Sophie stared at the report in her hand, her fingers tightening around the paper until it crumpled at the edges.
The DNA results. Her chest rose and fell sharply as she read the line again, as though the words might change if she looked long enough.
They didn't.
Damien was not Henri Thoreau's son.
For a long moment, the world around her seemed to stop. Everything she had built, every move she had carefully orchestrated, every risk she had taken to destabilise Lucas, was beginning to crumble before her eyes.
"Impossible," she muttered under her breath.
Her jaw clenched as anger flared inside her. She had played this game too carefully for it to end like this. Every angle had been calculated. Every narrative had been controlled.
And now it was all slipping through her fingers.
Withou
