Page 301 of The Billionaires

We all do, but I’m probably the first to realize what it is that I’m seeing—and my whole body goes rigid as I do.

Up on the screen is the secret contract that I signed. The very same one that outlines the fact that my marriage with Adrian is fake—which is exactly what the lawyer points out next.

People turn my way with knowing expressions. “Ah, that explains it,” their faces seem to be saying. “That’s why a guy like him would marry a woman like you. As a farce.”

My face burns, and I sneak a peek at Adrian. He’s staring at me with an extremely betrayed expression. He clearly thinks I gave Sydney the document, even though I did nothing of the sort.

My mind races, looking for the answers. Only one comes to mind: Sydney’s people must’ve hacked into the app account I set up and got a hold of the document. Not that Adrian will believe that.

And I guess it ultimately doesn’t matter because this is it. I fucked up. Adrian will not get custody of Piper, and it’s my fault.

I feel the strongest urge to run, but instead, as if turning into a zombie, I shakily get to my feet and stumble out of the courtroom.

I know it’s cowardly, but I don’t want to see the expression on Adrian’s face when he realizes how bad this really is. Nor do I want him to tell me he never wants to see me again.

That bit is obvious.

In the corner of my eye, I see my mom—and for some reason, Tristan—leap to their feet and rush after me.

What the hell? Maybe Sydney’s father just needs the bathroom?

But no.

As I exit onto the street, I see Mom grabbing Tristan’s elbow as he yells for me to stop.

They fiercely argue about something so I sprint over to them, ready to defend Mom from whatever the dude’s problem is.

When I’m within hearing distance, they go silent and look guilty.

Seriously? What fresh hell is this? With everything that has happened, the last thing I need is a weird mystery.

“What’s going on?” I demand.

Tristan examines my face like he’s never seen faces until today. “Are you… Georgiana’s daughter?”

“Umm, yes.”

He peers at me even more intently. “And you’re twenty-three years and-four-months old?”

And four months? What, are we back in kindergarten?

“Don’t,” Mom says to him. “Let us talk first.”

“Don’t what?” I demand. “Is there something going on between you two?”

That’s the most logical solution, but?—

“I’m sorry,” Tristan says to Mom. Then he turns to me. “I’m your father.”

CHAPTER 36

JANE

I stand there, speechless and fighting the urge to simply run away because there’s a limit to what a woman can handle in such a short amount of time, and I was past said limit long before this bombshell.

Could he be lying?

I dart a glance at my mom. She’s pale and not even denying it. Which means it’s the truth.

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