Grant let out a harsh, dry laugh, trying to regain his footing.

“So I made a mistake,” Grant said, taking a step toward me. “The kid is mine. We can settle this quietly, Amelia. Name your price.”

“You don’t understand, Grant,” I said quietly.

I reached into the envelope and pulled out the official lab report.

I laid the single sheet of white paper on top of the photographs.

“I had your DNA compared to the child’s, Grant,” I said. “You are not the father.”

Grant blinked, a confused smirk touching his lips.

“What?” Grant asked. “Then she lied to me. The girl is a fraud.”

“She didn’t lie about the child being a Harrow,” I said.

I pointed to the highlighted section at the bottom of the page.

“The genetic markers show a ninety-nine percent probability of paternity,” I said. “But the match isn’t you.”

I looked past Grant, straight at his father.

“The father is Conrad,” I said.

The room went entirely silent.

The only sound was the crackle of the fireplace and the steady beat of the rain against the glass.

Antoinette gasped, her hand flying to her throat, her pearls clinking together.

Grant looked from the paper to his father, his eyes wide and vacant with shock.

“Dad?” Grant whispered.

Conrad slowly turned around from the window, his face pale but hard as stone.

At that exact moment, the screen of Grant’s phone lit up on the side table.

A text message from Sienna Cole appeared on the lock screen, the preview visible to everyone in the room.

The screen glowed in the dim light of the study.

The preview on the lock screen was short.

*The wire transfer from your father’s account didn’t go through. If I don’t get the confirmation number in an hour, I’m calling the papers.*

Grant stared at the glowing glass.