It was my father’s.
The entire story had been another lie.
Rosalyn had deliberately allowed everyone to believe Trevor was the father.
Because the baby wasn’t simply a baby.
It was proof.
A genetic experiment.
My father had used his own DNA to create an heir.
A child who would inherit everything.
The fortune.
The company.
The estate.
The family name.
And Rosalyn had agreed to carry the child because she wanted revenge.
But revenge against whom?
My father.
Because he had killed her first child.
Trevor.
No.
Not killed.
Erased.
My father had spent eighteen years pretending Trevor didn’t exist.
And Rosalyn had spent eighteen years pretending she hated me.
Because she knew the truth.
She knew I was the child my father had raised as his own.
She knew Trevor was my sister.
She knew Paisley had been created from stolen genetic material.
And she knew the baby inside her was the final piece of my father’s plan.
