Chapter 1 - The Manhattan Gala and the Three Pairs of Gray-Green EyesThe crystal chandeliers of the Hudson Children’s Foundation gala cast a brilliant, blinding glow over the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel, illuminating the cream of Manhattan’s elite in their custom tuxedos and designer gowns. Violins wept a gentle classical arrangement from a corner dais, while waiters in pristine white gloves wove through the murmuring crowd carrying trays of vintage champagne.
It was a world of inherited fortunes, polished silver, and carefully concealed scandals.
And right in the center of it all stood Gabriel Cross.
Five years had passed since I last looked into that devastatingly handsome, ruthlessly composed face across a sunlit breakfast table in our Westchester estate. Time had only sharpened him. His dark hair was threaded with faint, distinguished silver at the temples, his bespoke charcoal suit fit him like a suit of armor, and the cold, calculating aura that had made him the most feared underworld syndicate boss in the Tri-State area radiated off him like static electricity.
Beside him stood Serena Vale.
The woman he had traded me for. She wore an ivory silk gown that hugged her slender frame, diamond drop earrings swaying with every haughty toss of her head, clinging to Gabriel’s arm as if she were a queen surveying her conquered territory.
My hand tightened instinctively around the small, warm fingers of my five-year-old son, Julian.
—Mom, look, —Julian whispered, tugging gently at the hem of my navy velvet gown.
I blinked, pulling my gaze away from Gabriel and looking down. Julian was pointing across the crowded ballroom toward the dais.
Beside Julian stood his identical twin brothers, Leo and Oliver, both dressed in miniature velvet waistcoats and crisp white shirts, their dark curls framing serious, identical little faces.
I followed Julian’s small finger.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it would crack my sternum.
Gabriel had stopped mid-sentence, his champagne glass half-raised, as his eyes snapped toward our direction. He had heard Julian’s voice, or perhaps he had felt the invisible gravitational pull of three pairs of identical gray-green eyes staring straight at him through the sea of guests.
—What picture? —Gabriel’s deep, baritone voice carried across the sudden, eerie silence that seemed to swallow the nearby tables.
Then, his gaze dropped.
From Gabriel to Julian. From Julian to Leo. From Leo to Oliver.
Dark hair. The exact same sharp cheekbones. The distinct, stubborn crease between their eyebrows when they were confused. And those eyes—those unmistakable, piercing gray-green eyes that looked back at him like three tiny mirrors reflecting his own face.
The color drained entirely from Gabriel’s face. The glass in his hand trembled, spilling a drop of golden champagne onto the carpet.
—How... how old are they? —Gabriel asked, his voice cracking slightly, a sound so uncharacteristic it made Serena gasp.
I couldn't breathe. My throat had closed up completely.
—Five, —I managed to whisper, the single word feeling heavier than a boulder.
Silence descended upon the ballroom—a thick, suffocating vacuum where even the string quartet seemed to falter. Five years. Five years since our divorce. Five years since I walked out of his fortified Westchester mansion with two suitcases, a broken heart, and a secret I swore I would take to my grave.
Gabriel took a slow, staggering step forward, his eyes locked onto mine.
—Claire, —he breathed, his voice a ragged whisper.
I knew the question hanging in the air between us, the question he was terrified to ask because he knew the math as well as I did.
May you like
—They’re yours, —I said, lifting my chin, refusing to let him see how badly my knees were shaking.
Gabriel’s massive frame began to visibly tremble. The man who had stared down federal indictments, rival mafia capos, and assassins without blinking was suddenly undone by three small boys standing in the middle of a Manhattan charity gala.
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