Chapter 19 The Dumas Siblings
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The mansion was quiet, but Layla couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change. Her pregnancy was going smoothly, and Jasper had become strangely attentive lately — sweet even. But nothing could’ve prepared her for what was coming.
That morning, as she adjusted her dress in front of the mirror, a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
“Miss Layla,” the butler said, “there’s a man at the gates. He insists on seeing you. He says he’s your brother.”
Layla blinked. “I… I don’t have a brother.”
“He said his name is Mathis Dumas.”
Jasper, who had just walked into the room, froze. “Dumas?”
Layla frowned. “Sounds familiar, but... I don’t know why.”
“He says it’s urgent,” the butler added.
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In the grand salon, Mathieu Dumas stood tall, elegant, and commanding — a billionaire in his own right, with a powerful gaze and something heartbreakingly familiar about him. He looked directly at Layla when she entered.
“You don’t remember me,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“I… no.”
“I’m Mathieu. Your big brother. You were taken from us when you were six. You and Camille — our baby sister. She wasn’t even three months old.”
Layla’s breath caught in her throat.
“That’s impossible. My parents…”
“Weren’t your real parents. They kidnapped you both. They raised you as their own. I know it’s hard to believe. But I have proof. And a DNA test. You’re Layla Dumas. And your sister Camille — she’s alive. She’s at a private children’s facility. Safe. Healthy. But she never got adopted because no one ever claimed her. Until now.”
“No,” Layla whispered. “That can’t be true.”
But it felt true. Deep down, something clicked — the strange flashbacks she sometimes had, the way Camille’s name made her heart ache.
“I need you to come with me. To see her,” Mathieu said gently. “She’s waiting.”
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The drive to the facility was quiet. Layla gripped Jasper’s hand the whole way, her mind in a fog.
“I don’t remember her,” she whispered. “What if she doesn’t remember me?”
“She will,” Jasper said. “And even if she doesn’t — this is your chance to make new memories together.”
When they arrived, Mathieu led them through security and up to a private room. Behind the glass, a young girl sat on a couch reading, around sixteen years old, with long chestnut hair, soft brown eyes, and an elegance that reminded Layla of herself.
The moment Camille looked up, she froze. Then slowly stood.
Their eyes met.
“Layla?” she whispered, stepping into the hallway, voice trembling.
Tears spilled down Layla’s cheeks. “Camille…”
And then they were in each other’s arms, sobbing, holding on as if the world might shatter around them.
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Back at the Tate mansion later that day, Layla sat in the garden, still shaken but overwhelmed with peace.
“I have a brother,” she whispered, “and a sister. A real family.”
Jasper sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “And a baby on the way.”
She leaned against him. “I don’t know how to handle all this.”
“You don’t have to handle it alone.”
She looked up, eyes filled with emotion. “You’re not who I thought you were when we met.”
He smiled. “Neither are you.”
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