Chapter 1

The grand ballroom buzzed, a hundred conversations rising to the high, ornate ceiling.

Chandeliers dripped light onto the polished floor, tables draped in white linen gleamed.

Tonight was for Leo, my son.

His win at the Global Young Virtuoso Piano Competition was a monumental achievement.

I, Marcus Thorne, had built an empire in sustainable energy from nothing, but Leo' s talent, his passion for music, that was a different kind of success, a purer kind.

He stood near the grand piano, flushed with victory, accepting congratulations.

My wife, Seraphina, should have been by my side, or his.

Instead, I saw her enter, late, a deliberate fashion statement in a gown that cost more than my first car.

Damien Archer trailed her, his smile too smooth, his hand lingering a moment too long on her arm.

He was her childhood friend, perpetually "between ventures," always close. Too close.

The Vanderbilts, Sera' s family, were already scattered among the guests, their noses slightly in the air, even while enjoying my hospitality. Old money, looking down on new.

I watched Leo, his face bright. He deserved this night, untainted.

The orchestra paused, and I stepped towards the small stage, ready to give my speech, to celebrate my son.

Then Sera' s voice cut through the room, sharp and carrying.

"Everyone, may I have your attention, please?"

A hush fell, expectant eyes turned to her.

She glided to the center of the room, Damien at her side like a shadow.

Her expression was a practiced mask of sorrow and forced bravery.

"There's something you all need to know," she announced, her voice trembling just enough.

"Something about Leo. About his true heritage."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. I felt Leo stiffen beside me.

Damien stepped forward, placing a supportive hand on Sera' s shoulder.

"Years ago," Sera continued, her gaze sweeping the room, landing on me with theatrical pity, "when Marc and I were trying to conceive Leo through IVF, Damien... Damien was very ill."

She paused for effect, a tear tracing a perfect path down her cheek.

"He was told he might not survive, a rare, terrible disease. He had no legacy, no child to carry on his name."

Damien looked down, the picture of tragic nobility.

"So, I made a decision," Sera declared, her voice rising. "A mother's decision. I couldn't let his line end. I secretly arranged for the clinic to use Damien's sperm, not Marc's."

Gasps. Shocked whispers.

"Damien Archer," she proclaimed, her arm sweeping towards him, "is Leo's biological father."

The Vanderbilts began to murmur loudly, nodding in agreement, casting looks of scorn my way. Damien' s friends, a collection of equally opportunistic faces, echoed the sentiment.

The air crackled with scandal.

I looked at Sera, at Damien, their faces alight with their planned triumph.

I remained perfectly still, my expression unreadable.

Inside, a cold, precise anger, honed over years of her deceptions, was counterbalanced by an equally cold, precise satisfaction.

They had finally played their hand.

I let the silence stretch for a moment, then I spoke, my voice calm, cutting through the renewed murmurs.

"Is that so, Seraphina?"

I turned to Damien.

"And you, Damien? You're claiming to be Leo's father?"

My gaze swept over them, then the crowd.

"An interesting story. Do you, by any chance, have the official paternity test results with you?"