Sitting in a high-backed leather chair near the fire was Grandfather Bradford.

He looked thinner than I remembered, his hands gripping a silver-topped cane.

His sharp, gray eyes locked onto the triplets the moment we entered.

He did not look at me at all.

“Bring them closer,” the old man commanded, his voice raspy but firm.

I kept my hand on Owen’s shoulder and stopped a few feet from his chair.

“We are fine right here, Mr. Bradford,” I said.

Garrett and Vivian entered the room behind us, shutting the heavy oak doors.

Audrey Kensington followed them, her white bridal train dragging slightly on the oriental rug.

Her eyes were red, and she glared at me with pure hatred, her hands trembling as she clutched her bouquet.

“Grandfather, this is a scam,” Garrett said, walking to the side of the old man’s chair.

“Quiet, Garrett,” Grandfather Bradford said, never taking his eyes off the boys.

He studied Wyatt’s nose, then Owen’s ears, and finally Leo’s eyes.

The room was silent except for the crackle of the wood in the fireplace and the rain beating against the leaded glass windows.