Caelum somehow managed to weasel his way back into my mother's hospital room.
He apologized, brought me an absurd number of baby gifts, and swore never to joke about my health again. Aurora—my mother—had no choice but to let it go. He had the right to see his daughter, and she didn't want either of us out of her sight. She was, I admit, a good mother. Questionable love life, but hey—she had fun with two rich, hot men.
All I can say is: good for her.
I overheard her insisting everyone keep the situation quiet. "No telling anyone. Not even our parents," she said. "I just want to focus on my daughters." Everyone agreed—probably out of guilt, fear, or just basic embarrassment. After all, twins with different fathers is not exactly the kind of story you scream to the world.
My mother ended up in a VIP birthing center for her postpartum recovery, where she was treated like a fragile empress. There were nurses, doctors, nannies, nutritionists, lactation experts—even a massage therapist. Naturally, it was all organized by the male leads.
So yes, I was spoiled. And even the shame of being a creature that pooped and peed on herself kind of faded under the sheer luxury of it all.
I even let myself nurse from my mother, who insisted on doing it herself—even when both fathers suggested she "rest" and "consider alternatives." But honestly? I had never been that relaxed in my entire life, so I went with the flow. No shame here.
Two months later, we finally left for our real home—or rather, my mother's home. She refused both Caelum and Dorian's invitations to move in with them. Smart woman.
Luckily, she was a millionaire, and her house was amazing . Think: giant cottagecore fantasy. Cozy, yet undeniably expensive. Like a Pinterest board made love to a fairytale and gave birth to a luxurious estate.
The house had a private chef, a housekeeper, and separate nannies—one for each twin, handpicked by our respective fathers.
My father (Dorian) chose a nanny in her forties trained at some elite nanny academy. She could change a diaper in under ten seconds and probably disarm a man with a rattle. He proudly bragged about her qualifications to my mother.
Liliane's nanny, by contrast, was a gentle, grandmotherly woman with decades of experience in raising children from "prominent families." She smelled like cinnamon and wealth.
Of course, both fathers also hired private bodyguards. Because nothing says "newborn care" like trained security with sunglasses and earpieces.
I honestly just enjoyed the show—these men behaving like competitive teenagers, trying to rack up parenting points in front of my mother.
As months passed, both men visited regularly, and our mother somehow became even more beautiful. I don't know if it was her heroine halo or the combination of daily massages, high-end nutrition, and personal glam squads, but she didn't look like a woman who'd given birth to twins.
Flat stomach. Flawless skin. Shiny hair.
Super-hot.
Not surprising, considering the army of professionals swarming around her.
Liliane, of course, was the golden twin. Literally. Golden hair. Golden eyes. Angelic smile. Sunny personality. People gushed over her when we went on walks with the nannies.
I, by contrast, was the fallen angel—black hair, calm demeanor, sharp eyes. People usually ignored me at first, then asked stupid questions like:
"Are they really twins?"
"How come they look so different?"
I didn't care. Let Liliane soak up the spotlight. Less attention meant more freedom for me later.
Our mother was focused on us. The fathers were focused on her.
And they still hadn't given up.
One afternoon, when we were six months old, my father was holding me while Aurora played with Liliane.
He suddenly said, "I still love you. I wish you'd let me explain what happened the night I left."
Aurora didn't even look at him. "We're done. We need to focus on the future and forget the past."
But Dorian took a step closer. "I can't forget."
Before she could respond, Caelum burst into the room riding an enormous plush giraffe, shouting:
"Look what I brought for my princess!"
Liliane squealed and flailed her arms with joy. Caelum scooped her up and placed her on the giraffe like she was royalty.
Then Dorian's phone rang. Work. Of course.
He handed me back to Aurora and left the room to answer the call.
And Caelum—never one to waste a moment—turned serious.
"I've missed you," he said.
Aurora didn't even blink. "Don't."
He stepped closer. "I ended things in a horrible way. I wish you'd let me explain why."
She exhaled sharply. "Let's focus on the future. For our daughters' sake."
I rolled my eyes.
Same scene. Different day. I've watched this drama play out like it was on a loop.
Two men, one woman, a thousand unspoken feelings, and no actual resolution.
But the fragile peace they built?
It was about to shatter.
Because someone—somewhere—leaked the story.
The world was about to find out:
The heroine had twins with two different fathers.
And all hell was about to break loose.