*”He is not my son,”* the millionaire declared coldly, his voice echoing through the marble foyer. *”Take your things and leave. Both of you.”* He gestured sharply toward the door. His wife clutched their baby tighter, tears brimming in her eyes. If only he knew
Outside, the storm raged as fiercely as the one inside. Eleanor stood frozen, her fingers white from gripping little Oliver against her chest. Her husband, Gregory Harringtonmultimillionaire tycoon and patriarch of the Harrington dynastystared at her with a fury she hadnt seen in ten years of marriage.
*”Gregory, please”* Eleanor whispered, her voice trembling. *”You dont know what youre saying.”*
*”I know exactly what Im saying,”* he snapped. *”That boy isnt mine. I had a DNA test done last week. The results were clear.”*
The accusation struck harder than a slap. Her knees nearly buckled.
*”You did the test without telling me?”*
*”I had to. He doesnt look like me. He doesnt act like me. And I couldnt ignore the rumours any longer.”*
*”Rumours?!”* Her voice cracked. *”Gregory, hes a baby! And he is yoursI swear on everything!”*
But Gregory had already made his decision.
*”Your things will be sent to your fathers house. Dont come back here. Ever.”*
Eleanor stood there a moment longer, hoping this was just another one of his impulsive rages, the kind that faded by morning. But the ice in his voice left no room for doubt. She turned and walked out, the sharp click of her heels echoing against marble as thunder roared above the manor.
Eleanor had grown up modestly but entered the world of privilege when she married Gregory. Elegant, poised, intelligenteverything the society pages praised and the elite envied. None of it mattered now.
As her old Mini Cooper carried her and Oliver back to her fathers cottage in Cornwall, her mind raced. She had been faithful. She had loved Gregory, stood by him when markets crashed, when the press tore him apart, even when his mother rejected her. And now she was cast out like a stranger.
Her father, Martin Croft, opened the door, eyes wide with shock.
*”Ellie? Whats happened?”*
She collapsed into his arms. *”He said Oliver isnt his He threw us out.”*
Martins jaw tightened. *”Come inside, love.”*
In the days that followed, Eleanor adjusted to her new reality. The house was small, her old bedroom barely changed. Oliver, blissfully unaware, babbled and played, giving her moments of peace between the pain.
But something gnawed at herthe DNA test. How could it be wrong?
Desperate for answers, she went to the lab where Gregory had it done. She still had connectionsand a few favours to call in. What she discovered turned her blood to ice.
The test had been falsified.
Meanwhile, Gregory sat alone in his London mansion, suffocated by silence. He told himself hed done what was necessaryhe couldnt raise another mans child. But his conscience tore at him. He avoided Olivers old room, until one day, curiosity overwhelmed him. Seeing the empty crib, the stuffed giraffe, the tiny shoes lined up on the shelfsomething inside him shattered.
Even his mother, Lady Agatha, offered no comfort.
*”I warned you, Gregory,”* she said, sipping her expensive tea. *”That Croft girl was never right for you.”*
But even she faltered when Gregory didnt respond.
A day passed. Then a week.
Then came the letter.
No return address. Just a single sheet and a photograph.
Gregorys hands shook as he read.
*”Gregory,
You were wrong. Terribly wrong.
You wanted proofhere it is. I found the original results. The test was rigged. And the photo Ive slipped inside? I found it in your mothers study You know what it means.
Eleanor.”*
Gregory collapsed into his chair, the paper slipping from his fingers. The photograph landed face-up on the polished floor: Lady Agatha, shamelessly plucking strands of hair from the babys pillow, her smile cold and triumphant.
Everything exploded inside him.
There it wasthe proof. His mother had stolen the samples, destroyed everything.
He surged to his feet, shaking with fury. How *dare* she? What kind of monster
Then it hit him. The truth. The photograph showed his own father with the same bright blue eyes as Oliverproving Aunt Agatha had falsified the DNA in her madness to break their marriage.
The paper crumpled in his trembling hands.
And now, standing alone in the cold foyer, it didnt matter how many *pounds* he had in the bank. All that mattered were the heavy tears staining the letterand the desperate urge to run back to Eleanor and the child hed been too afraid to love.
