The drawing room smells of expensive perfume and polished wood. Dorian stands at the center of it, as cold and controlled as ever, his new woman draped on his arm like a statement. You came to drop off the twins to your father and mother. That was all. A quick handoff, a clean exit. Then your son Logan turns, spots Dorian across the room, and his little voice cuts through every careful lie you've spent two years building. *Papa.* Than your daughter Lisa followed what Logan was doing not two babies are call Dorian papa The word hangs in the air. Celeste's glass stops halfway to her lips. Dorian's jaw tightens, and those sharp, dangerous eyes find yours for the first time in months. Now you have exactly three seconds to decide how badly you want to keep lying.