“We were just leaving, Adrian,” I said.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

“They are three years old, Maya,” he said.

He knelt on the cold pavement, ignoring the dirt on his designer trousers.

He reached out a hand toward Noah, but drew it back before touching his cheek.

“Are they mine?” he asked.

“Adrian, please,” I said. “Don’t do this here.”

Camille caught up to him, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

She glared at me, her blue eyes cold and calculating.

“Adrian, we have a lunch reservation at two,” Camille said, touching his shoulder.

“Let’s go. This is none of our business.”

Adrian stood up slowly.

He looked at Camille, his expression hardening.

“You knew,” he said.

Camille flinched, but she quickly recovered her composure.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

“You knew,” Adrian repeated, his voice dangerously quiet. “You and my grandfather.”

“Adrian, your grandfather only wanted to protect you from complications,” Camille said.

She realized her mistake the moment the words left her mouth.

She reached for his hand, but he stepped back, away from her touch.

“Complications?” Adrian asked. “These are my children.”

The wind picked up, swirling dead leaves around our feet.

The smell of wet asphalt and lake water filled the air.

“Salvatore said it was handled,” Camille muttered, her voice dropping.

“He said she was gone.”

Adrian stared at his fiancé as if seeing her for the first time.

The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy.

Then, the screen of Adrian’s phone lit up inside his coat pocket.

A soft buzz vibrated in the quiet afternoon air.

He pulled the phone out and looked at the caller ID.

The screen showed a single name: *Salvatore*.

Adrian looked from the screen to me, then down at the triplets.

His thumb hovered over the decline button.

Adrian slid his thumb across the screen and declined the call.