I wasn’t going to let Eleanor Montgomery’s narrative become my reality. I drained my savings account to buy three impeccably tailored little tuxedos and a stunning, form-fitting emerald green gown that made me look like royalty.

I hired a babysitter to come with us to wait in the car just in case things got ugly.

And on a crisp Saturday afternoon, we drove out to Lake Geneva. The estate was buzzing with hundreds of guests, string quartets, and an ocean of white roses. The valet tried to redirect me to the service entrance when he saw my modest sedan, but I handed him the keys with a freezing glare and walked right past him.

I gripped Leo and Julian’s hands, with Hayes holding tightly to Julian’s other hand, and we approached the grand ballroom. The reception was just beginning. The doors were wide open, framing the lavish scene inside. Ethan and his new bride, Caroline, were standing near the head table greeting the crème de la crème of Chicago society.

Eleanor was holding court nearby, sipping champagne and looking terrifyingly smug. I took a deep breath, smoothed my dress, and stepped into the light. It happened in waves. First, the string quartet, positioned near the entrance, quite literally fumbled their notes. The cellist stopped playing entirely.

Then, the guests nearest to the doors turned around, their polite smiles instantly freezing on their faces. The silence ripped through the room like a shockwave, traveling from the back of the ballroom all the way to the front. Within thirty seconds, an estate filled with four hundred people went completely, terrifyingly dead silent.

Ethan turned around to see what had caused the disruption. He had a crystal champagne flute in his hand.

The moment his eyes locked onto me, his expression hardened into annoyance. But then his gaze dropped down to the three little boys standing perfectly still by my side.

The glass slipped from his fingers and shattered loudly against the marble floor. It was impossible to deny. Even a stranger off the street could have looked at those boys and pointed out their father in a crowded room. They were Ethan. Three miniature, perfect versions of the Montgomery heir.

Eleanor stood up from her chair. I thought she was going to have a heart attack. All the color drained from her perfectly lifted face, leaving her looking like a terrified ghost. The precious bloodline she had fought so hard to protect, the legacy she thought she had secured with this new political marriage, was currently standing at the entrance holding the hands of the woman she despised.

I didn’t break eye contact with Ethan. I walked forward slowly, the click of my heels echoing in the painfully quiet room. The crowd parted for me like the Red Sea. No one breathed. Caroline, the new bride, looked frantically between me, the boys, and Ethan, her face contorting in confusion and rising panic.