Chapter 36
I cross one leg over the other, eyes locked on the television, fingers tapping against the armrest while my other hand holds a wine glass. Dione sits beside me, watching the news unfold.
"Breaking news," the journalist announced.
"Yesterday, Aurora DeLacroix, CEO and Creative Director of DeLacroix Couture and Luxury House, was spotted at Larvotto Beach with her wife, CEO of Duvall Capital Group, Sloane Duvall, and a tween girl who bears a striking resemblance to Ms. DeLacroix herself. "
I sat up straighter, my gaze lingering on the screen.
"'Mommy, Pops!
' That's what the eyewitness heard from the girl who was with the married couple when she called them," the newscaster added.
"People are questioning whether the two CEOs have a love child from their past, or if Sloane Duvall had a child with Margot Verne, who also looks strikingly similar to Aurora DeLacroix. "
My throat tightened as my photo, Sloane's, and even Margot's flashed across the screen. I cleared my throat, and Dione shifted closer.
"Pops, who's Margot Verne?" she asked, glancing at me with wide, innocent eyes.
With trembling hands, I turned toward her. "Well..."
"The team has been trying to reach Aurora DeLacroix for confirmation about the girl, but they haven't received any response," the newscaster continued.
"Netizens are debating who the real parents are.
Some say there's no doubt Aurora and Sloane have a love child from decades ago, while others claim Sloane may have been involved with Margot Verne after the breakup with Aurora and had a child. "
I clenched my jaw and switched off the television. I gulped, heaving a sigh as I rubbed my temple. "Look, sweetie—"
"Why does Margot Verne look like you, Pops? And I look like her, too," Dione frowned, pouting.
I reached out to cup her cheeks, squinting slightly. "Who's prettier? Me or Margot?"
She blinked, then smiled sheepishly into my hands. "You, Pops," she said, her voice muffled. I released her cheeks, studying her face. "I mean, you're my Pops. Margot just looks like you, but she's not you."
I raised a brow, letting out a low laugh. "What do you mean by that?"
"She's not my Pops," she shrugged, staring at the black screen of the television.
"Mommy never mentioned her to me, so I doubt she's my parent.
I've never heard of her before, either. Mommy told me that you're my father because it's your sperm, even though you're a woman," she twitched her lips in confusion. "Mommy wouldn't lie to me, right?"
A knot formed in my throat because I wasn't sure whether Sloane might be lying to me. She had lied before about the embezzlement—what were the chances she was lying now about Dione's true identity?
I must have stared at her too long, because Dione let out a small sigh. "Pops... are you doubting that I'm your daughter?" she asked, giving me a sad smile.
"I—" My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat, pressing the bridge of my nose.
I exhaled and leaned back into the couch, taking a sip of wine before setting it down on the center table.
"Dione, sweetie," I began, "it's not that I doubt you're my daughter.
Whatever happens, you'll always be my daughter.
" I reached for her hand. "It's just... I wanted to hear it from your mother directly. "
She bit her lip, then reached for her tablet, scrolling through something before handing it to me. The screen displayed an open document. My stomach tightened as I hovered over it, zooming in on every word.
"Mommy said this is the paternity and DNA test between the two of us," Dione said, leaning on the edge of the couch.
"Even before that, I didn't know you were one of my parents.
Maybe that's why I kept my eyes on you—maybe it's the blood between us, or maybe because I admired you from afar.
From your work, everything... I wanted to be like you, Pops.
" She fidgeted with her fingers. "If this document is fake.
.. does that mean I'm not really your daughter? "
My body stiffened.
Tilting my head, I set the tablet down on the table and gently wiped the stray tears from her face.
"Come on, didn't I tell you? You're my daughter, no matter what.
Besides, you don't look like Margot in the slightest. And you've got my skills—that alone proves you're mine and Mommy's daughter. "
A chuckle escaped me as Dione threw herself into my arms, wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her face in my shoulder. "I don't want another you, Pops," she mumbled, sniffling. "I only want you as my Pops."
We were in the middle of our embrace when Sloane entered the living room. She paused, brow raised. "What are you two doing here?" she asked, glancing at her wristwatch. "Dione, sweetheart, it's past your bedtime."
Dione pulled away from my embrace and stood, looking at her mother. "Mommy," she began, pointing at me, "Pops is my real parent, right? I mean... she's one of my parents, right? You're telling me the truth, right?"
Tilting her head, Sloane scoffed, glancing between us. "What's going on?"
I rubbed the back of my neck and shrugged. "Well... the media got wind of it. They're asking whether Dione is my daughter with you—a love child—or if Margot somehow got involved after our break-up."
Sloane's jaw dropped. "What...?" She rushed over to Dione, cupping her face. "Hey, young lady, are you doubting your mother?" she asked, pinching Dione's cheeks gently.
Sighing, she sat beside me and let Dione sit on her lap. "Look, I know it sounds complicated, but your Pops here is definitely your parent, along with me. Okay?"
"No other parents, Mommy? Because if it isn't Pops, then I don't want it anymore," Dione said, crossing her arms.
Sloane groaned. "I told you, and I'll keep telling you—it's your Pops. No one else, okay? Now go ahead and sleep, you naughty girl." She tickled Dione's waist, earning a burst of laughter.
Dione giggled, holding Sloane's hands. "That's a promise, Mommy, right? Pops is my parent, and so are you." She stood, brushing herself off. "Well then... I'll go ahead and sleep. Goodnight, Mommy." She cupped her mother's cheeks and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.
"Good night, sweetheart," Sloane said, patting her back.
"Good night, Pops!" Dione grinned, cupping my cheeks and giving me a quick kiss as well.
I smiled, waving dismissively. "Good night, sweetie," I said.
As Dione made her way down the hallway, I let out a long sigh, my gaze fixed on the black TV screen. Sloane looked at me sharply. "You don't really think Margot got me pregnant, do you?"
I gave her a faint smile. "I'd be lying if I said no. But yeah... I'm having doubts. You didn't even tell me she's intersex too."
"Are you serious, Ro?" she hissed, glancing toward the hallway to make sure Dione wasn't around. "Why would I even tell you that? It's not mine to reveal. So why would I share Margot's personal information?"
"Uh... maybe because I'm your wife?" I shrugged. "A heads-up wouldn't have hurt, right? Especially with the media asking whether Dione is my daughter... or Margot's."
"You're actually doubting that Dione is your daughter?" she snapped. "What about the ultrasound you saw? That's from before we even broke up, Ro."
I clicked my tongue. "You can't blame me, Sol. You lied to me about the embezzlement. It wouldn't be hard to think maybe you could lie about Dione's father too."
She blinked, laughing bitterly. "I can't believe you." She stood, hands on her hips, staring down at me. "One thing I know for sure—I didn't let anyone else touch me. Not Margot, not anyone. Only you... and only you got me pregnant."
I wiped my hands over my face, letting out a long sigh as I stood. "Okay... I'm sorry," I murmured, reaching out to hold her arms. "It's just... I can't process anything without hearing it from you, Sol. And I'm sorry for doubting."
"You know what?
" she said, her voice sharp but measured.
"Why don't you get a DNA and paternity test for you and Dione?
That way, you can prove to yourself that she's yours.
Maybe you even doubt the document I gave her as proof, so.
.. for your sake, go ahead. Get the test."
"Sol," I sighed, exhaling slowly. "Come on, it's not necessary." I pulled her closer, but she shoved me back, and the collar of her blouse parted, revealing a faint mark on her sternum.
I blinked, frozen, staring at it. She followed my gaze, then traced the mark with a finger. "For goodness' sake, Ro. That's just an insect bite," she said, clicking her tongue before turning away.
But my foot stayed planted, my mind still fixated on the mark, unable to shake the sudden unease.
?·???°???°???·?
A lump rose in my throat as I froze, staring at Sloane standing with Margot once again. They stopped in front of me—Sloane with an unreadable expression, Margot wearing that same smug smile that made my fists itch. I wanted to punch her right there, consequences be damned.
"Sol, what's this?" I asked, stepping forward and reaching for Sloane's hand, pulling her toward me. But Margot tugged on her other hand. My jaw tightened. "Let go of my wife's hand," I said, firm and sharp.
Margot tilted her head, lips curling. "Your wife?" she echoed, eyes gleaming as she looked at Sloane. "Why don't you tell her the truth?"
My brow furrowed as I glanced between them—Margot's smirk, Sloane's silence. And then, with a small movement, Sloane slipped her hand out of mine.
"Sol..." I whispered, staring at the emptiness where her fingers had been.
"It's over, Aurora." Her voice was flat, drained of warmth. "I don't love you anymore. I only ever used you for revenge." She laced her fingers with Margot's.
"No," I breathed, shaking my head. "Sol, no! You're lying. Tell me you're lying!" My voice broke, but she turned away.
I tried to move, to follow, but my legs wouldn't obey. My body felt rooted, glued to the floor as they walked away hand in hand.
"Aurora!"
"Sol, please! Don't leave me!"
"Ro!" The voice cut through, urgent, desperate.
I snapped my eyes open, gasping, my chest rising and falling in ragged heaves. The nightmare dissolved as I focused on Sloane's face in front of me, her hands warm and steady against my cheeks.
"Sol," I whispered, reaching for her hand, clinging as if it were the only real thing in the world.
I panted, swallowing the hard lump in my throat as my gaze darted around. Our bedroom. I was back in our bedroom.
Sloane's worried eyes met mine. "What the hell..." she exhaled, brushing my damp cheeks with trembling hands. "Did you just have a nightmare?"
A dream?
My chest hammered so loud it echoed in my ears. My head throbbed. My body felt ice-cold. "Sloey..." I whispered, shutting my eyes, clinging to her warmth.
"I'm here," she murmured, her hands steady against my clammy skin. "You're drenched in sweat, Ro. Let me get you something clean to wear, alright?"
I nodded weakly, loosening my grip. She slipped away toward the wardrobe. The moment she turned her back, I bolted out of bed, nausea twisting my stomach.
I barely made it to the bathroom—slamming the door shut, fumbling the lock—before collapsing against the sink. My hands braced the porcelain as I doubled over, coughing, gagging, and vomiting.
Red splattered the basin.
Blood.
"No, no, no..." My voice broke as I twisted the faucet on full blast, splashing cold water over my face, into my mouth, desperate to wash it away.
I gargled, spitting, tears mixing with water as they streamed down. "No... please, don't..." I whispered to myself, the words a frantic prayer, my hands trembling as I kept splashing, kept trying to erase the truth.
"Ro?" Sloane's soft knock broke through the running water. Her voice carried that worried edge. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," I croaked, forcing steadiness, but everything was unraveling. Nothing about this was normal.
I lifted my gaze to the mirror.
A stranger stared back—skin drained to porcelain, lips edging blue. A ghost. My therapy had kept me afloat for months, but I could feel it slipping.
"It should last me a year with the stem-cell therapy..." I muttered to the reflection, my voice cracking. "Why... why isn't it—"
"You just need to get another stem cell next month, Ro.
Then you'll be normal again. Everything will be normal.
" I whispered to myself, patting my cheeks before splashing another wave of cold water across my face.
I gargled, rinsed the sink clean, washed my trembling hands, and finally turned the faucet off before stepping out of the bathroom.
When I stepped out, Sloane was waiting—right there, planted in front of the door.
She didn't speak at first. She just blinked, sighed, then caught my hands. "Sit," she said softly, pushing me down onto the edge of the bed. She took a towel and began patting my damp face dry.
I glanced at her. Her face, so close. How long will I still get to see it? The thought tightened in my throat. I forced a smile and looked away, anywhere but her. I couldn't tell her. She wouldn't handle it. And if she knew—if she really knew—would she even stay?
"Are you feeling alright?" she asked, tugging at my sweatshirt.
I didn't answer—until her hands stopped.
Her breath hitched. My brows furrowed as I followed her gaze downward.
Bruises.
Shit.
Before I could move, she was already kneeling in front of me, her fingers ghosting over the dark marks.
"Where did you get these?" she whispered, worry widening her eyes as they darted from my skin to my face. "Ro, did you get into a fight? Who did this?"
I said nothing. My head lowered, teeth biting into the inside of my cheek. My body had been failing me for more than a decade now, and it was only getting worse—no matter how much I tried to hide it.
"Ro..." Sloane lifted my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze. "Tell me who hurt you. I'm your wife." Her voice cracked with urgency. "Did you fight Margot? Someone else? Who?"
Her raw concern should've comforted me, but it only tightened the ache inside. A bitter scoff escaped instead as I pried her hands from my face—yet held them tightly in my own, as if I couldn't let go.
Shaking my head, I met her eyes. "Just... got hurt during my exercise," I said with a faint smile. "It's nothing serious. It'll go away."
She studied me for a moment, gaze lingering too long before she sighed. "You should take extra precautions while exercising, honey." Rising, she gently pulled her hands from mine, picked up a fresh sweatshirt, and helped me slip into it.
Her fingers brushed against my skin as she leaned in to give me a soft peck on the lips. Then she gathered my used sweatshirt and dropped it into the laundry basket.
I watched her, and the thought of leaving her again felt like dying a million little deaths.
I had walked away once before—because she deserved joy, a chance at a life with someone whole, not with someone doomed to fade; not someone who was slowly falling apart no matter how many treatments they took.
"Sol," I called softly. She turned, then crossed the room to sit beside me, waiting.
I smiled faintly as I tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. Leaning in, I pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before pulling back. "You shouldn't have married me," I whispered with a bitter laugh.
Her brow quirks. "Why would you say that?"
"Because..." My laugh cracked, low and humorless, as I leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "I've always been insecure. Selfish. And you... you never deserved someone like that. Someone like me."
"If it's not you I deserve, then who else?" she asked.
Her question made me pause.
I turned to face her. She was smiling—not with judgment, but with something softer, almost inevitable.
"People make mistakes," she said. "People make regretful choices.
In the end they're still just people. No one's perfect—not you.
" She tilted her head. "That's why I don't understand why you keep insisting I don't deserve you. I chose you. If I'm wrong, it's on me."
Sloane leaned in, thumb rubbing my cheek before she kissed me. "You're my wife. I'm married to you, no matter what." She kissed me again.
I shut my eyes and pulled her closer.
I wasn't afraid of dying so much as I was terrified of leaving them—of the grief I'd hand them, the questions that would linger, the slow rearrangement of their lives without me.
I wasn't afraid to go. I was afraid I wouldn't have enough time to show them how much they meant to me, to be in these small, ordinary moments with them while I still could.