Chapter 3
“What are you saying?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous.
Isabella took a steadying breath. “Two years ago, a woman approached me. She said she worked for a wealthy family and offered to pay for Lily’s private school if I agreed to keep quiet about who her father was.”
“A woman,” I repeated. “What did she look like?”
“Elegant. Confident. She never gave her real name, but she showed me a photo once, to prove she knew who you were. It was you and her together, at some gala.”
My stomach turned. “Camille.”
“I didn’t know that name until just now,” Isabella said. “But it fits. She wanted Lily kept hidden. She paid generously to make sure of it.”
Rage and confusion collided inside me. “Camille knew about Lily this entire time?”
“It would explain a lot,” Isabella said. “Why she pushed so hard for a wedding this year. Why she seemed so certain you’d never find out about a daughter who already existed.”
I thought back to Camille’s pregnancy announcement eight months ago, to her insistence on private doctors, to the DNA test she herself had suggested when family members grew suspicious about the timeline.
“She wanted a child to secure her place with me,” I said slowly. “And when she couldn’t guarantee that child was mine, she needed a distraction big enough to bury the truth about Lily.”
“A public confession,” Isabella said. “Humiliating, but survivable. No one thinks to look for a hidden daughter when they’re too busy discussing a scandal.”
I pulled out my phone and called my head of security, Rourke, without hesitation.
“I need everything you can find on Camille Reyes,” I said. “Financial transfers, phone records, anyone she’s paid quietly over the last two years.”
“On it, boss,” Rourke said.
I hung up and looked back at Isabella; Lily was still watching us from the bench, patient in the way only children who’d learned patience too early could be.
“I need to meet with her,” I said. “Camille. Face to face.”
“Is that wise?” Isabella asked. “If she orchestrated all of this, she’s more dangerous than you think.”
“I’ve survived worse than a woman with secrets,” I said.
“You survived because I was there to stitch you back together,” Isabella said quietly. “This time, I want to make sure you actually listen when someone warns you.”
Something in her voice, steady and unwavering despite eight years of separation, reminded me exactly why I’d never forgotten her.
“Come with me,” I said suddenly.
Isabella blinked. “What?”
“To meet Camille. Bring Lily somewhere safe first, but come with me. I want you there when I confront her.”
“Alessandro, I have a job. A life I’ve built quietly. I can’t just—”
“You already changed my entire day,” I said. “My entire life, really. I think you can spare one more hour.”
Isabella hesitated, glancing at Lily, who offered a small, encouraging nod, as if she understood far more than an eight-year-old should.
“Alright,” Isabella said finally. “One hour.”
We dropped Lily with a trusted neighbor Isabella clearly relied on, then rode together toward Camille’s penthouse in near silence, eight years of unspoken history sitting heavily between us.
When we arrived, Camille opened the door herself, her eyes widening the instant she saw Isabella standing beside me.
“You,” Camille breathed, all color draining from her face. “How do you two know each other?”
“That’s exactly what I came to ask you,” I said, stepping inside. “Along with why you’ve been paying this woman to hide my daughter from me for two years.”
Camille’s composure shattered instantly.
