All Chapters of His Accidental Mrs : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The villa echoed with silence the morning after the gala.Sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains, but its warmth couldn't thaw the chill left behind by the confrontation at the afterparty.Adrian hadn’t spoken a word since they returned home. He stood by the window of the master bedroom, his back to me, his fingers clenched around a glass of untouched water.The twins—Micah and Zaya—had been picked up early by their weekend nanny, taking them to Adrian's cousin for a sleepover. The house was too quiet.I sat on the edge of the bed, replaying the events over and over. The flash of the camera, the whisper of gossip that spread like fire through the ballroom, the eyes that turned on us like judgment.The photo.The one leaked moments before the gala’s conclusion—me, years ago, in a clinic’s hallway. A pregnancy test in hand. The timestamp matched the timeline before Micah was born, but the person beside me in the blurred background was unmistakable.Eliora.Still alive in the rumors

Two weeks after the media leak, our world hadn’t known a moment’s peace. Every whisper, every headline, every flash of a camera shutter felt like a dagger. Eliora might have been missing again, but her shadow lingered,hanging over our lives like a storm cloud that refused to break.Micah was more sensitive now. He clung to me at odd hours, waking in the middle of the night crying out for light. Zaya mirrored him. Even at just over two years old, she could sense the shift in the house, in the air, in the way Adrian and I spoke softer, moved quieter, looked over our shoulders.We were exhausted.And it wasn’t over.Adrian stood beside the nursery window one morning, coffee untouched, eyes locked on the gate."No word from Consuelo yet?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper.He shook his head. "She’s still in Madrid. Trying to get the international warrant processed. But if Eliora’s hiding in Europe, she knows how to disappear.""She always did."He turned then, tired eyes meeting mine.

It started with a whisper. Not in the halls of the estate, not even in the press, but online. In private mothering forums, whispered between usernames with flower icons and polite punctuation.“Has anyone heard of the Montclair twin story?”“One of them faked a pregnancy, I think. The other ran.”“I heard the real mother was erased.”It was Eliora’s new campaign. Not through direct attacks. Through suggestion. Infiltration. Seeding doubt like rot under floorboards.Adrian found one of the forums through a flagged Google alert. He clicked through with clinical calm. I sat beside him on the bed, my chest tightening with every line of speculation.“If it’s true, that means the woman raising the child isn’t the birth mother.”“So what does that make her?”“A kidnapper. Or worse.”“She’s weaponizing empathy,” Adrian said. “Mothers will always defend other mothers,especially the one painted as the victim.”“She’s not even posting herself,” I whispered. “She’s using proxies. Accounts we can’

The tension in the air was heavier than anything we’d felt before. Court had ended, but the games had not. Eliora had vanished after the failed guardianship hearing, and the note Adrian received clung to both of us like a film of oil on skin,impossible to scrub clean.The silence in the house was deceptive. Stillness had become our greatest fear, because it meant the next blow was being planned in quiet corners.I kept the twins close. Zaya clung to me more, like she understood some threat hovered just beyond the reach of her understanding. Micah was more reserved, asking questions he never would have before:“Why was Aunt Eliora in court?” “Are they going to take Zaya away?” “Why do the men outside always carry guns now?”Adrian gave him straight answers, softened by tenderness. But even Micah sensed the weight beneath each word.At night, Adrian barely slept. He would lie next to me, listening for sounds, waking at every creak.Consuelo worked nonstop, tracking every legal thread, f

Two years ago, when the court dismissed Eliora’s final appeal, I thought we’d won. I thought that justice was loud, final, and absolute. I thought that having Adrian’s ring on my finger and our children in my arms was the endgame. But I didn’t realize then what I do now.Eliora never plays for justice. She plays for legacy.And legacy doesn’t end in court. ****************The sky above Montclair Heights shimmered with early spring haze. It was the twins’ third birthday,an afternoon of balloons, confetti, and carefully staged normalcy. Zaya clung to my leg with frosting-sticky hands while Micah raced across the lawn with his grandfather’s cane held like a sword.Adrian kissed me twice. “You’re quiet.”“I’m listening for thunder.”He nodded once. “Same.”And then it came. Not thunder, but something far worse: A package.Vanessa intercepted it at the gate. No return address. Delivered by hand. Inside: a birth certificate. One word in red ink stamped across the top: Lucian.