Adam's throat felt dry, his voice rough as he finally forced the question past his lips.
"Sofia is your daughter?"
Raymond closed his eyes briefly, as if bracing for an earthquake. Then, quietly—but with the weight of a thousand regrets—he nodded.
"She is," he said. "Your wife... is the rightful heir to my empire."
Adam stared, the words crashing over him like a storm surge. "Why didn't you tell her?"
Raymond exhaled. "Because I don't know how to tell her without losing her forever."
Silence stretched—until Adam asked, cold and controlled, "And Beatrice?"
Raymond's eyes darkened with a different kind of pain. "Beatrice isn't my biological daughter. She's adopted. The world believes otherwise because we lied."
"Lied?" Adam echoed.
"My wife left the country for a while, pretending to be pregnant. When she returned, she had Beatrice in her arms. No one questioned it. The press never doubted. But she's not mine by blood."
Adam's voice dropped. "Then who was Sofia's mother?"
