Inside the clinic’s VIP suite, Jason grinned at the ultrasound monitor, his mother hovering like a vulture awaiting her royal prize. Beside him stood Nicole, glowing in a tight pink dress. And sitting right beside her was her identical twin sister—also heavily pregnant, a bizarre mirrored illusion Jason had happily paid to house.
Then, Dr. Harrison walked in, his face like stone.
“Mr. Carter, there’s something critical you need to know about the ultrasound results.”
Nicole gasped in horror, clutching her chest. “What do you mean?”
“I expedited the genetic panels your mother demanded,” the doctor said, holding his clipboard like a shield. “Neither of these babies shares your DNA, Jason. But medically speaking… they share the exact same father. Both women are carrying children from your personal chauffeur.”
Jason’s face instantly drained of color. The twins exchanged a panicked, identical look of sheer terror. They were professional grifters, and Jason had been their ultimate, gullible mark.
But his nightmare was only just beginning.
Jason’s phone violently buzzed. Overdraft alerts. Asset transfer confirmations. Complete corporate liquidation.
The divorce clauses he had impatiently scribbled his signature across earlier that morning weren’t standard divisions. He hadn’t just surrendered the house; he had legally transferred his trust fund, his company shares, and the entire Carter estate directly into Ethan and Sophie’s names.
*He had given me the entire empire.*
“Wait, you’re taking my children?!” Jason screamed into his phone, finally dialing my number as his untouchable dynasty crumbled to ashes. “You took every dime!”
Sitting in first-class, 30,000 feet above the Atlantic, I took a slow, deliberate sip of my mimosa.
“No, Jason,” I answered softly, watching my kids laugh together. “You gave it to us. Have a nice life.”
I hung up, tossed the phone into my champagne bucket, and flew toward our real future.