Seeking Hope (Fractured Hearts #3)

Prologue

Kaden

Breathe, Kaden. Just breathe.

My breaths come sharp and uneven, matching the restless bounce of my leg as I sit perched on the edge of the couch. In my shaky hands is a three-page document that feels far heavier than paper ever should, as if it holds the weight of my entire future.

In a way, it does. Because for the past six weeks, this child has been my entire world, my whole reason for getting up each morning, for believing there might still be something good waiting for me. And whatever is written on these pages has the power to shatter that hope in a matter of seconds.

The folded sheets had been sitting on my desk at work for hours, untouched since my receptionist printed them from my email earlier this afternoon. They’d been waiting for me all day—silent, accusing, daring me to unfold them and face the truth I’ve been avoiding for days.

After three long hours, and one agonising trip home, I know it’s finally time to rip off the band-aid and just get this over with.

With a sharp exhale, I slowly unfold the document in one quick movement, the papers crinkling beneath my fingers as the words begin to appear.

My eyes rapidly dart over the page, seeing clinical words I can’t make sense of—numbers, tables, jargon, all blurring together in my head until they land on the only line that matters.

Probability of Paternity: 0%.

Paternity—Excluded.

My heart plummets to my stomach as my gaze locks on the big, bold number—zero. Zero percent. No! This can’t be! Please, God. Tell me this isn’t real!

Panic tightens in my throat as I frantically scan the pages, searching for more clarity, for some small explanation that proves this isn’t final. My gaze spots the word excluded on the last paragraph.

Swallowing heavily, I force myself to read the line in full:

‘Paternity exclusion indicates that the person tested has multiple genetic mismatches with the child and is therefore excluded from being the true biological parent.’

The words are blunt, clinical, sterile—merciless. It confirms I’m not the real father. Arianna is not my biological child. The results hit harder than any punch I’d ever taken, the oxygen in my lungs straining as though someone had cut all the air from the room.

I read the sentence again, then again, as if staring at it long enough will miraculously change the outcome. But it doesn’t. The result is still the same.

The baby—my Ari, isn’t mine.

For six whole weeks I’ve cradled her in my arms, rocked her against my chest, sung lullabies to her in the quiet hours of the night. I’ve changed nappies, fed her, memorised every tiny expression as if they were etched into my very soul.

Six weeks I’ve watched her sleep peacefully in her bassinet, her chest rising and falling with soft, steady breaths, tiny fists curling and uncurling as though reaching for me.

Those sweet, delicate newborn sounds she makes when she hears my voice, the little sighs, the half-smiles, as if she already knew me, trusted me, loved me.

Proof that she was mine, even for the briefest moment.

“Excluded,” I whisper to myself, my voice sounding foreign even to my own ears. “I am not the father. That bitch lied to me this whole fucking time!”

The sheets of paper slips from my hands and falls to the floor as I clutch a fist to my chest, my heart splintering into a thousand tiny shards, piercing me from the inside out.

This can’t be happening. First the divorce, then Lucia’s betrayal, and now Arianna.

It’s like that old saying—when it rains, it pours. Only this isn’t just a downpour, it’s a bloody fucking flood. A flood I’m slowly drowning in.

My hand shakes as I drag it over my face, my emotions colliding in a violent storm—anger, resentment, disappointment, sorrow.

Arianna, my sweet baby girl. She was never mine, never has been.

The first tear escapes down my cheek, then another, and another, until they’re streaming freely and soaking my face. I don’t bother wiping them away. I just sit here, motionless, as though the grief itself has pinned me down, stealing the strength from every limb.

The sharp click of the front door lock jolts me out of the fog, and I scramble into motion.

I drag the collar of my shirt across my damp cheeks, wiping away the evidence of my tears, then hastily snatch the sheets of paper from the floor, stacking them into an uneven pile on my lap.

By the time the door slams shut, I’ve barely managed to steady my breathing.

Lucia steps into the living room, holding the baby carrier in one hand.

Ari lies fast asleep inside, her tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm with my own.

The moment Lucia’s eyes land on me, taking in my tousled hair, glazed eyes, and the document resting in my lap, her expression instantly falters.

She approaches cautiously, setting the baby carrier gently on the low coffee table and keeping a careful distance between us. Smart move, Lucia. Don’t you dare come any closer.

“So, what does it say?” is all she asks—no greeting, no small talk, no ‘how was your day?’ She cuts straight to the point.

At least she’s smart enough not to let this drag on any longer, especially when I’ve already uncovered so many of her lies.

I don’t answer her right away. The spiteful side of me wants to make this as painfully long and uncomfortable for her as possible. She might look calm on the outside, but I know my silence is tearing at her composure, bit by bit.

I rise to my feet and step towards Ari. For a moment, I just let myself watch her, studying every feature, every delicate breath and sound, committing it all to memory.

“Kaden?” the evil witch whispers.

I press a finger to my lips, silencing her without looking away from Arianna. I won’t let her steal this moment from me, not when she’s about to rip away the most precious gift I’ve ever been given.

I reach out and gently stroke Ari’s cheek with my thumb. She stirs a little, instinctively leaning into my touch. Even in her sleep she can still sense me.

That tiny, innocent response should fill me with joy, but instead, it cuts deeper into the layers of my skin, twisting the knife even further until it’s lodged right in my chest.

This will be the last time I’ll ever get to soothe this sweet, baby girl.

Blinking back the tears threatening to fall once more, I step away from Ari and finally turn towards her mother.

With a gaze, cold and unforgiving, I bridge the distance between us, each stride slow and deliberate, causing her eyes to widen with fear as I draw near. The second I’m close enough to tower over her, she instantly takes a step back, her body rigid and tense.

My gaze hardens as they fix on hers, wanting her to see the raw and utter hatred burning behind them.

This is the woman I sacrificed my marriage for. The one I destroyed everything good in my life to be with.

And what a waste it has all been.

She turned out to be nothing more than a cold, heartless bitch. An imposter. A liar. A homewrecking whore.

The biggest regret of my life.

I grip the document still in my hand and shove it at her chest, forcing her to stumble back a little. Her arms catch them just before they fall onto the floor, and when she looks up at me, shocked and wide-eyed, a low chuckle rumbles from my throat.

“Make sure you read every word, darling,” I say, my voice full of malice and contempt. “Because once you’re done, I’mma tell you exactly what’s gonna happen next.” I cross my arms over my chest and nod for her to start reading.

Her throat bobs with a sharp swallow as she lifts the document closer to her face, her eyes scanning across the pages as she reads them in silence.

I watch her intently, her gaze bouncing from paragraph to paragraph, fingers pressing against the sheets as though to hold back the slight tremble in her hands.

Fear and panic hover just beneath her exterior, though she tries her best to mask them. But I can see right through it—and that, brings me a grim sense of satisfaction.

When her gaze finally falls on the one line that matters—the one stating zero percent paternity, her eyes instinctively snap shut as if to shield herself from the sting of the words.

As her eyes open again, she shakes her head slowly at first, then more insistently, denial flashing in her hazel gaze.

“This changes nothing, Kaden. Ari is yours! She has been from the day she was born!”

She rips the sheets of paper in half, the sharp, piercing sound echoing through the room, and lets the pieces flutter to the floor.

“Please, Kaden! She’s yours… she’s yours!” She repeats, her words trembling as sobs wrack her body.

Her hand reaches out to me, desperate and pleading, but I quickly retreat a step, not wanting to feel her touch anywhere on my body—ever again. That slight rejection causes her knees to buckle, and she collapses onto the floor in a broken, sobbing mess.

“I don’t know why you’re crying, Lucia.” I scoff, shaking my head in disgust. “I don’t know why this has come as a shock to you. What did you honestly think was going to happen?”

“I was so sure she was yours,” she whispers through gasps.

“Well those results just proved you wrong, didn’t it? And now, they’ve sealed our fate. You have stripped me of everything that ever mattered, and I can finally say without a shadow of a doubt—I’ve never regretted meeting anyone more than I regret meeting you.”

I kneel down in front of her and stare into her eyes with a gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. “From now on...you are dead to me.”

She releases a choked sob as I push to my feet and turn slowly on my heel.

“No, please!” Lucia cries, reaching for me again, and narrowly missing my leg. She shakes her head frantically as she lifts herself from the floor. “We can still make this work. You can still raise her as your own. She doesn’t ever have to know about her real dad.”

“What?!” I spin around to face her. “You want us to lie to her for the rest of her life, is that what you’re saying?”

“No, I just mean—”