The penthouse lounge was a crucible of tension, the city lights beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows dimmed by the weight of the moment. Daniel Isiah stood by the bar, the opened envelope trembling slightly in his hand, the DNA results stark against the white paper. Sayrn Sauns stood beside him, her chestnut hair loose, brushing the shoulders of her navy sweater, her hazel eyes fixed on the envelope. At twenty-eight, with her RN degree earned earlier this year, she was no stranger to high-pressure moments in Chicago General’s ER, but the revelation of Ethan’s paternity and the distant crash outside—a car alarm’s wail followed by screeching tires—had her heart pounding. Sophia, Ethan’s mother, stood across from them, her sleek dark hair framing a face taut with anticipation, her hands claspe
