"Daddy, The Baby Went Flat!" When The Billionaire Ripped Off His Wife's Pregnant Belly at The Gala, He Discovered The Terrifying Monster Sleeping in His Bed

Harrison gripped the edge of the metal table, the steel bending under his fury. "Explain. Right now, Marcus, or I swear to God I’ll burn this entire valley to the ground."

"Her maiden name wasn't Evelyn Cross," Marcus said, tapping the keyboard. "Her legal birth certificate from the state registry in Illinois lists a twin. Evelyn and Vivienne Cross. Identical monozygotic twins. Conjoined at the hip until an experimental separation surgery at age three."

Harrison’s breath caught in his throat. In all the eight years they had been together, Evelyn had claimed she was an only child, orphaned after an electrical fire claimed her parents’ home in Chicago.

"Vivienne was a brilliant geneticist," Marcus continued, pulling up grainy academic photographs from Johns Hopkins University. "Specialized in embryonic gene therapy and artificial organ scaffolding. But six years ago, she lost her medical license. She was caught running illegal genetic modification trials on terminal cancer patients in an offshore facility in Belize."

"And Evelyn?" Harrison demanded.

"Evelyn was the face. The socialite. The woman who married the Vance family billions," Marcus explained, his eyes burning with disgust. "Vivienne was the shadow. The brains. For the last five years, they weren't running a family, Harrison. They were running an extraction scheme. They needed Vance Capital’s pharmaceutical division to fund Vivienne’s black-budget research."

"Then who was the woman with the silicone belly?!" Harrison roared, remembering the terror and deceit at the charity gala. "Who was Sophia?!"

"Sophia wasn't pregnant, Harrison," Marcus said grimly. "She was an actress hired by Blackwood to distract you while the real endgame was put into motion. Blackwood thought he was using Sophia to seize your corporate board seats. But Blackwood was just a puppet. The twins used him to take the fall."

Harrison’s eyes slowly drifted back to the sofa where little Maya slept.

"Then whose daughter is she?" Harrison asked, his voice a horrifying whisper that barely carried across the cold stone room. "Is she Evelyn’s... or Vivienne’s?"

Marcus hesitated. He pulled a sealed manila envelope from beneath the tactical laptop and set it gently in front of Harrison.

"I ran the genetic sequencing from Maya’s cheek swab against the DNA recovered from the silicone mannequin in Brooklyn," Marcus said softly. "The woman buried in that grave—the woman who died of thallium poisoning in Mount Sinai two years ago—was Vivienne. She died so Evelyn could disappear with two billion dollars in embezzled venture capital."

"Then Evelyn is alive," Harrison breathed, the horror sinking into his bones like sub-zero frost.