Chapter 6 - The Uninvited Guest
The sound of boots crunching on gravel echoed through the quiet night air twenty minutes later. Marcus Vance was a former military contractor—disciplined, methodical, and quiet. He didn't break the lock on the porch gate; he knocked firmly three times.
I turned on the exterior floodlights, casting a bright white glare across the wooden porch. Then I opened the heavy cedar front door, standing clearly in the doorway.
I wore a soft gray sweater that contoured plainly around my six-month pregnant figure.
Marcus Vance froze. His eyes went from my face down to my stomach, his professional composure faltering for a fraction of a second.
“Mrs. Vane,” he said, catching himself quickly.
“It’s Evelyn Reed,” I corrected, keeping my tone quiet and steady. “And you’re trespassing on private trust property, Mr. Vance.”
He cleared his throat, holding up a professional leather folder. “Mr. Vane sent me to deliver a personal letter to you. He wanted to ensure it was delivered directly, without attorneys mediating.”
“Adrian knows where my attorney’s office is,” I said. “He sent you here because he wanted to see if I was alone. He wanted to know how far along I was.”
Marcus looked down at the folder in his hand, looking unusually uncomfortable for a private security officer. “He didn't know, Evelyn. I swear to you, no one in the office knew about... this.”
“He didn't know because he hung up the phone when I was sitting in the clinic,” I said coldness creeping into my voice. “Tell Adrian that whatever personal settlement letter is in that folder, it’s worthless. He has fourteen days left on the license cure period. If he wants to speak to me, he can do it in front of the Delaware Chancery Court master.”
“Evelyn,” Marcus stepped back slightly, his tone shifting from assertive to cautious. “He’s desperate. The board is talking about forcing him to take a leave of absence by Monday. Celeste’s publicist just issued a statement saying the wedding has been ‘postponed indefinitely.’ He’s losing everything.”
“He isn't losing everything yet,” I said, resting my hand on my stomach as one of the twins kicked sharply against my ribs. “He’s only losing what he stole. Goodnight, Mr. Vance.”
I stepped back and locked the door.
Through the window, I watched Marcus walk back to his vehicle. He didn't drop the folder on the porch. He held it tightly under his arm, pulled out his phone, and made a call before getting back into the driver’s seat.
Ten minutes later, my satellite line rang. It wasn't Naomi. It was Adrian’s personal number.
I answered and put it on speaker.
“Evelyn,” Adrian’s voice cracked over the line. He sounded completely unraveled, his usual smooth cadence replaced by a desperate, breathless panic. “Marcus just called me. Evelyn... is it true? Are you... are you pregnant?”
“I was five months pregnant when you told me I wasn't meant for your world, Adrian,” I said, looking out at the dark Pacific sky. “I was sitting in the ultrasound room listening to their heartbeats when you told me your lawyers had cleared the apartment.”
“Their?” his voice dropped to a choked whisper. “What do you mean, their?”
“Twins, Adrian,” I said cleanly. “Two baby girls. The legal heirs to Northstar Trust.”
Silence stretched across the line, heavy and suffocating.
“Evelyn... my God,” he stammered, his breath catching in his throat. “I didn't know. I swear to God, I didn't know! If I had known about the babies, I never would have—”
“You would have done the exact same thing,” I interrupted him mercilessly. “You would have tried to bribe me into a quiet non-disclosure agreement so it wouldn't disrupt your press cycle with Celeste. You only care now because you’re realizing that family court judges take a very dark view of billionaires who forge divorce documents on mothers carrying twins.”
“Evelyn, please,” he practically begged, a sound I had never heard come from his mouth in the seven years I had known him. “Let me come to Washington. Let me see you. We can fix this. We can throw out the merger, throw out everything. Just let me be a father.”
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“You had your chance to be a husband, a partner, and a father,” I said. “You traded all three for a magazine cover. The deadline is still fourteen days, Adrian. Have your lawyers call Naomi.”
I disconnected the call and turned off the receiver.
