"Why? Why would you kill your own child with your own hands?" Breana Hudson screamed, her voice tearing through the sterile, suffocating silence of the master bedroom in the Montgomery family's luxury New York villa. She was slumped on the cold marble floor, her frail body trembling violently. Just minutes ago, the man she had loved for three years had ordered his bodyguards to pin her down right on their king-size bed and force a lethal dose of abortion medication down her throat. A dull, agonizing ache was already throbbing in her lower abdomen, spreading like venom through her veins. Cold sweat drenched her thin silk nightgown, clinging to her skin as she wrapped both arms protectively around her eight-month swollen belly. Sitting leisurely on the luxurious velvet sofa just a few feet away, Isidore Montgomery watched her suffer. He was the ruthless billionaire who controlled Wall Street's financial lifeline, a man whose dark eyes were currently devoid of any warmth or mercy. "You reaped what you sowed, Breana," Isidore said, his voice like crushed ice. "You pushed Erika down the stairs and killed our baby. I am simply returning the favor. How does it feel to slowly lose your child? Enjoy the sensation." "I didn't push her!" Breana gasped, her face pale as a sheet, the physical pain almost blinding her. "I have explained it to you a thousand times! I never touched Erika, and I would never harm an innocent child!" Isidore let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "The culprit we caught confessed everything. He pointed his finger directly at you, stating clearly that you orchestrated the entire accident. Erika's child was eight months along, Breana. It died in her womb because of your vicious jealousy. How could you be so utterly evil?" Breana's heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. The physical cramps in her stomach were nothing compared to the agony of his absolute distrust. No matter how much she pleaded, he treated Erika Tyler's every word as absolute truth. Seeing that Breana was too overcome with pain to speak, Isidore assumed she had no more lies left to tell. He gestured to his assistant, who threw a thick stack of papers onto the floor right in front of her trembling hands. The bold black letters at the top read: Divestment Divorce Agreement. Breana stared at the document. She had always known this day would come once he wrongfully convicted her of harming Erika, but she never imagined his revenge would be this demonic. He was murdering his own flesh and blood! "You are a monster, Isidore," Breana rasped, struggling to push herself up against the mahogany nightstand to fight for her baby's life. "This is your child!" From behind Isidore's broad shoulders, Erika Tyler stepped out of the hallway shadows. Soft golden curls framed her pale face, and her eyes were red and swollen from crying. She looked down at Breana with a venomous smirk hidden beneath her fragile facade. "Stop lying to him, Breana," Erika said softly, her voice dripping with fake pity. "We all know the truth now. The baby in your womb doesn't even belong to Isidore." Breana's breath hitched. "What are you talking about?" "Three months before our wedding, I slipped a potent aphrodisiac into your champagne," Erika confessed with a triumphant glint in her eyes, safely standing behind Isidore. "You stumbled into the wrong hotel room that night and slept with a complete stranger. Even if you run to Isidore's mother or grandfather to complain, it won't matter. You are carrying a bastard!" Breana's mind spun wildly. "Impossible!" she yelled, looking desperately at Isidore. "It was you that night! I know it was you! Your scent, your build, everything! You even admitted the child was yours!" She thought back to their three years of marriage. Though Isidore rarely touched her, she was absolutely certain the man in the dark room that night was her husband. He had to be lying to her now! Isidore slowly stood up, looking down at her with pure disgust. "I only claimed the child to protect you, Breana. Because I felt guilty for what Erika did." Breana froze, her blood running completely cold. "You knew? You knew she drugged me, and you did nothing?" Isidore frowned, his jaw tightening. "I found out during my investigation later. I was furious. I reprimanded Erika severely, and she realized her mistake. But that same night, I got drunk. I made a mistake and slept with Erika, which resulted in her pregnancy. I owed her, and I owed you. That is why I claimed your bastard as my own in front of the entire family." The sheer absurdity of his words snapped the last thread of Breana's sanity. Her husband knew she had been drugged and framed by another woman, yet he chose to forgive the culprit just because he had slept with her? He was willing to throw away his pride as a man just to protect Erika? Finding a sudden surge of adrenaline, Breana forced herself to stand. She raised her hand and slapped Isidore across the face with all her remaining strength. The sharp smack echoed loudly in the quiet bedroom. Isidore's head snapped to the side, a red mark blooming on his cheek. "You disgust me!" Breana roared, her voice shaking with absolute fury. "Erika deserved to lose that child! And you, Isidore Montgomery, will face your own retribution one day!" Isidore's eyes turned lethal. He pointed a long finger at her face. "If you hadn't used underhanded tactics to force Erika away and marry me while I was in a coma from that car crash, Erika would never have resorted to such desperate measures!" A tragic, broken laugh escaped Breana's lips. The memory of that horrific time flooded her mind. When Isidore was in a coma with failing organs, Erika had liquidated her assets and fled the country to avoid being tied to a vegetable. It was Breana who had stayed by his bed and secretly donated one of her kidneys to save his life. As a reward, his grandfather had allowed the marriage, on the strict condition that Breana never reveal the kidney donation to Isidore. Now, he was accusing her of scheming to steal Erika's place? It was the most ridiculous joke she had ever heard. Her vision began to blur, the pain in her abdomen reaching a critical peak. She realized she couldn't waste another second with this blind fool if she wanted to save her baby. "I owe you absolutely nothing," Breana whispered, her voice hollow. She turned toward the doorway. "Someone, get the family doctor for me." "Nobody moves," Isidore ordered, his voice echoing with chilling authority through the villa. He stared at her retreating back. "Since you are no longer my wife, you have no right to command my staff. If you want to go to the hospital, crawl there yourself." Absolute despair washed over Breana. Ignoring the harsh, mocking laughter coming from her husband, she limped heavily out of the bedroom, making her way down the grand staircase and out of the villa's heavy mahogany doors. Pouring rain instantly drenched her shivering frame. She splashed through deep puddles along the dark estate road, gasping for air. Finally, her strength gave out completely. Darkness swallowed her sight, and she pitched forward. Using her last ounce of consciousness, she twisted her body to shield her swollen belly from the freezing wet asphalt before falling into a deep coma.

Five years after that black sedan pulled her from the New York rain and faked her death, Breana Hudson adjusted the medical chart under her arm and walked briskly down the polished, opulent corridor of the Royal Private Hospital in London. She was no longer the weak, desperate woman who had been left to die in an alley. Over the past five years, she had built a formidable reputation under the alias Dr. Astrid. She was now the top neurosurgeon in Europe. Her medical skills were so unparalleled that even Middle Eastern royals and European aristocrats had to wait six months in line just to get on her schedule. Her tailored white coat brushed past two blonde nurses standing near the nurses' station. "Is that Dr. Astrid?" one nurse whispered, nudging the other. "I heard she's a miracle worker. The hospital board treats her like absolute royalty." Breana kept her eyes forward, tuning out the chatter. She walked up to the frosted glass door of the top-floor VIP consultation room. She adjusted her surgical mask, taking a deep breath before pushing the handle down to meet the notoriously bad-tempered billionaire who had paid a thirty-million-pound fortune for this private, expedited appointment. The second the door swung open, a familiar scent of crisp cedarwood mixed with expensive tobacco hit her nose. Breana's breath caught in her throat. On the leather sofa across the room, Isidore Montgomery sat with his long legs crossed. His slender fingers were rubbing the space between his eyebrows, where a deep vertical crease was etched into his skin. Five years of severe, untreatable insomnia had made his sharp jawline look even colder. Hearing the door click, Isidore slowly lifted his eyelids. His dark, heavy gaze locked onto the masked woman standing in the doorway. Breana's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Absolute shock and a deep-seated terror washed over her. The horrific memories of that rainy night five years ago—the agonizing pain in her abdomen, his mocking laughter, the divorce papers—flooded her mind, making her instinctively want to turn around and flee. She dug her fingernails into her palms until her knuckles turned white, forcing her feet to stay planted on the floor. She prayed silently that he wouldn't recognize her behind the mask. "Dr. Astrid?" Isidore's voice was low and gravelly, scraping across the quiet room. "I didn't wire thirty million pounds to this hospital just to watch you stand there and stare." Breana immediately dropped her gaze to the carpet. She pitched her voice lower, putting on a crisp, professional London accent. "My apologies, Mr. Montgomery," Breana said coldly, keeping a safe distance. "I have reviewed your medical files regarding your severe insomnia. Unfortunately, your condition is beyond my scope. I will not treat you. Please take your money back and leave." Isidore's eyes narrowed dangerously. He had traveled across the globe seeking relief from the phantom pains that kept him awake every night since his ex-wife's death, and this was the first time in his life anyone had dared to give him the cold shoulder. Was she truly unable to treat him, or did she simply not want to? He stood up from the sofa. His handmade leather shoes made dull thuds against the thick rug as he walked straight toward her. A tall shadow fell directly over her, the sheer masculine pressure radiating from his tall frame making the air in the room feel incredibly thin. "Your eyes," Isidore said, leaning in close enough that she could feel the intense heat radiating from his suit. His deep voice carried a hint of dangerous suspicion. "They look remarkably like someone I used to know. Someone who owed me a great debt." Breana jerked backward half a step, the lower edge of the desk hitting her waist, right over the faded scar where her left kidney used to be. She forced herself to meet his stare without flinching. "Many people share similar eyes, Mr. Montgomery," she replied evenly. "Let's see if the rest of your face matches," Isidore murmured, lifting his large, warm hand toward the edge of her surgical mask. His fingertips brushed against her cheek, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. The sexual tension in the narrow space was suffocating, making Breana's pulse race out of control. Before his fingers could pull the fabric down, the consultation room door flew open. His special assistant, Gavin Reynolds, rushed inside with sweat beading on his forehead. Gavin was Isidore's most loyal subordinate, a man who rarely showed panic. "Boss, the young master is gone," Gavin panted, speaking rapidly. "He slipped past the bodyguards in the lobby." Isidore's pupils contracted. He instantly dropped his hand, shoving a rolling chair out of his path as he strode toward the door. He had adopted Leo, believing the boy to be his deceased brother's orphaned son, and had raised him as the sole heir to the Montgomery empire. He had no idea the boy actually shared his own bloodline. "Lock down every exit in this hospital," Isidore barked. "Find him now!" The heavy door slammed shut behind them. Breana's knees buckled. She gripped the edge of the desk to keep from sliding to the floor, the back of her silk blouse completely drenched in cold sweat. That was way too close. She couldn't stay in London another minute. Ripping off her white coat, she tossed it onto the chair, slipped out through the side service door, and hurried down the back stairs into the hospital's botanical garden to reach the staff parking garage. As she rounded a corner near the hedges, the sharp snap of a twig made her stop dead in her tracks. She parted the thick green leaves. A five-year-old boy in a miniature custom black suit was squatting in the dirt, his small back looking entirely cut off from the world. Hearing the rustle, the boy turned his head. His pale, sculpted little face came into full view. Breana's heart skipped a beat. "Toby?" she gasped, her voice dropping its fake accent. She looked at the boy's outfit in confusion. "How did you change your clothes so fast? Didn't I put you in a blue sweater this morning?" Leo Montgomery blinked his dark eyes in confusion. He pressed his thin lips together and clutched the hem of his suit jacket, saying nothing. Thinking her mischievous son was playing another silent game, Breana stepped into the bushes and scooped him up into her arms. "Didn't Mommy tell you to wait in the car?" she scolded softly, her tone incredibly warm and affectionate as she pressed her cheek against his soft hair. Leo's small body went completely stiff. Never in his five years had a woman held him in such a warm embrace. The comforting scent of white tea and jasmine wrapped around him, and for some inexplicable reason, he didn't push her away. At that exact moment, out front by the hospital's underground fountain plaza, Toby Hudson stood kicking a pebble in the exact same miniature black suit, crunching on a strawberry lollipop. A pair of gleaming handmade leather shoes stopped right in front of his toes. Toby tilted his head back and looked straight into a pair of freezing black eyes.

Isidore's face was dark as thunder as he reached down and wrapped his large hand around Toby's tiny wrist. "Leo, haven't you caused enough trouble today?" Isidore snapped, his grip firm. "Come back with me right now." Toby stumbled forward a step, nearly dropping his strawberry lollipop. He widened his clear black eyes, opening his mouth to yell that this tall jerk had the wrong kid. Then he caught sight of the frantic tension tightening the man's jaw, and the identical facial features he saw in the mirror every morning. Toby's high-IQ, brilliant little brain spun into high gear. He had hacked into the global archives last month to investigate his mother's past, so he knew exactly who this ruthless man was. If this was Isidore Montgomery, his biological scumbag of a father, then Mommy was in grave danger inside the hospital. He swallowed his retort and drooped his head submissively. "I'm sorry, Daddy," Toby whimpered in a syrupy, aggrieved little voice, hiding a sly, cunning curve at the corner of his eye. Isidore froze. His five-year-old adopted son had suffered from mild autism and selective mutism since infancy, barely speaking three words a month. Since when did the boy whine like a spoiled child? Without another word, Isidore hoisted him by the arm and marched back toward his waiting motorcade. Inside the penthouse suite of the Montgomery family's luxury manor hotel, Isidore marched across the Persian rug and dropped Toby onto the leather sofa. "Gavin, get the family doctor in here to give him a full checkup," Isidore ordered, loosening his silk tie with one hand. Toby bounced twice on the soft cushions, crossed his short legs, and looked around the massive, gold-trimmed living room without a trace of fear. He was a wildly arrogant and mischievous genius, entirely different from the quiet boy who usually occupied this space. Rapid footsteps clicked on the marble spiral staircase. Erika hurried down in four-inch heels, her face painted with anxious concern. Although she had never managed to officially marry Isidore, she had clung to his side for the past five years, living in luxury while secretly abusing Leo whenever Isidore wasn't looking. "Leo, darling, where did you run off to?" Erika cooed, reaching out her hands with fake affection. "Auntie Erika was worried sick about you." Toby stared at the faint white scar on her lower lip. He instantly matched her face to the digital files he had memorized. This was the wicked witch who had framed his mommy. "Auntie, your foundation is caking in your wrinkles," Toby said loudly, blinking his big, innocent eyes. "When you smile, your face looks like peeling wall plaster. You should really ask Daddy for better makeup money." Erika's smile froze solid on her face. She stared in absolute disbelief at the little bastard who usually cowered in the corner whenever she pinched him in secret. How dare this mute freak humiliate her? Isidore, who was about to light a cigar, paused with the lighter mid-air. He narrowed his dark eyes, sweeping a sharp gaze over the boy sitting on the sofa. Toby met his stare head-on and even tilted his chin up defiantly. "Leo." Isidore's voice dropped an octave, heavy with warning. "Apologize to Auntie Erika." Toby pouted, slid off the sofa, and walked up to Erika. He gave a stiff, half-hearted bow. "I'm sorry, Auntie. I shouldn't have told the truth out loud. Next time I'll whisper about your wrinkles," Toby added with a sweet, venomous smile. Erika's chest heaved, her fingernails digging so hard into her palms they nearly drew blood, but with Isidore watching, she forced the corners of her mouth up. "It's alright, Isidore. Leo is just shaken up from getting lost." Isidore studied the boy for a long moment before turning his head toward his assistant. "Gavin, pull the hospital security logs," Isidore commanded. "Dr. Astrid refused to treat me today, which is highly suspicious. No one turns down thirty million pounds without a hidden agenda. Moreover, her eyes were too familiar. I want every single movement she made today, and her complete background file, on my desk in an hour." Toby's ears perked up at the name "Dr. Astrid." His small shoulders stiffened. Bad Daddy was already hunting for Mommy. A while earlier, on the hospital's lower level, Breana carried Leo quickly into the dim underground parking garage. She opened the passenger door of her black SUV, set him onto the leather seat, and buckled his seatbelt with practiced care. "Toby, there are bad people in the hospital today," Breana said, climbing into the driver's seat and checking the rearview mirror as she fired up the engine. "We have to go home right away." Leo sat quietly in the wide seat. The miniature mechanical watch strapped to his left wrist glinted in the dim garage light, covering the spot where a tracking chip was embedded. He kept his mouth shut and nodded once. Breana spun the steering wheel. The black SUV shot up the exit ramp and merged into the London traffic. Thirty minutes later, she pulled into the private garage of a high-end apartment building overlooking the River Thames. She held Leo's small hand in the elevator, only letting out a long breath after the biometric lock on her front door clicked shut behind them. She pulled off her surgical mask and tossed it into the bin. Leo tilted his head back, finally seeing her full face. She had sharp, delicate features, and her brown eyes held a warmth that made his chest feel strangely tight. "Go wash your hands," Breana said, ruffling his straight black hair before walking toward the open kitchen. "Mommy's making your favorite mac and cheese." Leo stood rooted to the hardwood floor, watching her tie an apron around her waist. Without warning, the rims of his eyes turned bright red. He walked slowly into the bathroom, stepped onto the small footstool, and stared into the mirror. Looking at his own reflection, he pieced together what she had called him. There was another boy named Toby who looked exactly like him, and this gentle woman was his real mother. If he was here, then where was his twin brother?