My Billionaire Ex-Husband Sat Beside Me on a Flight Just to Humiliate Me—Then Three Little Boys Ran Out of a Bentley Calling Me “Mom”.
Blake Harrington stood on the curb outside O’Hare as if the entire city had gone silent around him.
Cars moved. Drivers called names. Suitcases rolled over concrete. A horn sounded somewhere behind him.
But Blake heard none of it.
He was staring at the three little boys clinging to me.
At their dark hair.
At their sharp little chins.
At the way the oldest narrowed his eyes with the exact same guarded suspicion Blake wore whenever he felt cornered.
The youngest had his thumb hooked into the hem of my coat, peering up at Blake with curious innocence. The middle one hugged my leg tighter. The oldest stepped slightly in front of his brothers.
Protective.
Just like Blake had once been.
Before suspicion had ruined him.
Before pride had made him cruel.
“Emma,” Blake said again, his voice rougher this time. “Who are they?”
I smoothed my hand over the youngest boy’s hair.
“My sons.”
Blake’s jaw tightened. His eyes moved over them again, counting them silently, as though numbers might offer him an explanation his heart couldn’t bear.
Three boys.
All about four and a half years old.
Triplets.
His face drained of its last remaining color.
The driver of the Bentley stepped out and opened the trunk. “Mrs. Vale, shall I take your bags?”
Blake’s eyes snapped to the man.
“Mrs. Vale?” he repeated.
I saw the flash of confusion cross his face. Then something darker.
Jealousy.
It was absurd after all these years, but there it was.
