The connection was immediate—undeniable. Same eyes. Same tilt of the chin. Something in his chest tightened painfully.
Estelle's gaze dropped to the floor, her hands curling into fists at her sides. She couldn't look at him. She didn't have to.
Damien's heart sank to the pit of his stomach.
"She is, isn't she?" he asked again, more firmly this time, his voice rough with emotion. His jaw clenched as a wave of anger, confusion, and betrayal surged through him.
"You had my child . . . and never told me?"
"Go and take Ely," Estelle instructed, her voice trembling but firm as she waved the two nannies over.
The little girl, confused but obedient, let herself be carried away without fuss. She didn't know what was happening—why her mother's voice sounded like that, or why the air had turned so heavy. The nannies hurried off, shielding her from the tension.
