Chapter 4

"Remember, be good to the bloodline of the sacred beasts. Someday, they'll watch over you for the rest of your life."

The voice cut off, leaving only silence.

I sat frozen, trying to process this earth-shattering news.

Dragon bloodline?

Chosen one?

I looked down at the lucky charm hanging around my neck.

Russ had handed it to me when I married into the Barton family, saying the old man had specially prepared it for me before he passed away.

I'd always thought it was just an ordinary lucky charm.

I crushed the outer shell of the lucky charm, and just as I suspected, hidden inside was an ancient-looking key and a folded slip of paper.

On the paper was an address, along with the password for a bank safe deposit box.

I looked at the two little ones on the bed, their innocent faces hiding mysteries, and finally understood.

I, Daphne Pierpoint, was the real chosen one of the Barton family.

And Samuel? He had no clue about his own or his kids' true identities.

For the sake of a regular woman, he kicked me and our children, heirs to the sacred beast bloodline, out of the house himself.

I couldn't help but find it all utterly absurd, the irony almost made me laugh out loud.

Samuel, what you let slip wasn't just some contractual bride. You let slip the Barton family's entire future.

*****

The next day, I took that 20-million-dollar check and headed to the bank.

The teller shot me a look, half nosy, half scornful, probably pegging me as that disgraced socialite splashed all over the tabloids, the one tossed out by her wealthy husband.

I couldn't care less.

When the notification popped up on my phone, telling me the money had hit my account, I felt a wave of relief wash over me, more than I ever had before.

This was rightfully mine, and now it was the leverage me and my kids needed to survive in this city.

Next, I followed the address on the slip and tracked down the place Jenson had set aside for me.

It was a classic courtyard home, hidden right in the city's prime district, so low-key you'd miss it if you weren't looking.

Gray bricks, slate tiles, a lacquered red door, and two majestic stone lions standing guard at the entrance.

I slid the key into the lock and pushed open the massive front gate.

Stepping inside, I found a hidden paradise—elegant pavilions, winding corridors, arched bridges over gentle streams. It had a quiet grace and history that the Barton family's glitzy mansion could never hope to match.

Russ showed up behind me, so quietly I hadn't even noticed.

"Ms. Pierpoint, this was Mr. Jenson Barton's favorite place. He always said it was quiet here, just right for you and the kids," he told me.

He passed me a ring of keys and a stack of documents.

"Mr. Barton also put his 30% stake in Barton Group, plus a bunch of private investments, all under your name. He said these are meant to secure you and his great-grandchildren's future," Russ added.

I stared at the share transfer papers, my jaw dropping in disbelief.

Thirty percent of Barton Group? That was nearly half of everything the Barton family owned.

Jenson had left me such a generous gift.

My nose stung, and I felt tears welling up.

He was the only person, apart from Grandma, who ever genuinely cared about me in this whole world.

"Russ, thank you. And Mr. Barton," I said softly.

Russ nodded with heartfelt satisfaction. "Ms. Pierpoint, you've done so much for the Barton family. Whatever you need, I'm always here for you."

With a place to call home and a small fortune to my name, I thought my life as a mom would finally get a little easier.

But I was dead wrong.

Turned out, the little ones I was raising weren't your average human kids at all.

I gave them their names myself, Oliver Barton for my son, and Kyla Barton for my daughter.

Oliver's appetite was absolutely insane.

He could demolish an entire can of top-shelf imported formula in one go, and still smack his lips like he hadn't had enough.

I tried giving him solids—rice cereal, fruit puree—but he'd just make a face and spit it all out, like he couldn't stand the taste.

It wasn't until I was frying up a piece of foie gras for myself, hoping to recover some strength, that Oliver's eyes suddenly lit up.

He pointed at the foie gras, babbling and drooling all over himself.

I carefully cut off a tiny piece and offered it to him.