Chapter 3 - The Mirror on the CarpetOn my right stood Noah.
He wore an athletic black tuxedo tailored precisely to his ten-year-old frame. He adjusted his dark-rimmed glasses with his right forefinger—a precise, nervous habit—and looked around the grand ballroom with an analytical, icy detachment that made every senior lieutenant in the room freeze in utter shock.
On my left stood Sophie.
She wore an exquisite, dark blue sparkly dress that caught the crystal light in shimmering waves. Her dark hair was swept up in soft curls, and her bright gray eyes scanned the sea of billionaires with an absolute, fearless confidence.
They didn't just look like Ethan Sullivan.
They were a terrifying, undeniable, carbon-copy reflection of his bloodline.
Noah possessed Ethan’s sharp, severe jawline, his high cheekbones, and the exact storm-gray eyes that had made Chicago tremble for twenty years. Sophie possessed Ethan’s distinct, razor-sharp smile and the subtle, sovereign posture that commanded rooms without saying a word.
The entire ballroom went dead, breathlessly quiet.
You could hear the rain lashing the stained-glass dome ninety feet above.
Ethan dropped the microphone.
The heavy metal head clattered against the wooden podium with a loud, echoing THUD that vibrated through the speakers.
He stepped down off the stage.
His six-foot-two frame moved down the mahogany steps with clumsy, frantic haste, his eyes never leaving the faces of the two children standing beside me on the red carpet.
"Ethan, stop!" Victoria screamed, rushing down from the head table, her face pale with pure, unadulterated panic. "It's a trap! She's trying to extort you! She brought fake children to ruin the campaign!"
Ethan ignored his mother completely. He shoved past his own security guards, stopping six feet away from us on the aisle.
His hands—hands that had signed billion-dollar shipping contracts and ordered street wars—were shaking so violently he had to ball them into tight fists at his sides.
"Claire..." Ethan whispered, his storm-gray eyes moving frantically from Noah’s face to Sophie’s face, then back to mine. "Who... who are they?"
May you like
Noah stepped half a pace forward, placing his small hands flat into his tuxedo pockets, looking up at the most feared crime boss in Chicago with zero fear in his eyes.
"We are the children you told television viewers yesterday you regretted never having," Noah stated cleanly, his voice carrying an analytical, razor-sharp clarity that rang through the entire silent room. "My name is Noah Sullivan. This is my twin sister, Sophie. And according to the certified Johns Hopkins DNA reports currently being handed to your legal team... you are our biological father."
Related Stories
