I grabbed the hidden file, shoved it inside my coat, and walked out into the cool night air.
The House of Lies
When I arrived back at my estate in Belle Meade, the lights were warmly glowing. From the outside, it looked like the picture-perfect home of a successful CEO. To me, it now looked like a mausoleum built on deceit.
I walked through the front door. The scent of expensive lavender and high-end cooking filled the air.
“Rowan, darling? Is that you?” Tessa’s melodic voice drifted from the kitchen.
She stepped out, wearing a flawless silk dress, a glass of white wine in her hand. Her smile was dazzling—the same smile that had completely blinded me for a year. “Where have you been? You missed dinner. I had the chef prepare that glazed salmon you love.”
I looked at her, forcing every muscle in my face to remain still. I had to play the part. If she realized I knew the truth, the location of our third child might be lost forever.
“Just… caught up in some late-year financial audits at the firm,” I lied, my voice tight. “A lot of loose ends to tie up before the wedding.”
Tessa walked over, wrapping her arms around my neck. The perfume she wore—the same scent I had paid thousands for—now made me want to gag. “Oh, don’t stress so much, honey. Soon, we’ll be married, and you can leave all that stress behind. Did you see how miserable Maren looked today? It just proves that karma always finds the people who wrong us.”
Karma, I thought, looking at the woman who had stolen my family. Yes. It certainly does.
“You’re right,” I managed to say, forcing a grim smile. “I’m going to wash up.”
I detached myself from her embrace and walked upstairs to my study. I locked the door, pulled out my laptop, and went to work. I couldn’t just confront her. I needed absolute leverage. I began tracing the financial transactions from the file Vance gave me, linking Tessa’s personal bank accounts to the shell companies used to frame Maren for corporate espionage.
But my mind kept drifting back to that dusty country road. To Maren’s tired, sorrowful eyes. And to those fair-haired twins.
I didn’t sleep that night. I spent the hours mapping out a plan. First, I had to find Maren and secure her safety and the twins. Second, I had to find out what happened to our third child. Third, I was going to destroy Tessa Whitmore entirely.
The Search for the Truth
The next morning, under the guise of an early morning corporate meeting, I drove straight back to Franklin. I didn’t know where Maren lived, but I knew where she had been walking.
I spent four hours driving down the rural backroads, asking local grocery store clerks, gas station attendants, and farmers if they recognized the woman with the twin babies. Finally, an old man at a hardware store nodded when I showed him a picture of Maren from my phone—an old picture from our happier days.
“Yeah, that’s Mary,” the old man said, mispronouncing her name. “She rents the old miller’s cabin down by the creek. Works odd jobs when she can, collects scrap. Real quiet girl. Has two beautiful little babies. Shame what happened to her husband—she told the landlord he passed away in a tragic accident.”
My chest tightened. Passed away. To Maren, the man I used to be was dead. And honestly, she wasn’t wrong.
I followed the old man’s directions down a winding dirt path heavily canopy-covered by oak trees. At the end of the trail sat a small, weathered wooden cabin. The porch was uneven, but it was clean. A couple of cheap plastic baby toys sat near the front door.
