Chapter 2 - Griffin Discovered the Twins Were His Daughters, but the DNA Test Revealed Something Far More Dangerous Than PaternityThe hospital room became a fortress.
Two of Griffin's men stood outside.
Another watched the elevator.
A nurse told me the girls were in a private pediatric room nearby.
I wanted to see them.
Griffin told me to rest.
We argued.
“I'm their mother.”
“And I'm their father.”
The words landed between us.
For eight years, I had imagined what that moment might feel like.
I had imagined anger.
Accusations.
Maybe even hatred.
Instead, Griffin looked devastated.
“They have your eyes,” he whispered.
I smiled faintly.
“They have yours.”
He swallowed.
“That's why I knew.”
“When?”
“The second Hazel said their birthday.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“December fourteenth.”
I nodded.
“My birthday.”
“Exactly.”
His voice dropped.
“My father used to say the Drake bloodline produced twins every third generation.”
I frowned.
“That's impossible.”
“My family records say otherwise.”
He looked at the girls through the glass.
“Two girls.”
He laughed bitterly.
“I thought it was superstition.”
The next morning, a genetic specialist arrived.
Griffin insisted on a private DNA test.
I hated how cold that sounded.
“Do you think I'm lying?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because my family has spent generations hiding bloodlines.”
He looked at me.
“I need certainty before I expose them.”
The results came six hours later.
Paternity probability:
99.9999%.
Griffin stared at the document.
He didn't smile.
He sat quietly for several seconds.
Then he asked:
“Can I see them?”
I nodded.
He entered the room.
Hazel was drawing.
Iris was asleep.
Hazel looked up.
“Daddy?”
Griffin stopped.
That one word nearly broke him.
“Yes.”
“Can I call you that?”
He swallowed.
“If you want.”
Hazel smiled.
She stood.
Then walked into his arms.
Griffin held her like she might disappear.
Iris woke.
She stared.
“Who are you?”
He laughed through tears.
“I'm Griffin.”
“Our daddy?”
“Yes.”
She studied him.
Then climbed off the bed.
“Can I hug you too?”
He opened his arms.
She ran into them.
I stepped outside.
I needed air.
Because seeing Griffin hold our daughters was beautiful.
And painful.
I had stolen eight years.
From him.
From them.
From myself.
Then Griffin came outside.
He closed the door behind him.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not keeping them from me forever.”
I looked down.
“I almost did.”
“I know.”
Then his expression changed.
“I had the genetic test checked against another record.”
“What record?”
He handed me a document.
The girls' bloodline matched more than Griffin.
They matched another family.
The Bellmonts.
I felt cold.
“What?”
Griffin pointed to the report.
“The Bellmont family has a genetic marker that appears in the girls.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
“Are you saying they are related to your enemies?”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Unless my family has been lying.”
He showed me another file.
Ancient family records.
A marriage.
Seventy years earlier.
A Drake woman had married a Bellmont heir.
Their descendants were supposedly erased.
The twins were the first living link.
That meant they weren't simply Griffin's heirs.
They were connected to both criminal bloodlines.
“Why would anyone care?”
Griffin's voice was grim.
“Because the Bellmont family believes an old trust belongs to that bloodline.”
“What trust?”
“A hidden financial empire.”
“How much?”
He looked at me.
“More than four billion dollars.”
I stared.
“That's why they want the girls?”
“Partly.”
“What's the other reason?”
He hesitated.
“There is a second document.”
“What?”
“A prophecy.”
I stared.
“A family prediction?”
“Not supernatural.”
“Then?”
“A legal succession clause.”
If the direct descendants of both families survived together, they could dissolve the old criminal trust.
The power would disappear.
The organizations would collapse.
The girls were a threat.
Not because they had money.
Because they could end the system.
I looked toward the pediatric room.
Hazel was laughing.
Iris was showing Griffin a drawing.
They had no idea.
Griffin stared through the window.
“They are eight.”
“Yes.”
“They've already been watched.”
“Yes.”
“And someone knows the trust exists.”
“Yes.”
He turned toward me.
“I need you to answer one question.”
“What?”
“Why did you really leave me?”
I looked at him.
“Because the night before I disappeared, someone sent me a photograph.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
His expression tightened.
“You were standing beside a dead man.”
“Who?”
“Jonathan Bellmont.”
Griffin went still.
“You never told me.”
“Because the next message said if I stayed with you, our baby would die.”
His jaw tightened.
“You should have come to me.”
“I was twenty-three.”
“I would have protected you.”
“I was scared.”
He took my hand.
“I would have protected all three of you.”
I looked at him.
“Would you?”
“Yes.”
Then he whispered:
“I've been trying to understand for eight years why you left.”
He looked through the glass.
“Now I know.”
“What?”
May you like
“You weren't running from me.”
“You were running from someone who knew I couldn't protect you yet.”
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