Chapter 14 The Truth Begins
I arrived at my office at two o'clock. An hour early. I needed time to breathe, to rehearse, to find the words I had been hiding for five years.
But there was no rehearsal for this. No script that could make it easier.
Rosa had offered to come with me. I said no. This was mine to face alone.
I sat behind my desk, my hands flat on the wood, and watched the clock tick toward three. Each minute felt like a small death.
At exactly three, the door opened.
Damian stood in the doorway, his face unreadable. He was dressed casually, no suit, no armor. Just a man who had come for answers.
I stood. My knees were shaking, but I held myself straight.
"You came," I said.
"I said I would."
He stepped inside and closed the door. The click echoed in the small room.
I gestured to the chair across from my desk. "Please. Sit."
He did not sit. He stood on the other side of my desk, his hands in his pockets, his gray eyes fixed on my face. "The birth records. Why are they sealed under Winters?"
I swallowed. "Because I didn't want anyone finding them."
"Finding what, exactly?"
I opened my mouth, but the words lodged in my throat. Five years of silence had built a wall I did not know how to tear down.
Damian moved around the desk, standing beside me. Close enough that I could see the tension in his jaw. Close enough that I could smell his cologne, the same scent I had woken up to for a year of my life.
"Ava." His voice was soft. "Whatever it is, just tell me."
I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I said, "Rose and Lily are five years old. Their birthday is October fifteenth."
He nodded slowly. "You told me that."
"They were born eight months after our divorce."
The silence that followed was deafening. I watched his face, watched the calculation happening behind his eyes.
"Eight months," he repeated.
"They were premature. By six weeks."
His breath caught. I saw the moment it clicked. The moment the math rearranged itself in his head.
"Eight months after the divorce," he said again, his voice strange. "That means you were pregnant when I—"
He stopped. Could not finish the sentence.
I nodded. "I found out the day after you served me the papers. I was going to tell you. But the security guards were already at the door."
Damian turned away from me. His hands were shaking. I had never seen Damian Blackwood's hands shake.
"All this time," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "They're mine."
"Rose and Lily are your daughters. Yes."
He braced his hands on the edge of my desk, his head bowed. His shoulders were rigid, his breathing uneven.
I waited. There was nothing else to do.
When he looked up, his eyes were red. "Why?"
The question was simple. The answer was anything but.
"I was scared." My voice cracked. "You threw me out. You called me a liar, a gold digger. You told the world I had trapped you. I was twenty-three years old, alone, pregnant with twins. And I was terrified that if you knew, you would take them from me."
"I would never—"
"You don't know that." I cut him off, my voice stronger now. "You had power. Money. Lawyers. I had nothing. I thought if you knew, you would fight me for them. And I could not lose them. I could not lose anything else."
Damian stared at me. "So you hid them."
"For five years, yes."
"While I was raising Leo and Max alone. While I was grieving my brother. While I was engaged to a woman I didn't love because I thought it was the only way to give my sons a mother." His voice rose. "And all that time, I had daughters. Two daughters I never knew."
"I know." Tears spilled down my cheeks. "I know what I did. I know it was wrong. But I didn't know if you would want them. I didn't know if you would love them. And I couldn't take that chance."
He laughed, a broken sound. "Couldn't take the chance. Ava, I have spent every day for the last five years trying to be a father to my brother's children. Trying to be enough. And you're telling me I had my own children this whole time?"
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry." He raked a hand through his hair, pacing the small office. "You kept my daughters from me for five years. You let me look at Rose and feel something I couldn't explain, and you said nothing. You let me ask, let me wonder, let me go to the courthouse like a fool trying to find answers you already had."
"I was going to tell you."
"When?" He stopped pacing, his eyes blazing. "When were you going to tell me, Ava? At the wedding? After? When Rose was ten? Twenty?"
"I don't know." My voice broke. "I don't know. I was scared every single day. Scared you would hate me. Scared you would take them. Scared you wouldn't want them at all."
"I hate that you lied to me." His voice cracked. "I hate that I missed five years. But I don't hate you. I could never hate the mother of my children."
I covered my face with my hands. The sobs came then, ugly and raw, shaking my whole body.
I felt his hands on my wrists, gently pulling my hands away from my face. He was kneeling beside me, his eyes wet.
"Look at me," he said.
I did.
"I want to meet them. Properly. As their father."
I nodded, unable to speak.
"I want to know everything. Their first words. Their first steps. Every moment I missed." His voice was thick. "And I want to know why you thought you had to hide them from me. Why did you think I wouldn't want them?"
"Because you didn't want me."
He closed his eyes. When he opened them, the tears spilled over. "I was wrong. About everything. And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. To them."
I reached for his hand. He took mine, his grip warm and steady.
"Tomorrow," I whispered. "Come tomorrow. Meet them. Really meet them."
He nodded slowly. "Tomorrow."
We sat there, hands clasped, the weight of five years between us. The truth was out. The secret was gone.
And tomorrow, everything would change.