Chapter 1: A Gift for the Father
“Cry, you useless woman. Now this entire family has to worship me.””
That was what Brianna thought as she watched Nyla standing alone near the entrance of the ballroom.
Her lips never moved.
Instead, she kept her champagne glass raised, smiling warmly at the relatives who approached her, one hand resting protectively over her swollen belly.
The ballroom of the Crescent Hotel in Dallas glittered with gold decorations, white roses, and enormous illuminated letters spelling out:
*THE PRESTON LEGACY.*
Tonight was supposed to be unforgettable.
Preston Mitchell, thirty-six, had invited nearly a hundred relatives and friends to celebrate the upcoming arrival of his first child. At midnight, he planned to announce the baby's name.
A boy.
His boy.
And if everything went according to plan, the child would carry his father's name.
Preston Mitchell Jr.
For years, Preston had complained that his marriage to Nyla had robbed him of the opportunity to become a father.
He had blamed her for everything.
The doctor's appointments. The unsuccessful treatments. The empty nursery they had once painted blue.
Eventually, he had left her.
Now Brianna, his twenty-eight-year-old fiancée, was pregnant, and Preston had become the proudest man in Dallas.
At least, that was what everyone believed.
Nyla entered the ballroom wearing a simple navy-blue dress. Her natural curls fell just above her shoulders. She wore small pearl earrings and carried a large hardcover album wrapped in a cream ribbon.
She looked calm.
Too calm, according to Preston.
He stood beside Brianna, his arm wrapped around her waist.
When he spotted his former wife, his smile disappeared for half a second.
Then he recovered.
"Well, look who's here," he said.
Brianna turned.
Her eyes immediately dropped to the album.
"Oh, Nyla!"" she exclaimed.
"You actually came.""
A few nearby guests turned their heads.
Nyla offered a polite smile.
"Good evening, Brianna. Preston.""
Brianna placed both hands over her belly.
Then she spoke loudly enough for the surrounding relatives to hear.
"One heir. Something you couldn't give him.""
A woman standing beside the dessert table stopped arranging the napkins.
Preston didn't correct his fiancée.
Instead, he pulled Brianna closer.
"She made me a father," he told Nyla.
"Something I waited years for.""
Nyla's fingers tightened around the album.
For a moment, she looked at the man she had once loved.
She remembered Preston sleeping beside her in hospital waiting rooms. She remembered him holding her hand after another disappointing appointment. She remembered the night he had promised they would never let infertility destroy their marriage.
Apparently, promises had expiration dates.
She inhaled slowly.
Then she stepped toward the gift table separating them.
"I brought a gift for the father.""
Brianna laughed softly.
"Finally, you understand your place.""
Nyla placed the album on the table.
Then she withdrew her hands completely.
"Open it," she said.
"In front of everyone.""
Brianna raised an eyebrow.
"Excuse me?""
"You heard me.""
Brianna looked toward Preston.
He shrugged.
"Open it, sweetheart. Let's see what she brought.""
Brianna untied the cream ribbon with exaggerated care. She smoothed her manicured fingers over the leather cover, clearly enjoying the moment.
"Maybe she included pictures from your marriage," she joked.
"A little scrapbook of what could have been?""
Several people chuckled nervously.
Nyla didn't respond.
Preston studied her face.
Something about her silence bothered him.
"What exactly did you bring here?"" he asked.
Nyla looked directly at him.
"The truth.""
Brianna opened the album.
The first page wasn't a photograph.
It wasn't a congratulatory message.
It wasn't even a baby announcement.
Inside a transparent plastic sleeve was a laboratory document.
At the top were the words:
*PRENATAL PATERNITY DNA TEST — CONFIDENTIAL RESULTS.*
Brianna's smile vanished.
Her fingers stopped moving.
She stared at the page.
Then she quickly tried to close the album.
But Preston had already seen the heading.
"What's that?"" he demanded.
"Nothing," Brianna whispered.
"Let me see.""
"It's just some stupid joke!""
Preston reached across the table and caught the edge of the album.
"Move your hand.""
"Preston, please.""
He pulled the album toward himself.
His eyes moved over the printed document.
The laboratory name.
The case number.
The sample identification.
Then the result.
*ALLEGED FATHER: RUSSELL MITCHELL.*
*PROBABILITY OF PATERNITY: 99.9997%.*
Preston blinked.
He read it again.
His father.
Russell Mitchell, sixty-one years old, stood at the head table beneath a golden banner bearing his family's name.
The same man who had given the opening toast.
The same man who had raised Preston.
The same man who had spent the entire evening congratulating his son on becoming a father.
Preston slowly lifted his head.
"What is this?"" he asked.
His voice sounded different now.
Nyla looked at him.
Then she turned her eyes toward Russell.
The older man had stopped smiling.
His right hand, which had been resting beside his champagne glass, tightened around the edge of the table.
Nyla spoke quietly.
"Ask your father.""
Preston turned so quickly that his chair scraped against the floor.
"Dad?""
Russell didn't answer.
Brianna's hand slipped away from the album.
For the first time that evening, she looked genuinely terrified.
And Preston Mitchell stared at the man who had taught him how to be a husband, how to be a man, and how to carry the Mitchell family name.
"Tell me," Preston said.
Russell looked down.
May you like
The entire ballroom went silent.
And the man who had been standing proudly beside the family name all evening suddenly couldn't bring himself to look at his son.
