The Millionaire Faked an Accident to Test His Fiancée and Twins — Then the Maid Did the Unthinkable

Naomi wore worn shoes, a simple sweater, her hair pulled back tight in a way that suggested she had never been given the luxury of falling apart in public. She held Marcus’s twin sons by the hands: two small boys with matching curls and matching wary eyes, like deer who’d learned which shadows meant danger.

Cassandra’s gaze flicked to them with open disgust.

“Why are they here?” she demanded, waving a manicured hand as if swatting flies. “I told you I don’t want those children anywhere near my room.”

The boys froze. One clutched the other’s sleeve. They didn’t understand the words, but they understood the tone. Children always do.

“They’re my sons,” Marcus said weakly, forcing the sound out like dragging a chair across carpet.

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