Chapter 1 - The Faces in the MirrorFour little boys walked into a restaurant bathroom hours before I was supposed to announce my engagement.
Five minutes later, I was staring at four identical versions of myself.
That was when I realized someone had buried a secret powerful enough to destroy the life my family had planned for me.
By seven that evening, I was supposed to propose to Brielle Cartwright beneath the glass ceiling of my family’s conservatory overlooking Central Park.
Everything had been arranged.
The black suit was tailored in Manhattan. My grandfather’s cuff links were secured beneath crisp white sleeves. The ring sat heavily in my pocket, more like an obligation than jewelry.
My mother had chosen the champagne.
My father had chosen the guest list.
The Cartwrights had chosen the future.
And I had chosen to say yes because everyone around me insisted that love would come later.
Except I knew the truth.
It wasn’t love.
It was a merger.
Whitaker Holdings needed Cartwright Capital.
Cartwright Capital needed a Whitaker heir.
I was the heir.
Brielle was the daughter.
Put a diamond between those facts, and everyone called it destiny.
I was sitting alone at a corner table in the restaurant when something caught my attention.
Four boys.
They were perhaps six years old, dressed in identical navy school uniforms, moving in a strange little formation.
One reached for the bathroom door.
The other three followed.
I don't know why I followed them.
Maybe curiosity.
Maybe something deeper.
The bathroom was empty except for the four boys standing at the sinks.
The first boy pushed his wet hair back.
The others copied him.
Fingers from forehead to crown.
A tiny shake.
Then the left hand touching the back of the neck.
My stomach dropped.
I had made that exact gesture my entire life.
My father used to laugh about it when I was nervous.
"That's how you know a Whitaker man is lying," he'd say.
No.
Not lying.
Nervous.
I stepped closer.
One of the boys caught my reflection in the mirror.
He stared at me.
Then at himself.
Then back at me.
"Why are you copying us?"
"I'm not."
His eyebrows tightened.
He looked at his brothers.
They looked back.
Four pairs of gray-blue eyes.
Four sharp chins.
Four identical left-cheek dimples.
My face.
My childhood face.
My father's face.
I felt the room tilt beneath me.
The boy smiled.
"I'm Milo."
He pointed left.
"That's Mason."
Another boy waved.
"Max."
The third crossed his arms.
"And Micah."
I swallowed.
"You're brothers?"
"We're quadruplets."
The word barely registered.
My pulse was hammering.
"Where's your mother?"
Milo's smile disappeared.
"She works here."
"What does she do?"
"Everything."
Before I could ask what that meant, another boy whispered.
"She's fighting with the manager."
"Why?"
Milo looked at me as if he wasn't sure whether I was safe.
"Because we have nowhere to sleep."
I followed them outside.
The cold February wind slapped my face.
Two worn duffel bags sat beside the curb.
And then I saw her.
Mara.
Six years disappeared in one breath.
She stood in a black server's apron with her hair tied carelessly behind her neck. She looked thinner. Older.
But the scar above her eyebrow was still there.
And those impossible green eyes were exactly the same.
The woman I had loved more than anyone.
The woman my mother told me had abandoned me.
The woman I had searched for six years before finally believing she was gone.
"Mara."
Her face went white.
"Boys."
Her voice trembled.
"Come with me."
A manager stepped between us.
"You can't let your children sleep in the storage room."
"They'll be gone by morning."
"Not my problem."
Mara turned.
Our eyes met again.
I saw recognition.
Then fear.
Not surprise.
Fear.
That was what broke something inside me.
She already knew exactly who I was.
I handed her the key card to my empty Tribeca apartment.
"No questions tonight," I said. "Just get them somewhere warm."
She stared at the card.
"You don't know what you're doing."
"I know those boys have my face."
Her fingers tightened around the key card.
"You're not their father."
The statement hit harder than it should have.
I looked at the boys.
Then back at her.
"Then explain why they look like me."
She didn't.
Milo tugged on her sleeve.
"Mom, I'm tired."
Mara closed her eyes.
Then she took the card.
Before she got into my SUV, she turned back.
"You don't get to disappear for six years and suddenly decide you're their father."
"I'm not deciding anything."
My voice hardened.
"I'm finding out why they have my face."
At 4:18, I called my assistant.
"Cancel tonight."
"The engagement announcement?"
"Yes."
"Your mother is already greeting the guests."
"I don't care."
I hung up.
The ring stayed in my pocket.
The wedding plans could wait.
Because four boys had just walked into my life carrying my face.
And someone had spent six years making sure I never knew they existed.
I thought the worst part would be discovering who their father was.
May you like
I was wrong.
The worst part was discovering who had made sure I never found out.
