“Thats not my son,” the millionaire said coldly, his voice echoing through the marble hall. “Take your things and get out. Both of you.” He pointed to the door. His wife clutched the baby to her chest, tears filling her eyes. If only he knew
The storm outside mirrored the one inside. Eleanor stood frozen, her fingers white from gripping little Oliver so tightly. Her husband, Gregory Blackwood, multimillionaire tycoon and head of the Blackwood family, glared at her with a fury she hadnt seen in their ten years of marriage.
“Gregory, please” Eleanor whispered, her voice shaking. “You dont know what youre saying.”
“Oh, I know perfectly well,” he snapped. “That boy isnt mine. I had a DNA test done last week. The results are clear.”
The accusation hurt worse than a slap. Her knees nearly buckled.
“You had the test without telling me?”
“I had to. He doesnt look like me. Doesnt act like me. And I couldnt ignore the rumours anymore.”
“Rumours?! Gregory, hes a baby! And hes yours! I swear on everything!”
But Gregory had already made up his mind.
“Your things will be sent to your fathers house. Dont come back here. Ever.”
Eleanor stayed a moment longer, hoping this was just one of his impulsive decisionsthe kind that passed by morning. But the ice in his voice left no room for doubt. She turned and walked out, the click of her heels echoing on marble as thunder boomed above the manor.
Eleanor had grown up modestly but stepped into privilege when she married Gregory. She was elegant, poised, intelligenteverything the magazines praised and high society envied. None of it mattered now.
As her old Mini carried her and Oliver back to her fathers cottage in the countryside, her mind reeled. Shed been faithful. Shed loved Gregory, stood by him when stocks crashed, when the press tore him down, even when his mother despised her. Now she was cast out like a stranger.
Her father, Martin Greene, 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 clenched. “Come inside, love.”
In the days that followed, Eleanor adjusted to her new reality. The house was small, her old bedroom barely changed. Oliver, oblivious, babbled and played, giving her moments of peace between the pain.
But something nagged at herthe DNA test. How could it be wrong?
Desperate for answers, she went to the lab where Gregory had taken the test. She still had connectionsand favours to call in. What she discovered froze her blood.
The test had been tampered with.
Meanwhile, Gregory sat alone in his London mansion, haunted by silence. He told himself hed done the right thinghe couldnt raise another mans child. But guilt gnawed at him. He avoided Olivers old room, until one day, curiosity overcame him. Seeing the empty crib, the stuffed giraffe, the tiny shoes lined up on the shelfsomething in him shattered.
Even his mother, Lady Agatha, offered no comfort.
“I warned you, Gregory,” she said, sipping her expensive tea. “That Greene girl was never right for you.”
But even she frowned when Gregory didnt reply.
A day passed. Then a week.
Then came the letter.
No return address. Just a sheet of paper and a photograph.
Gregorys hands trembled 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 tucked in with this? 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 photo landed face-up on the polished floor: Lady Agatha shamelessly plucking strands of hair from the babys pillow, her cold, triumphant smile twisting the truth. Everything exploded inside him. Here it wasthe proof. His mother had stolen the sample, ruining everything.
He shot to his feet, shaking with fury. How *dare* she? What kind of monster
Then it hit him. The photo showed his father with the same blue eyes as Oliver, proving Aunt Agatha had falsified the DNA test in her madness to break their marriage. The paper crumpled in his trembling grip. Now, standing alone in the cold hall, it didnt matter how many *pounds* he hadonly the heavy tears staining the letter and the desperate urge to run back to Eleanor and the child hed been so afraid to love.
