That is not my child, declared the cold-hearted millionaire, his voice echoing through the marble hall. Take your things and leave. Both of you. He pointed to the door. His wife clutched the baby tighter, tears welling in her eyes. If only he knew
The storm outside mirrored the one within. Eleanor stood frozen, her fingers white from gripping little Oliver to her chest. Her husband, Gregory Blackwood, a wealthy magnate and head of the Blackwood family, glared at her with a fury she had never seen in their ten years of marriage.
Gregory, please she whispered, her voice trembling. You dont know what youre saying.
I know perfectly well, he snapped. This boy isnt mine. I had a DNA test done last week. The results are clear.
The accusation struck harder than any slap. Eleanors knees nearly buckled.
You had the test without telling me?
I had to. He doesnt look like me. Doesnt act like me. And I could no longer ignore the rumours.
Rumours?! Gregory, hes a baby! And he is yours! I swear on everything I hold dear!
But Gregory had already made up his mind.
Your belongings will be sent to your fathers house. Do not return here. Ever.
Eleanor lingered for a moment, hoping it was just another one of his impulsive decisionsones that usually passed by the next day. But the ice in his voice left no room for doubt. She turned and walked out, the click of her heels fading on the marble as thunder roared above the manor.
Eleanor had grown up in modest means but had entered the world of privilege when she married Gregory. She was elegant, composed, and clevereverything the society pages praised and high society envied. Yet none of it mattered now.
As the carriage carried Eleanor and Oliver back to her fathers cottage in the countryside village of Willowbrook, her mind raced. She had been faithful. She had loved Gregory, stood by him when the markets crashed, when the press tore him down, even when his own mother had scorned her. And now she was cast out like a stranger.
Her father, Martin Greenwood, opened the door, his 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, oblivious, babbled and played, giving her moments of peace amid the pain.
But something gnawed at herthe DNA test. How could it be wrong?
Desperate for answers, she went to the laboratory where Gregory had the test done. She still had connectionsand a few favours to call in. What she discovered turned her blood to ice.
The test had been tampered with.
Meanwhile, Gregory sat alone in his London mansion, haunted by the silence. He told himself he had done what was necessarythat he couldnt raise another mans child. But the battle with his conscience wore at him. He avoided Olivers old nursery, until one day, curiosity overwhelmed him. Seeing the empty crib, the stuffed giraffe, the tiny shoes lined up on the shelfsomething inside him broke.
Even his mother, Lady Agatha, offered no comfort.
I warned you, Gregory, she said, sipping her expensive tea. That Greenwood girl was never right for you.
But even she was taken aback when Gregory didnt reply.
A day passed. Then a week.
Then came the letter.
No sender. Just a sheet of paper 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 arranged to give false results. And the photograph tucked insideI found it in your mothers private drawer You know what this means.*
* Eleanor.*
Gregory sank 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 cold, triumphant smile unmistakable.
Everything shattered.
Here was the proof. His mother had stolen the samples, ruining everything.
He leapt to his feet, shaking with fury. How dare she? What kind of monster?
Gregory suddenly understood the truththe photograph showed his own father with the same bright blue eyes as Olivers, proving how Aunt Agatha had falsified the DNA test in her madness to break their marriage. The paper crumpled in his trembling grasp.
Now, standing alone in the cold hall, it no longer mattered how many *pounds* he had in his accounts. All that mattered were the heavy tears falling onto the letterand the desperate urge to run back to Eleanor and the child he had been so afraid to love.
