Chapter 5 - The Truth in the NurseryI hauled Julian’s unconscious body by the collar of his suit jacket and dumped him unceremoniously outside the private elevator doors, instructing Vance to have him thrown into the alley behind the building and ensure he never came within three miles of my property again.
When I walked back into the penthouse, the heavy silence was suffocating.
Sloan was sitting on the edge of the cream-colored velvet sofa in the living room, staring blankly down at Willa, who had finally fallen back asleep despite the chaos.
I walked over slowly, keeping my movements deliberate and non-threatening, like a man approaching a wounded animal. I knelt down on one knee in front of her, resting my hands on the edge of the cushions.
“Sloan,” I said softly.
She didn't look at me. Her gaze remained fixed on our daughter’s face.
“I didn't sleep with him, Vincent,” she whispered, her voice hollow and dead. “I know how bad it looks. I know the timeline is messy, and I know he’s a monster who used my weakest moment to plant doubts in your head. But Willa is yours. I swear it on my life.”
I reached out, my fingers gently touching her trembling hand. She flinched slightly, but didn't pull away.
“I know she’s mine, Sloan,” I said, and for the first time since I walked through the door, absolute certainty anchored my words.
Sloan’s head snapped up, her green eyes wide with shock. “How can you possibly know that? After what he just said—after the months we spent apart—”
“Because I know your heart better than you think you do,” I replied quietly. “And because of basic biology.”
I gently reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a small, encrypted flash drive—the digital backup of the private medical file my estate doctor had secretly compiled four weeks ago when he was bribed by my legal team to review hospital birth records across the city.
“When Julian was talking about your medical retainers, he missed a very important detail,” I explained, holding her gaze. “My legal team has been tracking your movements quietly for months, not to spy on you, but to ensure you were safe after the divorce. When you were admitted to NYU Langone four weeks ago, my doctor pulled the genetic sequencing logs before Julian’s goons could interfere.”
Sloan stared at me, unblinking. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying the DNA test was processed forty-eight hours after Willa was born,” I said, offering a faint, reassuring smile. “She is a Vance through and through. Ninety-nine point nine percent match. No doubts. No questions.”
For a long, agonizing second, the remaining tension drained entirely out of Sloan’s rigid posture. The dam broke, and she let out a choked, ragged sob, leaning forward and burying her face against my shoulder, finally letting go of the unbearable weight she had been carrying alone for months.
I wrapped my arms securely around both of them—my wife, and my daughter—pulling them against my chest, feeling the steady rhythm of their breathing anchor me in a way billions of dollars never could.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured into her hair, repeating the words I should have said a year ago. “I’m sorry I walked away. I’m sorry I made you face all of this alone.”
She pulled back slightly, resting her forehead against mine, her green eyes shining with unshed tears.
May you like
“We have a lot of work to do, Vincent,” she whispered.
“I know,” I replied, kissing her forehead gently. “And we have all the time in the world to do it.”
