The revelation hit me like a physical blow. For five years, Julian had abandoned our daughter for a child who wasn't even his. Isabelle wasn't Julian's biological daughter. Natalie had been lying all along.
I stood in the hallway outside the surgical wing, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. The truth burned inside me, demanding to be released. But I knew better than to act rashly. Julian would never believe me without proof.
I needed evidence—something concrete and undeniable. Blood samples. DNA tests. Something Julian couldn't dismiss as the desperate lies of an unwanted mate.
For the first time since Violet's death, I felt my mind clearing. The fog of grief that had enveloped me was lifting, replaced by cold, clear purpose. If I could prove Natalie's deception, Julian would finally see her for what she truly was.
"Aurelia?"
I turned to find Tristan Sinclair standing in the corridor, his tall frame imposing yet somehow comforting. His green eyes studied me with concern.
