High-pitched. Joyful. Unmistakably children.
It sliced through the garden and straight into his chest.
His jaw tightened.
Contract violation.
He strode toward the side lawn, fury building, prepared to throw her out on the spot.
But what he saw stopped him cold.
Sofia stood barefoot on the grass, sunlight filtering through gray clouds, soap bubbles floating around her.
And surrounding her…
Three toddlers.
Two identical boys with dark hair.
One little girl with soft brown curls.
They laughed with the kind of pure happiness only very young children know.
Damian opened his mouth to shout — but the sound died in his throat.
One of the boys turned his head.
Beneath his left ear was a small crescent-shaped birthmark.
Exactly like Elena’s.
The world tilted.
The second boy crouched to chase a bubble. Damian noticed the stubborn swirl of hair at the crown of his head.
A distinct genetic trait carried by three generations of Cross men.
Then the little girl looked straight at him.
Gray eyes. Almost silver.
The same eyes staring out from his grandmother’s portrait in his study.
The air left his lungs.
“Mr. Cross…” Sofia’s voice sounded far away. “Are you okay?”
He looked up at her.