Chapter Three
LOGAN
“I can’t believe she just walked out.”
I muttered, my stomach tightening at the implications. I grabbed Anna’s hand and pulled her into the hallway. I had to find her sister, and I couldn’t leave her alone.
The last thing I needed, minutes after discovering I was a father, was to lose one of my daughters.
We scoured the entire twenty-fourth floor, but there was no sign of the little girl.
“Where’s Rory?” Anna repeated, her voice trembling. “Did you let her get away? Weren’t you watching her?”
“Hey, calm down, okay? She didn’t vanish. She’s somewhere in the hotel.” My eyes snapped to the elevator bank, remembering my own childhood fascination with riding them. “Maybe she went down to the lobby.”
Still clutching Anna’s hand, I hurried to the elevators and jabbed the button. When the doors slid open to an empty car, I felt a flicker of relief. We stepped in and descended.
The moment the doors opened on the ground floor, I made a beeline for the front desk, intent on asking if anyone had seen a little girl.
And that’s when it happened.
“Look! It’s him! It’s Doctor Turner!”
What happened next was a blur. The lobby erupted into a cacophony of shouting and a sudden, chaotic rush.
It was as if I’d blinked and a mob materialized in front of me—flashing cameras, thrusting microphones, and cell phones held high.
I tightened my grip on Anna’s hand, terrified she’d be torn away in the crush.
“Is it true, Dr. Turner? You’re a father?” one journalist yelled.
“Is this one of your daughters? Weren’t there two?” shouted another.
“Do you plan to finally acknowledge them after all this time?”
“Is the mother a Hollywood star?”
“Sources say you had an affair with a former model! Is she the mother?”
“Is she a nobody? Is that why you thought you could get away with abandoning her?”
The barrage of questions was overwhelming, a dizzying whirlwind of accusations and flashbulbs. I stood frozen, completely unable to form a single word in my defense.
Maybe I should have been used to it by now. As the son of a famous actress, my brothers and I had grown up with a certain level of media exposure. But of the three of us, I’d always handled it the worst, going out of my way to avoid the spotlight.
“I didn’t abandon anyone,” was all I could muster, the accusation leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
It was true—I never wanted children. The thought of Eleanor being pregnant years ago had filled me with pure panic, and yes, I would have been terrified if I’d known the truth back then.
But I would never have run from my responsibilities. I would never have been that kind of man.
“So, you’ve registered your daughters?” a woman shouted, igniting another volley.
“Have you been hiding them all this time?”
“What is the mother’s name?”
“Hey, little girl,” one reporter called out to Anna directly. “What’s your mom’s name?”
In an instant, every microphone swiveled toward her. I pulled Anna behind me, a futile attempt to shield her from the flock of vultures now surrounding us completely.
“It’s Rory!” Anna cried out. Before I could react, she slipped from my grasp and darted through the crowd, screaming, “Rory!”
My eyes followed her, and a wave of sheer relief washed over me as I spotted Aurora. The two sisters crashed into a tight hug.
Aurora was standing next to a woman. As if on cue, the reporters abandoned me and surged toward this new target. I followed, stopping a few feet away as one of them demanded her name.
“Evelyn García…” she answered, looking utterly bewildered.
Evelyn García.
It took my brain a second to place her. The Spanish translator.
Then I recognized her face—she was a friend of Camila, my brother Michael’s wife.
We’d been briefly introduced at their wedding reception a couple of weeks ago.
We hadn’t exchanged more than a polite “nice to meet you,” but I remembered thinking she was strikingly pretty.
Long dark hair, hazel-green eyes, and olive skin.
The same journalist pressed on. “So, you’re the mother?”
“Whose mother?” Evelyn asked, her confusion deepening.
My mind raced. I scanned the crowded lobby and my blood ran cold—standing there, watching it all, were the majority owners of the New York Center Hospital.
I couldn’t let this destroy my career. I didn’t want to drag an innocent woman into this, but Evelyn was a friend of the family. Surely, that meant she was trustworthy.
I had to hope so, because my next words were out of my mouth before she could say another thing.
“Yes, it’s her,” I declared loudly. “She’s the mother of my daughters.”
The flashbulbs erupted. The shouting intensified.
Finally, my instincts kicked in. I strode over, scooped up Aurora so she couldn’t bolt again, and pulled Anna close with one arm. With the other, I wrapped my hand around Evelyn’s shoulders, pulling her into our makeshift family unit. I faced the crowd squarely.
“My office will release an official statement later today,” I announced, my voice firm. “Right now, I am asking for privacy for myself and for my family.”
My family…
This was spiraling out of control.
“Anna, hold your mother’s hand,” I instructed the girl.
“What?” she asked, utterly bewildered.
I shot her a sharp look, making it clear I was referring to Evelyn.
Reluctantly, Anna took the woman’s hand but still tried to protest. “But she’s not—”
“We’re going back to our room. Now,” I declared, cutting her off.
I led the way to the elevator, Aurora in my arms, my other arm still firmly guiding Evelyn, who in turn was pulling a confused Anna along. The reporters tried to swarm us again, but hotel security finally stepped in, blocking them from entering the elevator bank.
We rode up all twenty-four floors in heavy silence. The moment the hotel room door clicked shut behind us, Evelyn whirled around, her eyes flashing with anger.
“What the hell was that?” she demanded.
I let out a long sigh, running a hand through my hair as I tried to figure out where to even begin.
Perhaps the best place to start was with the simple, desperate truth.
“I need you to help me,” I said.
She just blinked, looking more confused than ever.