Page 152 of Ruthless Claim

“Nothing should be taken at face value,” Emma repeats, looking determined. “You need a second test. A different lab.” She holds my gaze. “And you don’t tell Claire. You don’t tell anyone except us and Cillian.”

The room is very quiet.

I think about Claire’s face when the counselor confirmed the test’s accuracy. The small exhaled sound when the results were read out. The gamble paying off.

What if the gamble wasn’t a gamble?

What if it was a certainty?

My body suddenly goes ice cold. Because if the test was tampered with—if the results were not what the results actually were—then everything changes.

What if none of it was real?

“Val?” Emma’s voice sounds far away. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I say, honestly and I realize I’m freezing now.

She reaches across and takes my hand, wincing at my cold hands. “Get the second test,” she says firmly. “That’s the next step.” She raises a brow and gestures to my phone. “Text Cillian.”

I sit there for a moment, my mind racing. But then I pick up my phone.

We need to talk.

19

CILLIAN

I knew Valentina would be waiting for me when I went to pick up more of my things from the apartment.

I’ve been avoiding this conversation for two days, staying at the hotel and telling myself I needed space to think clearly.

But in reality, I’ve been hiding.

Because every time I pick up the phone to call her I think about her face in that clinic hallway—swollen eyes, raw voice, I don’t know if I can do this—and the shame hits so hard my hands actually start to sweat.

That’s what I did. I took the person who trusted me completely, and I lied to her face for a month.

The shame of it is enormous and I am a fucking coward. I have been sitting in this hotel room for two days because looking her in the eye is harder than anything Connor has ever asked me to do.

My phone buzzes. I know who it is without looking at the sender: Come to the apartment today. We need to talk and you are not avoiding this.

But there is no more avoiding it.

On my way, I text back.

Valentina is in the living room when I let myself in and it looks like she’s been pacing.

She’s wearing an oversized sweater and leggings, her dark hair piled high on her head in a messy bun.

She looks so un-Valentina-like that it makes me stop in my tracks.

She turns when she hears the door, and the look in her eyes makes something twist in my chest.

“We need to get a second paternity test,” she says without preamble.

I freeze, my hand still on the doorknob. “What?”

“A second test. From a different lab. Without telling Claire.”