Chapter 82
Ethan
The private jet vibrated beneath me as we prepared for landing in New York. The second Michael called with news that Amelia had returned from Boston, I'd been in motion, arranging the fastest transportation possible. I hadn't slept, hadn't eaten—nothing mattered except finding her.
"We'll be landing in five minutes, Mr. Black," the pilot announced over the intercom.
I nodded absently, staring at my phone where Michael had sent her address. Same riverside apartment she'd lived in before leaving.
"I've arranged a car to be waiting," Michael texted. "Driver knows to take you directly to the apartment or Black Investment Group—your choice."
I didn't respond. Sleep deprivation had left me raw, all my carefully constructed barriers worn thin. For three years, I'd imagined this moment—what I'd say when I finally found her. Now that it was happening, every rehearsed line felt hollow.
Morning light was breaking over Manhattan as the car pulled up across from her building. I instructed the driver to wait, needing a moment to gather myself. Three years of searching, of regret, of questions—all coming down to this moment.
That's when I saw him.
Julian Bennett emerged from the building's entrance, but not alone. He was holding the hands of two small children who could be more than two years old. My breath caught in my throat.
"Up, Daddy!" the little boy demanded, arms raised toward Julian, who laughed and hoisted him onto his shoulders.
Even from this distance, the resemblance was unmistakable. I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. The boy had blue eyes—my eyes. The girl beside him wore Amelia’s smile.
My hand froze on the door handle, a rush of blood roaring in my ears. Twins. Julian was playing father to twins who looked like... No. It couldn't be.
I watched as Julian buckled them into his car, chatting and making them laugh. They drove away, completely unaware of my presence or the earthquake happening inside me.
I waited, barely breathing, until thirty minutes later when Amelia appeared. She walked through the building's glass doors wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, hospital files tucked under her arm. She looked exactly the same and yet somehow completely different—more confident, more serene.
Before I could overthink it, I was out of the car and crossing the street. I caught her in the lobby as she checked her mailbox.
Our eyes met, and time stuttered to a halt. I saw the flash of surprise on her face before it disappeared behind a carefully neutral mask.
"You look well," I said, hating the banality of it.
"I'm fine." Her eyes darted toward the exit. "I need to go. I'm late for work."
"Amelia—" I started, not even sure what question to ask first.
"Sorry, I really have to go." She brushed past me, the scent of her perfume—still the same after all this time—momentarily derailing my thoughts.
I watched her walk away, unable to form the words that would make her stay. There would be time for questions later. Right now, I needed answers about those children.
Back in the car, my fingers drummed against the window as Manhattan traffic crawled forward. The image of that little boy's face—my face—burned in my mind. I loosened my tie, feeling suddenly constricted.
I pulled out my phone and called Michael.
"I need you to investigate something," I said, fighting to keep my voice level despite the storm raging inside. "Two children, twins, approximately two years old. They're with Julian Bennett. I want their birth date, birth place, and why the fuck they're with Bennett."
Michael hesitated, clearly sensing the tension. "Understood. I'm on it."
I ended the call and stared at the Manhattan skyline, thoughts churning like a hurricane. If what I suspected was true... No. I wouldn't jump to conclusions without facts.
But my gut told me Amelia Thompson had been keeping one hell of a secret.
Later that evening, Michael entered my office at Black Investment Group, his expression serious as he placed his tablet on my desk.
"What did you find?" I asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
He tapped the screen, bringing up a hospital record. "They're Thompson's children. Born at Astor Medical Center in Boston. Date of birth is August 10th."
I stared at the screen, mentally calculating backward. August 10th was... I felt a sinking sensation. That date was far too late. It didn't match our time together.
"Were there any complications or something?" I asked, searching for an explanation.
"No indications of that in the records," Michael replied. "These are official medical documents. I've verified them through multiple sources."
I stood and walked to the window, staring at my reflection in the darkened glass. My eyes had gone cold, jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
"I need to get the kids' samples for paternity testing," I said quietly.
When the door closed behind Michael, I remained frozen, trying to make sense of what I'd learned. Those children couldn't be mine according to the timeline. Yet that boy had my eyes, my features.
Unless Amelia had falsified the birth date. But why? What possible reason could she have for hiding my children from me? If they were mine at all.
Julian Bennett. The name tasted like poison. Had they been together all this time? Had she run straight to him after leaving me?
I turned from the window, decision made. I wouldn't rest until I uncovered the truth. And when I did, Amelia Thompson would learn that some secrets are too big to stay buried.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. James Hayes. Perfect timing.
"Tell me you have something," I answered without preamble.
“You sound terrible,” James’s voice came through, the mellow jazz from his Blue Note bar faint in the background. “There are a few bodyguards watching over Amelia—keeping her safe, secretly.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to stay calm. “And?”
“And what? They’re loyal. That’s all that matters.”
I hesitated, then asked, “Have you tried a different approach?”
There was a pause before he responded. “What do you mean, a different approach?”
I kept my tone steady. “Sometimes, a fight can get you anything you want.”