Several people in the back rows stood up and began to walk toward the exits.

“This way, Senator,” a security guard said, guiding the Kensingtons toward the side doors.

Audrey was crying now, her veil trailing behind her as her father pulled her away.

Garrett did not follow her.

He slowly turned around to look at me and our sons.

The three boys looked so much like him, with his dark hair and the same gray eyes.

“Clara,” Garrett said, his voice barely a whisper.

“I had no idea.”

“I know,” I said, my voice flat.

“But she did,” I added, looking at the agents leading Vivian out of the pavilion.

Vivian’s heels clicked sharply on the stone steps as they walked her down the aisle.

Her head was still held high, but her empire was crumbling with every step.

Grandfather Bradford turned his gaze toward me and the triplets.

He walked over, his cane making a slow, rhythmic sound on the floor.

He stopped just two feet away, looking down at the three boys.

“They have the Bradford chin,” the old man said, his voice surprisingly soft.