Chapter 12 - The DNA Envelope
|
Camille didn't leave quietly. It took two guards escorting her down the main staircase while she screamed threats about her father’s political vengeance before the heavy front doors finally slammed shut behind her.
Upstairs, the atmosphere in the West Wing shifted from explosive tension to a heavy, fragile quiet. I sat on the edge of the velvet sofa with a small needle and thread from my mending kit, carefully stitching Sophie’s velvet elephant back together while she leaned her sleepy head against Damon’s shoulder.
Evelyn stood near the doorway, looking ten years older than she had at breakfast. For the first time since I had worked at the estate, the iron-willed matriarch looked unsure of where to put her hands.
"Elena," Evelyn said quietly, clearing her throat. "I owe you an apology. Since my husband was murdered four years ago, I have lived in constant fear of who was trying to infiltrate what remains of our family. I let my prejudice blind me to the woman standing right in front of me—and to my own granddaughter."
I tied off the thread on the elephant’s side and looked up, meeting her gaze evenly. "I don't want your money or your social standing, Mrs. Vance. Every decision I made over the last four years was solely to keep Sophie breathing and safe."
Before Evelyn could reply, Harrison knocked softly on the open doorframe. Standing directly behind the butler was Dr. Aris, carrying a sealed red biohazard courier pouch from Mount Sinai Hospital’s genetics laboratory.
My heart leaped straight into my throat—not because I had any doubt about who Sophie’s father was, but because I knew that once that seal was broken, Sophie’s quiet, anonymous life would be over forever. She would officially become a Vance, inheriting both their billions and their enemies.
"Mr. Vance, Mrs. Vance," Dr. Aris said respectfully, stepping into the suite. "I rushed the chromosomal analysis through the lab myself, as requested."
Damon didn't reach for the envelope. Instead, he nodded toward his mother. "Open it, Mother. Since you were the one who asked for proof."
With trembling fingers, Evelyn took the courier pouch, tore open the security strip, and unfolded the crisp white laboratory report. Her eyes scanned down the columns of genetic markers to the bold black print at the bottom of the page.
A soft, broken cry escaped Evelyn’s lips. She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth as tears spilled freely over her gray lashes.
"Probability of paternity: 99.9998 percent," Evelyn read aloud, her voice cracking with overwhelming emotion as she handed the sheet to Damon.
May you like
Damon didn't even glance at the paper. He set it down on the table, buried his face into Sophie’s soft dark curls, and closed his eyes tightly as his broad shoulders shook with silent relief. Reaching out with his free hand, he interlaced his fingers tightly with mine, pulling me into the warmth of his side.
"Never again," Damon whispered fiercely against my knuckles. "Neither of you will ever spend another day in the dark."
