In the back, Auberon pulled his headphones down, eyes wide.

Delphine froze, the blood draining out of her face until her heavy makeup looked like a mask on a corpse.

“What — what did you say?” she stammered.

“The boys on that stage,” I said, leaning in so she could see the death of our marriage in my eyes.

“Hugo and Atticus.

They are the twins I abandoned thirteen years ago.

They are my sons.” The car plunged into a horrifying silence as the pieces fell into place behind her terrified eyes — the serene woman in green, the identical faces — and everything she had built, her status, her hold on my fortune, her illusion of a perfect dynasty, cracked and shattered against the bulletproof glass.