Chapter 7: The Heir Returns

Another year passed in a blink. The days settled into a gentle rhythm: me in the backyard, sun hat pulled low, hunting bugs with Luke and Lily copying every move. The kids got bolder, dirtier, louder—right at home among the tomatoes and grasshoppers.

Then one afternoon, a shout split the quiet: "The young master is back!"

The three of us barely looked up, too focused on our bug hunt.

But the housekeeper, Carla, burst out the back door, eyes shining with excitement.

"Ma’am! The young master is back!"

I looked up, brow furrowed, brushing sweat from my forehead. "Young master? What young master?"

"Your husband! The father of the little ones! Danny! Danny Prescott!"

It was like getting struck by lightning. My heart nearly stopped. "Wha… what? Wasn’t he dead?"

Carla grinned so wide I thought her face might break. "Not dead! The young master’s not dead! He’s back! Back to reunite with you and the family!"

The world spun around me. I stammered, "You… you wait for me outside. I… I’ll go change my clothes."

"Yes, ma’am!"

The second Carla was gone, I grabbed a kid in each arm and bolted for the side gate, heart hammering in my chest. It was all I could do to keep from screaming.

But before I could escape, I ran smack into a wall of people.

I looked up, breath caught in my throat—a pair of eyes, dark and cold as obsidian, locked onto the three of us.

"I hear I now have both a son and a daughter?"

I froze. The man in front of me was tall, sharp-jawed, and impossibly good-looking, like someone who’d just stepped out of a GQ magazine—he even had the kind of clean-cut look you’d see in an old Hollywood film. The resemblance to the twins was uncanny. No wonder the Prescotts never doubted.

Luke and Lily, oblivious to the tension, squirmed in my arms, impatient.

"Mama! Luke still wants to fly!"

"Mama! Lily too!"

When I didn’t move, the two of them wriggled free and landed with a thud, running straight at the man and shoving him with muddy hands.

"Go away!"

His crisp white dress shirt was instantly decorated with smeary little handprints. I cringed—there was no way to hide the evidence now.

My mind spun. Without thinking, I dropped to my knees with a thud.

"Da… Danny… I… I’m not…"

But before I could say more, a sharp, sassy laugh rang out from behind him.

"Ha! Danny, Mr. Prescott, Mrs. Prescott, see! I told you she was a fake!"

It was Natalie Shen, smug as ever. Behind her, a crowd of neighbors and friends pressed in, all eager for a glimpse of the resurrected son and the scandal that came with him.

At the front, Mr. and Mrs. Prescott stared at me, faces a mix of shock and heartbreak.

"Tara… you…"

The world held its breath. I couldn’t tell if the next words would save me—or ruin everything.