Just listen." Theodore leaned forward, his gaze piercing hers. "I want to die knowing my family is whole. I want to know the truth." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "Are these children part of the Vance bloodline? Yes or no?"