“Arthur was sterile,” Eleanor said simply.

“We found out two years into our marriage.”

“But my father’s will was very specific about the family inheritance.”

“The Sterling empire could only pass to a male heir born during our marriage.”

Nathan did not move.

He stood like a statue carved from ice.

“So we made an arrangement,” Eleanor continued, her voice smooth and conversational.

“A private adoption through a clinic in Boston.”

“The records were sealed, destroyed, and replaced.”

“As far as the world, the law, and the board of directors know, you are Arthur’s biological son.”

She leaned back, a faint, smug smile touching her lips.

“But you are not.”

“You have no Sterling blood in your veins, Nathan.”

“None at all.”

I reached out and took Nathan’s hand.

His palm was ice cold and soaking wet with sweat.

“Why are you telling us this now?” Nathan asked, his voice cracking.

“Because you forgot your place,” Eleanor said.

She stood up, walking slowly toward him until she was only inches away.

She looked up into his face, her eyes devoid of any maternal warmth.