“Mom!”

The little boy’s voice echoed through the restaurant corridor.

I stepped out of the restroom.

And there she was.

Isabella Hayes.

The woman I had searched for in every city I visited for almost six years.

Her dark brown hair was longer than I remembered. She wore a simple cream sweater, black trousers, and a long beige coat. There were faint lines beneath her eyes that hadn’t been there when I last held her.

But her eyes were exactly the same.

Beautiful.

Warm.

And suddenly filled with terror when she saw me.

The boys ran toward her.

She crouched immediately, wrapping all four in her arms.

“There’s my little monsters. I told you not to wander off.”

Then she looked up.

Our eyes met.

Her smile disappeared.

“Dominic.”

I couldn’t speak.

I looked at her.

Then at the four boys surrounding her.

One had his hand tucked behind his neck.

Another was biting his lower lip.

The third had the same little dimple I saw every morning in my childhood pH๏τographs.

And the fourth was staring at me with an expression so serious that I almost laughed.

“Isabella,” I finally whispered.

She stood.

“Please don’t.”

I swallowed.

“Are they…”

She immediately shook her head.

“Not here.”

I looked at the boys again.

“How old are they?”

“Dominic, please.”

“Six?”

Her lips trembled.

I didn’t need another answer.

Six years.

Six years since I had last seen her.

Six years since she had disappeared from my life.

Six years since I had been told she had left Boston voluntarily and wanted nothing more to do with me.

I felt something cold settle inside my chest.

“Are they my sons?”

Isabella closed her eyes.

For a moment, she looked as though she might collapse.

Then the smallest boy tugged at her coat.

“Mommy, why is that man looking at us?”

She brushed his hair away from his forehead.

“It’s all right, sweetheart.”

I crouched slightly.

“Hello.”

The little boy studied me.

Then he pointed at my face.

“Mommy, he looks like us.”

His brother immediately nodded.

“He has our eyebrows.”

The third boy stepped closer.

“Does he know Daddy?”

Isabella went completely still.

And I realized that none of them had ever been told who I was.

“Can we talk?” I asked.

Isabella looked toward the restaurant entrance.

“No.”

“Please.”

“Dominic, I have to take the boys home.”

“I won’t stop you.”

She gave a bitter laugh.

“You always say that when you want something.”

The words hurt more than I expected.

I straightened.

“Then let me ask one question.”

She waited.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her eyes filled.

“Because you weren’t there.”

“I was looking for you!”

“Were you?”

Her voice cracked.

“Did you look hard enough?”

I stared at her.

“What does that mean?”

Before she could answer, my phone vibrated.

My driver.

Then another call.

Then a message from my mother.

Where are you? Sloane has arrived. Everyone is waiting.

I ignored it.

Isabella noticed the name on my screen.

“Sloane?”

I said nothing.

She looked at the expensive suit, the watch, and finally the diamond ring visible through the open edge of my jacket.

A small, painful smile crossed her face.

“I see you moved on.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Dominic, it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

She looked at me for a long moment.

Then she said something that made me feel as though someone had driven a knife between my ribs.

“Those boys don’t need another man making promises he can’t keep.”

She took their hands.

“Come on, boys.”

The children began walking away.

But the smallest one stopped.

He looked back at me.

“Sir?”

I crouched.

“Yes?”

“Do you have a family?”

My throat тιԍнтened.

I looked at his three brothers.

Then at Isabella.

“I think I might.”

He smiled.

“That’s good. Families are important.”

Then he ran after his mother.

I remained standing in the corridor long after they disappeared.

My phone rang again.

This time, I answered.

“Dominic,” my mother snapped. “Where are you?”

I looked at the empty doorway.

“Cancel the engagement.”

Silence.

“What?”

“Cancel everything.”

“Have you lost your mind? The Barrett family is already here!”

“Then tell them I’m sorry.”

“Dominic Moretti, you will not embarrᴀss this family over some childish distraction!”

I closed my eyes.

“Mother, I just met my four sons.”

The silence that followed was unlike anything I had ever heard.

Then she whispered:

“What did you say?”

At 9:15 p.m., I was sitting in my private office overlooking Boston Harbor.

The ring lay on my desk.

I hadn’t even remembered taking it out of my pocket.

My ᴀssistant, Michael, stood opposite me with a tablet.

“Sir, I’ve canceled the conservatory arrangements. Miss Barrett has left with her parents.”

“Good.”

“Your mother is requesting that you call her.”

“Later.”

Michael hesitated.

“There’s something else.”

I looked up.

“What?”

“Isabella Hayes.”

My entire body stiffened.

“What about her?”

“I ran a preliminary search. Her address is in Cambridge. She’s been working as a freelance bookkeeper and managing a small family bakery with another woman.”

I looked at the tablet.

Four children.

Four names.

Noah Hayes.

Ethan Hayes.

Lucas Hayes.

Oliver Hayes.

I read them twice.

“Did you find their birth records?”

“Yes, sir.”

Michael placed another document on my desk.

My eyes moved to the date.

All four boys had been born on the same morning, six years earlier.

My hands began shaking.

“Get me the full records.”

Michael nodded.

Then I saw something else.

The father’s information was blank.

Not listed.

Not unknown.

Blank.

Someone had deliberately removed the information from the copy available to the public.

“Who did this?”

Michael hesitated.

“I don’t know yet.”

I looked up.

“Find out.”

He nodded.

Then he left.

I sat alone for another twenty minutes.

Four boys.

My sons.

I had missed their first words, their first steps, their first birthdays.

I had missed everything.

And the worst part?

They had grown up believing their father was someone who simply didn’t exist.

The following morning, I drove to Cambridge without security.

I had no intention of frightening Isabella.

Her apartment building was modest, with a small flower shop downstairs and a bakery around the corner.

I recognized her immediately.

She was carrying two grocery bags while trying to keep Oliver from running into the street.

“Oliver, stop!”

The boy laughed.

“I’m faster than you!”

“You certainly are not!”

I stepped out of the car.

“Let me help.”

Isabella turned.

Her expression changed instantly.

“Dominic?”

I took the grocery bags from her.

“Good morning.”

She looked around.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“You saw me last night.”

“I wanted to see my sons.”

Her face тιԍнтened.

“They’re at school.”

I nodded.

“Can we talk?”

She looked toward the street.

Then sighed.

“Five minutes.”

We walked into a small café nearby.

She ordered tea.

I ordered coffee.

Neither of us touched our drinks.

Finally, I asked the question that had haunted me all night.

“Why did you disappear?”

Isabella stared at her hands.

“You really don’t know?”

“No.”

She laughed softly.

“Of course you don’t.”

She opened her handbag and removed an old envelope.

It was yellowed around the edges.

My name was written on the front.

Dominic Moretti.

I recognized the handwriting.

It was hers.

“What is this?”

“A letter I sent you six years ago.”

I opened it.

The first sentence made my heart stop.

Dominic, I’m pregnant. We’re having a baby. I know this wasn’t planned, but I’m scared and I need you. Please call me.

I read it again.

Then again.

There were several pages.

She had written about her pregnancy, her fear, and the way she had tried calling my office.

The final paragraph was short.

If you don’t want this child, tell me honestly. But please don’t make me wait for an answer that never comes.

I looked up.

“I never received this.”

Isabella’s expression hardened.

“You never answered.”

“I swear I never saw it.”

She looked away.

“I called you seventeen times.”

My chest тιԍнтened.

“Seventeen?”

“Your ᴀssistant kept saying you were traveling. Then your mother called me.”

I froze.

“My mother?”

Isabella nodded.

“She told me you were engaged to someone else. She said you had already made your decision and didn’t want a child complicating your future.”

I stared at her.

“That isn’t true.”

“She also told me the Moretti family would make sure I never received a penny if I tried to use your name.”

I felt my hands curl into fists.

“Isabella…”

“She showed me a document. It had your signature.”

My blood ran cold.

“What document?”

“A statement saying you had no intention of acknowledging the pregnancy.”

I shook my head.

“I never signed anything like that.”

Isabella looked at me.

“Then whose signature was it?”

I had no answer.

For several minutes, I sat in silence.

Then I asked the question I had been afraid to ask.

“Why four?”

Isabella’s expression softened slightly.

“They’re identical quadruplets.”

I stared at her.

“Four?”

She nodded.

“The doctors said it was extraordinarily rare. I was terrified when they told me.”

A faint smile crossed her face.

“They were born prematurely. They spent several weeks in the neonatal unit. Noah was the smallest. Oliver was the loudest. Ethan refused to sleep unless someone held his hand. Lucas…”

She stopped.

“Lucas?”

“He had a heart complication when he was born. He’s fine now, but those first few months were difficult.”

I felt my eyes burn.

“You went through all that alone?”

“I wasn’t completely alone.”

She looked at me.

“My sister helped. My friends helped. I worked whenever I could.”

Then her voice became firm.

“But I did not need you to rescue me, Dominic. I needed you to be there.”

I lowered my head.

She was right.

I could buy hospitals, buildings, and entire companies.

But I couldn’t buy back six years.

“Can I meet them?”

She looked at me for a long time.

“Not yet.”

I nodded.

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

She stood.

“I need time.”

I didn’t stop her.

But just before she reached the door, I said something I had wanted to say for six years.

“I never stopped loving you.”

She froze.

Then she turned.

“Dominic, love isn’t just what you feel when someone is standing in front of you.”

Her eyes filled.

“It’s what you do when they’re not.”

And then she walked away.

At 3:40 p.m., I returned to the Moretti estate.

My mother was waiting in the library.

Eleanor Moretti was sixty-three, elegant, wealthy, and accustomed to having everyone obey her.

She didn’t stand when I entered.

“You embarrᴀssed the entire family last night.”

I removed my coat.

“I have four sons.”

She closed her book.

“So I’ve heard.”

I stared at her.

“You knew?”

Her expression didn’t change.

“Dominic, sit down.”

“Did you know Isabella was pregnant?”

She sighed.

“Your relationship with that girl was a mistake.”

“Answer me.”

My voice made her look up.

“Yes.”

The room seemed to shrink.

“You knew?”

“She was young. You were young. You had responsibilities.”

I stepped closer.

“You knew she was carrying my child?”

“Children,” she corrected.

My stomach dropped.

She looked at me calmly.

“I knew she was pregnant. I didn’t know there would be four.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“You intercepted her letters?”

Eleanor placed her book on the table.

“I protected this family.”

“You destroyed mine.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I gave her money to leave.”

I stared at her.

“You paid her?”

“She accepted it.”

“How much?”

“Enough to start over.”

My hands trembled.

“And the document with my signature?”

She said nothing.

That was answer enough.

“You forged my signature?”

Eleanor stood.

“I did what was necessary. Your father was dying, the family was unstable, and you were throwing everything away for a woman who had nothing to offer you.”

I felt sick.

“She gave me four children.”

“She gave you complications.”

I looked at her as though I were seeing a stranger.

Then she delivered the final blow.

“Dominic, you cannot simply bring those children into this family. There are legal issues. The Barrett alliance is still important. And those boys may not even be yours.”

I took out my phone.

I placed the pH๏τograph of the four boys on the table.

“Look at them.”

She glanced down.

Her face changed.

For the first time, she looked frightened.

“Those children are Morettis,” I said. “And if you ever speak about their mother that way again, you will never see me or them.”

She slowly sat down.

“You wouldn’t turn against your own mother.”

I looked at her.

“You already turned against my children.”

Then I walked out.

At 6:12 p.m., Michael called.

“Sir, we found something.”

“What?”

“The letter Isabella sent you was delivered to your old office. The delivery receipt was signed by your mother’s former personal secretary.”

I closed my eyes.

“Keep going.”

“There are also records of a payment made to Isabella’s landlord six years ago. The payment came from a private Moretti family account.”

I stared out the window.

“Who authorized it?”

Michael hesitated.

“Your mother.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. There’s a second payment.”

“To whom?”

Michael lowered his voice.

“To the hospital where the quadruplets were born.”

My heart began pounding.

“Why?”

“The hospital records show that someone requested access to the boys’ birth files shortly after delivery. There was also a request to have the father’s name left off the public documentation.”

I felt cold.

“Who made the request?”

Michael paused.

Then he said:

“Your mother’s lawyer.”

I sat down.

My mother hadn’t simply separated Isabella and me.

She had made sure I would never know my children existed.

But Michael wasn’t finished.

“Sir, there’s something else. The hospital administrator who handled the original paperwork has agreed to speak with us.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Arrange it.”

“There’s one more detail.”

I gripped the phone.

“What?”

“The administrator says your mother wasn’t the only person who visited the hospital.”

I waited.

“She was accompanied by someone from the Barrett family.”

My blood ran cold.

The family I had nearly joined the previous night.

The family my mother had spent years trying to connect to ours.

And suddenly, the engagement I had canceled no longer looked like an innocent business arrangement.

I looked at the pH๏τograph of my four sons.

Then I called Isabella.

She answered after several rings.

“Dominic?”

“Isabella, I need you to listen carefully.”

“What happened?”

I took a breath.

“Someone from the Barrett family visited the hospital the day our boys were born.”

Silence.

Then I heard her whisper:

“No…”

“What is it?”

Her breathing became uneven.

“Dominic, there’s something I never told you.”

I stood.

“What?”

She began crying.

“Six years ago, just before the boys were born, someone came to my hospital room and told me that if I ever tried to contact you again, one of my babies would disappear.”

My blood turned to ice.

“Who?”

She whispered a name.

And when she said it, I realized that the woman I had almost proposed to the previous night might have known about my sons all along.

SLOANE BARRETT.

END OF PART 2.