The library of Croft Manor was a tomb of silence. The rain lashed against the windows, enhancing the “Dynastic Gothic” atmosphere that suffocated the estate.
A courier had just left. On the heavy oak desk lay a sealed envelope from the genetic testing lab. The Paternity Test.
Victoria sat in the leather armchair, her arms wrapped around her stomach. She felt sick. Not because she doubted the result, but because the test itself was an insult. It was the physical manifestation of the lack of trust that had broken them.
William picked up the envelope. He weighed it in his hand.
“Read it,” Victoria whispered, looking away toward the roaring fireplace. “Get it over with. Check the math. Make sure your ‘investment’ is secure.”
William looked at her profile. He saw the exhaustion etched into her face, the way she protected her unborn child even from him. He thought of the way she had looked at him during the blackout–seeking his protection, not Dominic’s.
He didn’t open the envelope.
He walked to the fireplace and tossed the sealed packet onto the logs.
The paper curled, blackened, and burst into flame. Victoria gasped, turning to look at him.
“William? What are you doing?”
“I don’t need a paper,” William said, his voice rough with emotion. He walked over to her and knelt by her chair, taking her cold hands in his. “I know you, Victoria. I know your heart. I know you wouldn’t lie about this.”
“But the rumors…” Victoria stammered. “The press says–“
“Let them talk,” William said fiercely, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “This is my child. And you are my wife. That is the only truth that matters.”