Zeke's POV

A flood of memories washed over me as I sat in the car, pulling me back to conversations with my grandfather. He'd been adamant I marry Kamille, but why? Had he foreseen the dangers threatening her and her family? Did he know what was coming, or was it simply a matter of marrying his friend's daughter?

Questions swirled. Did Kamille's grandmother know about the lurking danger? Was that why she'd urged our marriage? I felt lost. If so, I'd failed everyone, especially Kamille.

Closing my eyes, I fought the overwhelming guilt and regret. Memories flooded back—times I'd wanted to take Kamille to the hospital to check her fertility. It had been a persistent concern, fueled by her family's claim that a devastating accident at age ten had ruptured her womb, leaving her infertile. They'd shown convincing evidence—pictures and reports.

I'd wanted to verify her injuries and explore treatment options, but her family dismissed my concerns, insisting on no further intervention. I believed their lies, waiting for Kamille to confide in me. Her silence gnawed at me, fueling doubt and suspicion. Her kindness began to seem a performance, a facade to lure me into marriage under false pretenses.

That's how I started the children's foundation, donating sperm to father children who would carry on my legacy. I convinced myself that if she couldn't accept my decision to have children outside our marriage, our union wasn't meant to be. It seemed the only solution.

Until that conniving bitch returned. Ellen's presence caused me to abandon Kamille when she needed me most. My fears and insecurities clouded my judgment, blinding me to the truth. I betrayed Kamille and myself. I was a pawn.

I comforted myself that the accident four years prior hadn't killed her. I couldn't forgive myself, especially given the Manor family's deceit.

"I'm surprised Ellen hasn't resurfaced with her fabricated pregnancy story," I muttered, disbelief coloring my voice. "I knew she was a liar, but to lie about something as sacred as pregnancy…"

The harsh truth stopped me. "She'd lie about anything—a person's life, anything. There's no limit to her deceit."

Leaving the car, I entered the house, my footsteps echoing. I approached the children's room, pushed open the door, and paused. My gaze fell on the peacefully sleeping children. My hunch was right.

The resemblance was undeniable, but it was more than that. Royer's bloodied face flashed in my mind, a physical blow to my heart.

I approached the children, noticing Tyris clutching her doll. I smiled and adjusted the air conditioner for their comfort. As I turned back, a realization hit me like a bolt from the blue. The memory returned with startling clarity: I'd come home drunk that night and woken up disoriented in our room, but she wasn't there.

"It had to be that night," I whispered. "The night I returned home drunk, everything changed."

The realization shattered me. Tears streamed down my face. I'd thought nothing happened that night, but my children proved me wrong. I imagined Kamille's suffering.

Even her closest friends hadn't been there for her. She'd hidden herself and the children so well that no one knew they existed, except me. I'd searched tirelessly, but she remained elusive. The thought of her struggling alone pained me. I'd sent money, but I doubt it was enough.

I can't let Kamille know I know the truth. I sighed, wiping away my tears. The Manors had to be stopped for Kamille and the children's safety. Public scrutiny hadn't deterred their activities.

I kissed each child's head, a mix of love and sadness welling up inside me. Reon's eyes fluttered open.

"How are Royer and Mum?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"They're fine, asleep," I reassured him, pushing aside my worries. "You should sleep too, Reon."

He smiled, closed his eyes, trusting in my words.

With a heavy heart, I lingered, then left the room. Belle emerged from another room.

"Mr. Reid, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were here," she said, surprised and concerned.

"It's fine, Belle," I said, smiling gently. "I was checking on the kids. I'm leaving."

Belle nodded. "Couldn't sleep?" I asked, noticing her uncertainty.

"No, I just wanted water," she replied too quickly.

I sensed she was hiding something, but I didn't press it. "It's late. You should rest," I said softly, leaving the penthouse.

I need a drink.