MY BILLIONAIRE EX-HUSBAND SAW HIS TWINS YEARS AFTER OUR DIVORCE

Luca stopped three feet from our table.

The restaurant around us continued moving because the rest of the world had not yet realized mine had just split open.

Silverware touched porcelain.

A waiter uncorked a bottle of wine.

Somebody laughed near the bar.

My daughter, Ava, looked from Luca to me with the suspicious concentration she used whenever she sensed adults were keeping something from her.

Her twin brother, Noah, had stopped drawing.

Luca stared at them.

Not politely.

Not casually.

He stared like a man watching ghosts breathe.

“How old are they?”

His voice was barely recognizable.

I pushed my chair back.

“Luca, not here.”

“How old?”

Evelyn’s hand slipped from his arm.

She had gone pale.

Noah looked at me. “Mom?”

“Six,” I said quietly.

Luca closed his eyes.

Six.

The arithmetic was brutal.

Our divorce had become final six years and seven months earlier.

I had discovered I was pregnant three weeks afterward.

When Luca opened his eyes again, there was something almost frightening in them.

Not anger.

Pain.

“Are they mine?”

I hated him for asking.

I hated myself for understanding why he had to.

“You don’t get to interrogate me in front of my children.”

“My children?”

Every nearby sound seemed to disappear.

Ava blinked.

Noah’s pencil rolled from his fingers.

I realized what Luca had done one second too late.

Ava looked at him.

Then at me.

“Mommy?”

I stood immediately.

“Coats. Both of you.”

“But—”

“Now, Ava.”

She knew that tone.

Noah slid from his chair first. Ava followed more slowly, watching Luca the entire time.

Luca stepped forward.

“Nia.”

I turned on him.

“You will not do this here.”

“I’ve spent six years not knowing I had children.”

“And whose fault do you think that is?”

His jaw tightened.

Evelyn looked between us.

“Nia,” she said softly, “maybe we should—”

“No.”

I had nothing against Evelyn personally, but she was standing beside the man who had once promised me forever and then looked relieved when I signed divorce papers.

I was not discussing the most painful years of my life in front of his wife.

I took Noah’s hand and reached for Ava.

Luca moved into my path.

Not aggressively.

Desperately.

“Just tell me one thing.”

I stared at him.

“Did you know?”

My chest tightened.

“Yes.”

His face changed.

It was almost physical.

As though I had struck him.

“You knew they were mine?”

“Yes.”

“And you never told me?”

The hypocrisy of that question ignited something I had buried for six years.

“I tried.”

Luca froze.

I watched the words hit him.

“What?”

“I tried to tell you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You never called me.”

“I called your office fourteen times.”

His expression emptied.

“I went to your building twice. Security refused to let me upstairs.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I sent letters.”

“I never received them.”

“I know.”

That finally silenced him.

I leaned closer so the twins would not hear the next part.

“Because somebody made very sure you didn’t.”

Evelyn stared at Luca.

“What is she talking about?”

He ignored her.

“Who?”

I laughed once, though there was nothing funny in it.

“You still don’t understand.”

“Nia.”

“You had already decided who I was. That was the problem. Somebody didn’t need to convince you very hard.”

His face tightened.

“You think I wouldn’t have wanted my own children?”

“I think you didn’t want me.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It was to me.”

Noah tugged my sleeve.

“Mom, can we go?”

My anger vanished instantly.

“Yes, baby.”

Luca flinched at the word.

I led the twins toward the exit.

Behind me, he said my name again.

I kept walking.

Then Ava stopped.

She turned around.

Luca stood in the center of that beautiful restaurant, surrounded by wealthy strangers pretending not to stare.

Evelyn stood several feet behind him now.

Ava studied his face.

“Why do you look like Noah?”

My heart broke.

Luca’s did too.

I saw it.

His lips parted.

Nothing came out.

Noah stepped beside his sister.

Ava looked at me.

“Mom?”

There was no graceful way out anymore.

I crouched between them.

Six years of protecting them.

Six years of telling myself I would explain when they were older.

Six years of fearing this moment.

“Ava. Noah. This is Luca.”

Noah frowned.

“Your friend?”

I swallowed.

“No.”

Luca was staring at me like he had forgotten how to breathe.

I forced the next words out.

“He’s your father.”

Ava’s mouth opened.

Noah just stared.

Luca took one involuntary step toward them.

Noah immediately moved closer to me.

Luca stopped.

That hurt him more than anything I had said.

I saw it.

Good, some angry part of me thought.

Then I hated myself for thinking it.

“Why wasn’t he at our house?” Ava asked.

I closed my eyes briefly.

Luca answered before I could.

“Because I didn’t know about you.”

Noah looked at me.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“I tried.”

Luca’s gaze snapped to mine.

The twins were confused.

They deserved better than this.

“We’re going home,” I said.

This time Luca didn’t stop us.

Outside, cold Chicago wind hit my face.

I buckled the twins into the back seat with shaking hands.

Ava had gone silent.

Noah had questions.

Hundreds of them.

I promised we would talk at home.

As I walked around the car, Luca came outside alone.

“Where’s Evelyn?”

“She asked for a car.”

I paused.

“You abandoned your wife inside?”

“She said I needed to talk to you.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to talk.”

“Nia, please.”

I looked at him.

The Luca I remembered had been impossible to read.

This man was not.

He was terrified.

“How did this happen?”

I almost laughed.

“You need a biology lesson?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes. I do.”

He lowered his voice.

“You said somebody stopped you from reaching me.”

“They did.”

“Who?”

I hesitated.

Because saying her name would open a door I had kept nailed shut for years.

“Your mother.”

Luca stared at me.

“No.”

“There it is again.”

“What?”

“That immediate certainty that I must be wrong.”

His face tightened.

“Nia, my mother didn’t even know you were pregnant.”

“She knew before you would have.”

He took a step backward.

I could see memories rearranging themselves behind his eyes.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It will.”

I opened my purse and removed my phone.

There were photographs I had transferred from one device to another for years.

One was of a letter.

Cream-colored stationery.

Moretti family crest embossed at the top.

I found it and handed him the phone.

Luca read.

His face drained.

Nia,

Luca has been informed about the pregnancy. He does not believe reopening communication would be healthy or appropriate. His position regarding the divorce remains unchanged. Any future issues concerning the child should be handled through counsel.

Please respect his decision and do not contact him privately again.

Teresa Moretti.

Below it was another line.

A handwritten sentence.

Stay out of my life.

L.M.

Luca stared at those four words.

I watched his breathing change.

“That isn’t my handwriting.”

“I know that now.”

His eyes lifted.

“I didn’t six years ago.”

“Nia—”

“She gave me that letter in person.”

He looked sick.

“She came to your apartment?”

“No. She had me brought to her lawyer’s office.”

Luca stopped breathing for a second.

“She told me you had seen the ultrasound.”

“I never—”

“She told me you said the baby might not be yours.”

His eyes closed.

I continued because I had waited six years to say it.

“She told me if I went public, Moretti attorneys would destroy me. She said they’d question my character, my finances, every man I’d ever spoken to. She told me you would seek sole custody if a DNA test proved the baby was yours.”

“Nia, I would never—”

“I was twenty-nine, pregnant, divorced, terrified, and completely alone.”

He looked toward my car.

“Twins.”

“Yes.”

“When did you know?”

“Twelve weeks.”

His eyes filled.

Luca Moretti did not cry.

At least, the man I had known didn’t.

This one looked very close.

“You heard two heartbeats without me.”

My anger cracked.

Just slightly.

“You left before there were heartbeats to hear.”

The words landed exactly where they needed to.

Luca looked down.

For once, he did not defend himself.

Finally he asked, “What happens now?”

“I go home.”

“No. With them.”

“I know what you meant.”

“I want a DNA test.”

I stiffened.

His expression changed immediately.

“Not because I doubt you.”

“Then why?”

“Because when I confront my mother, I want evidence no lawyer in Chicago can argue with.”

I studied him.

For the first time that afternoon, I believed him.

“That can happen.”

Relief crossed his face.

“But Luca?”

“Yes?”

“A DNA test proves biology.”

I glanced through the windshield at our children.

“It does not make you their father.”

He looked at them too.

“I know.”

I opened my door.

He stopped me one final time.

“Nia.”

I turned.

“I was wrong.”

The words came quietly.

No excuse.

No qualification.

“I was wrong about you. About us. About everything.”

Six years ago, I would have given anything to hear that.

Now it merely hurt.

“Being sorry doesn’t give people their childhood back.”

His eyes lowered.

“No.”

“It doesn’t give me those years back either.”

“No.”

I got inside.

As I pulled away, I checked the mirror.

Luca was still standing on the sidewalk.

Alone.

For the first time since I had known him, the billionaire who controlled half the room wherever he went looked like a man who controlled absolutely nothing.

And across downtown Chicago, in a limestone mansion overlooking Lake Michigan, Teresa Moretti received a phone call from the restaurant manager.

She listened without interrupting.

Then she hung up.

Her assistant, Malcolm Price, looked up from the documents on her desk.

“What happened?”

Teresa’s expression hardened.

“Luca found the children.”

Malcolm went still.

After six years of protecting the secret, there was no need to ask which children.

“What do we do?”

Teresa looked toward the fireplace.