Hailee's POV
Nathan unfolded the paper with slow fingers. The room had gone unbearably quiet; even the ticking of a distant clock sounded accusatory. He scanned the sheet, jaw working as if he were chewing a bitter thought. For a heartbeat his face was unreadable. Then something like pain — sharp, raw — flickered across his features.
"It… doesn't match," he said finally, his voice as flat as stone. "The sample they compared—there's no paternal match."
Relief hit me first, hot and guilty. I felt my shoulders unclench as if I'd been holding my breath for a decade. I had tricked him. For now.
But the relief was small and shameful; it tasted of ash in my mouth when I caught the look on Nathan's face. Hurt cut through him like a blade. He had expected—hoped?—and the result had ripped a splinter of something out of him.
He didn't crumble. He looked up, eyes hard and dangerous again. "I don't believe this," he said. "I'm not taking this at face value."
