The room stilled, as if the air itself stopped breathing, heavy with the weight of a ghost resurrected. Emily's pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the clink of silverware, the distant hum of the city beyond the penthouse windows. She watched, motionless, as Adrian's knuckles whitened around the champagne flute, the crystal stem threatening to snap under the pressure. Victoria.
They hadn't spoken it in years, hadn't dared. It had been buried under layers of unspoken truces and the sturdy architecture of their marriage. Emily's gaze flicked to the foyer, half-expecting to see her there: Victoria, with her hurricane laugh and ruinous beauty, dripping rain onto the marble floor. But there was only the hollow echo of the doorbell, fading into silence.
Adrian didn't speak. Didn't blink. His face had gone ashen, the champagne trembling in his grip like a divining rod seized by some invisible current. Emily memorized the lines of him, the rigid set of his shoulders, the vein throbbing at his temple, as if he were a statue moments from crumbling. She wanted to reach for him, to claw back the man who'd kissed her that morning.But this version of him was frozen in a past she couldn't touch.
The flute slipped, shattering against the floor.
Neither moved.
Somewhere, the past laughed.
And the door — the one they thought had closed long ago — was about to open again. With ghosts. And truths. And consequences. And everything was about to change.
Adrian moved first, slow and disbelieving, as if his body refused to register what his ears had heard. Emily followed, her hand briefly brushing his, but he didn't hold on.
Daniel was faster, already at the entrance, his voice the first crack in the fragile silence. "What the hell are you doing here?" he barked.
Emily reached the hallway just in time to see her. Victoria Monroe.
Unchanged, yet colder than Emily remembered from all those years at Adrians side. Stunning in that sharp, controlled way: sleek blonde hair cascading down a pristine cream trench coat, high heels echoing across the floor. Her hazel eyes sparkled not with joy but with something sharp and knowing.
And beside her stood a boy.
He had soft brown curls and wide blue eyes — eyes that scanned the unfamiliar house and unfamiliar faces. His small fingers clutched at Victoria's coat, eyes darting from Daniel to Adrian.
"Ah, such a warm welcome. Especially for the mother of Adrians child," she said, all venom.
"This is Julian," Victoria said, her voice calm, practiced, deliberate. "He's Adrian's son."
Adrian visibly recoiled, one step backward, breath caught somewhere between his chest and disbelief. This was an unseen blow, one that couldn't be guarded against, or prepared for. Victoria's return was shocking enough, but this? A son. No one could begin to string any words.
That's why Margaret moved forward. Her voice bore the weight of a matriarch's authority. "You expect us to believe this? After five years of silence? You bring a child and expect us to open our arms? Who's to say that's Adrians? Why now?"
She bombarded her with questions just waiting for a slip up, but Victoria was familiar with Margeret's game.
Victoria tilted her chin, ever poised. "I came because it was time. I won't deny a test. You want proof? You'll have it. Besides, you would doubt me if I prepared results beforehand."
" 'Forgery', you'd say." She continued, "So prepare your sample and you will get Julians. Results should be out in two days."
Daniel snapped, "Don't you dare step foot in this house again. You have no place here."
But Victoria remained unmoved. She looked at Adrian. "I'll be staying at our old home. This home. I won't be going anywhere, Adrian. Not this time."
Adrian said nothing. He only looked at the boy.
Julian, sensing the tension but not the cause, gave a small wave. "Hi."
Emily didn't respond. Couldn't. Her throat locked up, her heart racing in a thousand directions. When the door finally closed, and the silence reclaimed its place, Emily found herself retreating into the guest room. The celebrations, the laughter, the warmth of that morning felt like memories from another life.
She sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on her belly, newly carrying their miracle. Or at least she thought it was their miracle. She didn't know anymore.
Adrian entered quietly. "Emily…"
She didn't look up. "Do you believe her?"
A pause. "I don't know. I didn't even know she was alive, let alone…this."
"And if it's true?"
He didn't answer. Not because he had no words. But because none of them would have been right.
Emily finally turned to him, eyes glossy but steady. "What happens now?"
"I don't know anymore," he said, shame curling into each syllable.
She nodded, her throat tight. "You built a life with me. You married me, Adrian. Not her. No need to worry."
"And I meant every part of it. Every second. This—this doesn't change that."
"Doesn't it?" she whispered.
They sat in silence, the weight of uncertainty heavy between them. In two days. After forty-eight hours of not knowing. Of wondering what this child meant. Who he was. Who Adrian would become once he knew. They'd come to know for certain.
Emily knew the boy wasn't to blame. She even saw it, the faint outline of Adrian in his cheekbones, the way he tilted his head curiously, his shyness.
But it wasn't about the boy. It was about Victoria. About a past that had clawed its way back into their lives. About the fear that maybe, just maybe, Adrian wasn't entirely hers to begin with. And that terrified her more than anything. Because for five years, she had believed she was enough. Now, she wasn't sure.
Now attention would land squarely on a five-year-old boy named Julian. A son that may or may not be hers to raise. A love she may or may not lose.
And a future, so carefully crafted, now hanging by a thread of DNA and forgotten promises.
She wondered, was it just her insecurities or was it really love if she'd have to ask if he'd stay?
And then the day came.