Chapter 3 - The Denial

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I watched the exact moment Dominic’s brilliant, calculating mind did the math. His jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might shatter. He counted backward through the final, bitter months of our marriage. The timeline was flawless. The genetics were staring him right in the face.

Then I said the words that would irrevocably alter the Gallow empire.

“They are yours, Dominic.”

I expected wonder. I expected a tearful realization or even explosive, mafia-fueled rage. But Dominic Gallow was a man who had spent six years building a narrative to protect his own bruised ego. His first response was pure, unadulterated denial.

“That’s impossible,” Dominic snapped, his voice dropping to a lethal, vibrating baritone.

Behind him, several members of his family had gathered on the portico, watching the scene unfold from the glowing windows. His mother, the matriarch who had made my life a living hell, stood frozen with a champagne flute in her hand. These were the people who had spent years telling one another—and the press—that I was the broken woman, the reason their royal bloodline had no future.

Now, four legitimate heirs were standing at their gate.

“You’re lying,” Dominic said, stepping closer to the iron bars, his grip white-knuckled on the metal. “You hid another man. You expect me to believe you walked out of my house and miraculously conceived quadruplets after five years of doctors telling me you were barren?”

He demanded a DNA test immediately. He spoke with the cold, absolute certainty of a man who believed his money, power, and influence could force reality back into the shape he preferred. He accused me of running a con, of waiting until his wedding day to exact some petty revenge for the divorce.

I let him talk. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't defend my honor.

Because the more Dominic tried to defend the fabricated story he had believed for six long years, the more he revealed that he had never asked the one question that actually mattered. He had blindly trusted his family’s doctors.

I gripped the plain leather folder in my hand—the folder Dominic kept glaring at but was too arrogant to ask about.

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“I will agree to a DNA test,” I said, my voice cutting through his tirade like a blade. “Under one condition. No Gallow doctors. No family employees. And not a single one of your people will refer to my children as ‘heirs’ before learning their names.”

Dominic stared at me, the arrogance faltering for a fraction of a second. “Fine. Tomorrow.”