The Foster Mother’s Cruel Words Unleashed a Billionaire’s Hidden Truth

The DNA Test Came Back Faster Than Any of Us Expected

The Mercer estate was a mansion of glass and marble, but Noah didn't feel at home. He clung to the locket, afraid someone would take it again. Camille had tried to give him a room of his own, but he'd refused to sleep alone.

That night, Dominic sat in his study, staring at the DNA results. The lab had rushed them, and the report was clear: Noah was his biological son. But there was an addendum—a note that made his hands shake.

"Camille," he called, his voice hoarse. "Come here."

She appeared in the doorway, still wearing the scarf she'd had on all day. "What is it?"

He held up the report. "The tests confirm he's ours. But there's more." He turned the page, and she read the highlighted section aloud.

"Maternal DNA indicates a match to…" Her voice faltered. "Camille Mercer."

Dominic stood up. "That's not possible. You're his mother—of course it matches."

"No," Camille said, her face pale. "There's a note. It says the maternal match is through my sister."

Dominic's world tilted. "Your sister? You don't have a sister."

"I did," Camille whispered. "She died eight years ago. In a fire. We never found her body."

The silence stretched between them. Noah was asleep in the next room, his locket clutched in his small fist.

"Rita knew," Dominic said. "She knew who he was. That's why she kept him."

Camille shook her head. "But how? How did my sister's child end up in a foster home?"

Dominic grabbed his phone. "I'm calling our lawyer. We need to uncover everything."

The next morning, they drove to the county records office. A clerk handed them a folder with Noah's case file. Inside, they found a birth certificate that listed the mother as "Jane Doe" and a note that said the child had been abandoned at a hospital.

"This is wrong," Camille said. "The dates don't match. He was born a full year before the fire."

Dominic's jaw tightened. "Someone lied. Someone covered up the truth."

Rita was still in custody, but she'd lawyered up. When they visited her in the detention center, she smirked through the glass.

"You found my little secret," she said. "But you don't know the whole story."

"Tell us," Dominic demanded.

Rita leaned forward. "Your sister didn't die in a fire. She died in a car crash—six months after she gave birth. And she didn't give Noah up. She was running from someone."

"Who?" Camille asked.

Rita laughed. "Your father. He didn't want a bastard grandchild. He paid me to take the boy and disappear."

Camille's blood ran cold. "My father? He's been dead for years."

"Dead?" Rita's eyes glittered. "He's alive. He's been watching you from a distance. He's the one who sent the inspectors to your house."

Dominic grabbed the phone. "You're lying."

"Am I? Ask your wife about the trust fund. The one she never got because her father disowned her."

Camille's face went white. "How do you know about that?"

Rita smiled. "Because I worked for him. I was his assistant before you were born."

The walls closed in. Dominic looked at Camille, and he saw the same horror in her eyes. Their child was a pawn in a game they didn't know existed.

And the man who'd orchestrated it all was still out there.