Blake stood motionless beside the curb while travelers and chauffeurs moved around us.
The color had drained completely from his face.
His eyes remained fixed on the boys.
On their dark hair.
Their smiles.
Their identical dimples.
His dimples.
“Emma…” he whispered.
I tightened my arms around the youngest.
“Boys, say hello.”
Three cheerful voices answered together.
“Hello!”
Blake looked as though the ground beneath him had disappeared.
“How old are they?” he asked quietly.
“Four.”
The answer hit him like a punch.
Four years.
Almost exactly the same amount of time since our divorce had been finalized.
He swallowed hard.
“Their names?”
“Ethan. Noah. Liam.”
His eyes filled with confusion.
“You had triplets?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
Pain flashed through me.
“I tried.”
Blake froze.
“What?”
“I called.”
His eyebrows furrowed.
“I sent letters.”
His breathing changed.
“I went to New York twice.”
“Emma…”
“But your assistant always said you were unavailable.”
He shook his head immediately.
“No.”
“I have proof.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
His voice broke.
“I never knew.”
For the first time since boarding the plane, the arrogance was gone.
Only disbelief remained.
The boys stared curiously at the stranger.
“Mom,” Noah asked, “who’s the sad man?”
Before I could answer, the oldest, Ethan, tilted his head.
“Why does he look like us?”
Blake closed his eyes.
Tears appeared.
Real tears.
Five years earlier, I would have thought such a thing impossible.
Then a silver-haired man stepped out of the Bentley.
Blake’s entire body stiffened.
“Impossible,” he whispered.
My father smiled warmly at the boys.
“Ready for lunch, gentlemen?”
Blake looked as though he had seen a ghost.
Because the man standing beside me wasn’t my father.
It was William Harrington.
His own father.
The billionaire founder who had supposedly retired to Switzerland three years earlier.
“Dad?” Blake whispered.
William’s smile vanished.
Slowly, he removed his sunglasses and looked directly at his son.
Then he spoke the words that made Blake go pale.
“You finally found them.”
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