All Chapters of Daddy by deception - My ex husband's fake heirs: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Suspicion did not arrive all at once.It gathered slowly, like sediment in still water, until one day Cathrene could no longer pretend the water was clear.It began with patterns she had tried not to measure. The nights he came home after midnight. The mornings he left earlier than necessary. The way his phone never seemed to leave his hand, yet rarely lit up with anything he was willing to show her. The faint, unfamiliar detergent scent that sometimes clung to his shirts when she passed them in the laundry — not the brand used by their household staff. The growing frequency of his excuses, each one polished and vague: work, meetings, a late dinner with clients whose names he never mentioned twice.She told herself a successful man kept complicated hours.She told herself distance in a marriage could be repaired if both people eventually chose to close it.She told herself many things that became harder to believe each time he walked past their bedroom door without stopping.The photo

Cathrene did not make the decision in anger.Anger burned too quickly, and she had learned that anything which burned quickly left too much behind in the form of regret. She made the decision the way she made the most important ones in her professional life: after the evidence had been reviewed, the risks weighed, and the emotional noise given enough time to settle into something colder and more useful.By Friday afternoon she had the name of a private investigator recommended, discreetly, by a former legal colleague who asked no unnecessary questions. The firm specialized in sensitive matrimonial work for clients who required confidentiality above drama. Their offices were located in a plain mid-rise building with no signage beyond a suite number. Cathrene appreciated that. She had no interest in theatrical detective work. She wanted facts, documented and dated, that could not be talked away.The investigator’s name was Samuel Adeyemi. He was in his early fifties, gray at the temples

The second report arrived four days later, thicker than the first and heavier in ways that had nothing to do with the number of pages.Cathrene opened it alone in her study after the household had gone quiet for the night. She had told Thomas she did not want to be disturbed. The lamp on her desk cast a small pool of light over the printed photographs and the accompanying notes, leaving the rest of the room in shadow. It felt appropriate. So much of what she was learning lived in shadow.Samuel’s summary was precise.Gregory’s pattern of visits had remained consistent. Evenings at the apartment. Occasional daytime appearances when his schedule allowed. Financial transfers continuing at irregular but meaningful intervals. The woman had been identified as Dorcas Naliaka, age twenty-nine. The boys were Caleb, eight, and Josiah, five. The pregnancy was in its second trimester. Neighbors described Gregory as “the children’s father” without hesitation. He was present, involved, and, by all

The tiredness had been building for weeks.At first Gregory blamed the obvious things — the late nights at the apartment, the early mornings back at the mansion, the constant mental shift between two lives. He told himself any man running on fragmented sleep and divided attention would feel the same drag in his limbs. But the exhaustion did not ease even on quieter days. He woke up already feeling behind. His concentration at work slipped in small, irritating ways. Once, standing in the elevator of his office building, he felt a brief light-headedness that forced him to grip the rail until the doors opened.He said nothing about it to Cathrene. Their conversations had long since stopped including anything that resembled real care. But Dorcas noticed almost immediately.“You’ve been quiet,” she said one evening while the boys colored at the table. “And you look pale.”“I’m fine.”“You’re not sleeping enough.” She studied his face with the same attentive concern she gave the children. “

The decision settled into place over several quiet days, until one morning Gregory woke in the guest room and simply knew he was finished waiting.He no longer felt the need to justify the distance. He no longer rehearsed explanations for the late nights or the emotional absence that had become the defining feature of his marriage. The life he wanted already existed across the city, in an apartment where two boys called him Daddy and a woman carried the daughter he already loved. Everything else had become logistics.That afternoon he left the office early and drove to a discreet law firm recommended by a former colleague who specialized in high-asset separations. The building was understated, the kind of place designed for people who preferred their private endings to remain private. Gregory sat in a clean, modern office across from a senior associate named Mrs. Leila Okumu and spoke with a calm that surprised even him.“I want to understand my options,” he said. “A clean separation