Chapter 3 - FORTY-FIVE MINUTES
Julian did not cancel the wedding.
For the rest of his life, he would wonder whether that was courage, cowardice, or simply habit.
The Sterling family did not embarrass itself publicly.
That principle had been taught to him before he learned long division.
You did not stumble.
You did not confess.
You did not show uncertainty.
And you never gave hundreds of wealthy people a reason to whisper about you behind crystal champagne glasses.
So forty-three minutes after Elena told him she was in the maternity ward, Julian stood beneath the vaulted ceiling of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
Chloe walked toward him.
Everyone stood.
Cameras flashed.
A string quartet played.
Julian saw none of it.
He saw a gray blanket.
He saw a hospital room he had never entered.
He saw a child who might have his eyes.
When Chloe reached him, she smiled.
“You’re here.”
It was almost a warning.
Julian nodded.
The priest began.
Words followed.
Love.
Commitment.
Honor.
Faithfulness.
Julian nearly flinched at that one.
When the moment came to say his vows, he looked at Chloe.
She was beautiful.
There was no denying that.
Beautiful in the precise way she approached everything else.
Controlled.
Curated.
Expensive.
For years, Julian had believed Elena’s quiet nature lacked ambition.
Now, standing across from Chloe, he suddenly remembered how Elena used to sit barefoot in his office after midnight and point out mistakes in acquisition reports no one else noticed.
She never cared who received credit.
She simply wanted the company protected.
Chloe cared very much who received credit.
“Julian?”
The priest’s voice pulled him back.
Julian said the vows.
Chloe said hers.
The rings were exchanged.
The guests applauded.
The bells began again.
This time, Julian hated them.
At Mount Sinai, Elena’s television was muted.
She had not turned on the wedding coverage.
Amelia had.
“Elena.”
“No.”
“You should see this.”
“I really shouldn’t.”
“It’s already everywhere.”
Elena reluctantly looked.
There was Julian.
There was Chloe.
They stood at the cathedral entrance while snow fell beyond the barricades.
A reporter was speaking into a camera.
“The billionaire industrialist and former public-relations executive exchanged vows before more than six hundred guests.”
Elena turned away.
Amelia muted the screen again.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“It isn’t.”
Elena looked down.
Her son had finally fallen asleep in the bassinet.
For months, she had imagined this moment.
Not Julian’s wedding.
Her child.
She had imagined feeling complete peace once he arrived.
Instead, Julian had somehow pushed his way into the room without even being physically present.
Amelia sat beside her.
“You need a lawyer.”
“I have one.”
“You need him now.”
Elena frowned.
“The divorce is finished.”
“This isn’t about the divorce.”
Amelia pointed toward the bassinet.
“This is about him.”
Elena’s stomach tightened.
“I don’t want a custody war.”
“Then prepare before Julian decides he does.”
“He doesn’t even know if the baby is his.”
Amelia gave her a look.
“You do.”
Elena was silent.
“Elena.”
“I know.”
Amelia exhaled.
The truth had been confirmed months earlier.
Elena had taken a private paternity test using a sample Julian had left behind on an old electric razor still packed in a box from their marriage.
She had hated herself for doing it.
But she had needed certainty before deciding whether to tell him.
The result had been clear.
99.99 percent probability.
Julian Sterling was the father.
Amelia knew.
Their attorney knew.
No one else did.
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
Elena looked at her sister.
“You remember what he called me.”
“Yes.”
“He accused me of trying to use the Sterling family for money.”
“I remember.”
“He called me infertile in front of six people.”
Amelia’s face tightened.
“He told his attorneys I was emotionally unstable because I asked where thirty-two million dollars had disappeared from his private investment accounts.”
“And you were right.”
“I know.”
Elena looked at her baby.
“I found out I was pregnant the day after our divorce became final.”
Amelia softened.
“I know.”
“I was holding the test while a television reporter stood outside my apartment calling me the barren ex-wife of Julian Sterling.”
Her voice cracked for the first time.
“I could not call him.”
Amelia took her hand.
“You don’t have to justify that.”
Elena wiped her cheek.
“I wasn’t trying to punish him.”
“I know.”
“I just wanted one thing in my life that Chloe Mercer couldn’t touch.”
Across Manhattan, Chloe lifted a champagne glass while six hundred guests applauded her marriage.
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And in the pocket of Julian Sterling’s tuxedo, his phone remained open to one search.
Full-term pregnancy conception date calculator.
