Chapter 13
Vincent blinked, a sudden, horrifying confusion flooding his features. "What are you talking about? You left! I came to your room the next morning and the bed was empty—"
"I was in the overflow room because you redirected every private doctor and VIP room to Sophia!" I shouted, the raw, buried grief of seven years finally bursting through my composure. **“I showed you Emily. I told you she was your daughter.** And then your phone rang. It was Sophia. And you walked away from your own flesh and blood without even touching her face!”
Vincent stood utterly frozen, his face turning an even deeper, sickly shade of white. The memory seemed to hit him like a physical avalanche, pulling him back to that night in St. Catherine's Hospital.
"I... I thought you were holding someone else's child... I thought you were just..." he stammered, his confident, commanding persona completely disintegrating. "Sophia told me... she told me you had refused to see me, that you signed the separation papers because you hated me..."
"Sophia lied to you because she wanted the crown for her son," I said coldly. "And you were too blinded by your desire for an heir to see that you were throwing away your actual family."
Vincent collapsed heavily into his leather executive chair, burying his face in his hands. His broad shoulders shuddered silently. For seven years, he had believed he was building an empire for his only child, oblivious to the fact that his coldness had exiled his true bloodline into the dark.
"I'll make it right," Vincent whispered desperately, looking up through bloodshot eyes. "I have billions now, Claire. The foundation, the real estate, the entire syndicate—it can all be hers. I'll publicly recognize her tomorrow. I'll rewrite the family trust—"
"She doesn't want your blood money," I cut in fiercely. "We built a life without you. She is happy, brilliant, and safe. You will stay away from us."
Before Vincent could reply, the heavy mahogany doors of the office were thrown open with a violent bang.
Sophia marched into the room, her emerald dress rustling loudly, her eyes wide with frantic, unhinged fury. Behind her, holding her arm half-heartedly, was my mother, Eleanor Bennett, looking older, more frail, but still clinging to her arrogant air of aristocratic superiority.
"Vincent! What is the meaning of this?!" Sophia shrieked, ignoring my presence entirely as she rushed to Vincent's desk. "You left the ceremony early! The press is outside asking ridiculous questions about some secret child! You need to have your PR team handle this immediately!"