Chapter 13 The DNA Report Is Fake?

# Chapter 13: The DNA Report Is Fake?

The black diamond caught the Tuscan sunlight, fracturing it into a thousand dark rainbows. Callum held the ring box steady, his eyes never leaving mine as Valencia sat frozen between us.

"Have you lost your mind?" Valencia finally broke the silence, her voice trembling with rage. "She's your niece!"

"Step-niece," Callum corrected calmly. "No blood relation. And the mother of the next Monette heir."

I stepped forward, finding my voice at last. "You can't seriously be proposing marriage. Here. Now. In front of my mother."

"Why not?" He stood, moving past Valencia toward me. "It's time to end the secrets, the fragmented history. Time to unite the Monette legacy under one name, one purpose."

Valencia's laugh was bitter. "Always the strategist. This isn't about love, Clarette. It's about consolidation of power."

"It's about both," Callum countered, stopping inches from me. His voice softened, becoming almost hypnotic. "Tell me you don't feel it too—this connection between us. Something beyond logic, beyond propriety."

I took a step back. "What I feel doesn't matter. The situation is impossible."

"Nothing is impossible with enough power and money," he replied, reaching for my hand. "The world will accept whatever narrative we give them. Vivienne returns from seclusion, blesses our union, welcomes her grandchild. The Monette family, whole again."

Valencia wheeled herself between us. "I will never bless this... abomination."

Callum's expression hardened. "You forfeited your right to judge when you abandoned your daughter, Vivienne."

"I protected her from you!"

"You left her to strangers while you hid in your vineyard, painting watercolors and playing the tragic widow." His voice was cold now, the mask of civility slipping. "I found her. I positioned her for greatness. I gave her everything you denied her."

"Including your bed?" Valencia's words cut like a whip. "Was that part of your generous gift to my daughter?"

The tension crackled between them, decades of unspoken accusations suddenly finding voice. I stepped back, overwhelmed by the force of their mutual hatred—and the uncomfortable realization that somewhere beneath it lay the remnants of what must once have been an equally powerful love.

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"Stop it, both of you," I commanded, surprised by the authority in my own voice. They turned to me, momentarily united in their surprise. "I'm not a pawn to be moved between you. I make my own decisions."

Callum recovered first, extending the ring box once more. "Then decide, Clarette. Be my wife. Rule the Monette empire at my side, as you were always meant to do."

I stared at the black diamond—beautiful, flawless, and cold as the man offering it. "And if I refuse?"

"Then you lose everything," he said simply. "Your position in the company, your child's inheritance, your mother's security. I've spent thirty years building contingencies, Clarette. Did you think I would come unprepared?"

A chill ran through me at the casual threat. "You would destroy your own grandchild's future out of spite?"

"Not spite. Necessity." His eyes were unyielding. "The Monette legacy must be protected, even from those who would dilute it with sentiment."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Valencia reach for something beneath her blanket—a manila envelope, which she held out to me with shaking hands.

"Before you answer him," she said quietly, "read this."

I took the envelope, opened it to find what appeared to be medical records. As I scanned them, confusion gave way to shock.

"These are DNA results," I said slowly. "Three different tests, from three different labs."

"Yes," Valencia confirmed. "I've been collecting them since you arrived. Your DNA against samples I had preserved from both Callum and Vincent."

Callum went very still. "What is this, Vivienne?"

"The truth," she replied, her eyes never leaving mine. "Two tests confirm you are Vincent's daughter. But the third—from the most advanced genetic facility in Europe—shows no relation to either brother."

I stared at the reports, trying to process this new twist. "That's impossible. I have to be related to one of them."

"Not if the initial tests were falsified," Valencia said softly. "Not if Callum manufactured your connection to the Monette bloodline."

Callum's laugh held no humor. "Absurd. Why would I do such a thing?"

"Because she's Elaine's daughter," Valencia answered, her voice steady despite her trembling hands. "Elaine Vervain—the only woman who ever rejected you. When Clarette appeared in Gideon's life, the resemblance was unmistakable. You saw your chance to finally possess what you couldn't have all those years ago."

I turned to Callum, searching his face for any reaction to this accusation. His expression remained carefully controlled, but a muscle twitched in his jaw—a tell I'd come to recognize when he was suppressing strong emotion.

"Is it true?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Am I not a Monette at all?"

"Does it matter?" he countered. "Blood is just biology. Legacy is a choice."

"It matters if my entire life has been manipulated based on a lie!" The reports crumpled in my clenched fist. "If I'm not Vincent's daughter, if I'm not your niece, if I have no biological connection to the Monette family—then what am I to you? What have I ever been?"

Callum stepped closer, his voice dropping to that intimate register that had always affected me so deeply. "You are extraordinary in your own right, Clarette. Your intelligence, your ambition, your beauty—those are yours, not some accident of genetics. I recognized your potential the moment we met."

"You recognized my resemblance to a woman who rejected you," I corrected, the pieces finally falling into place. "You've been trying to rewrite history through me."

He reached for me again, but I backed away. "Your mother is trying to manipulate you, Clarette. These tests prove nothing."

"They prove you're a liar," Valencia interjected. "They prove you've built your entire relationship with my daughter on false pretenses."

Callum's composure finally cracked. "Your daughter? You abandoned her! You left her to be raised by strangers while you hid like a coward!"

"I entrusted her to Elaine's sister—the only person I knew would protect her from you!" Valencia's voice rose, stronger than I'd heard it yet. "I watched from afar as she grew, made sure she was provided for without revealing my existence. Every decision I made was to keep her safe from your schemes!"

As they argued, a strange calm settled over me. The shock was giving way to a cold clarity, a detachment that allowed me to see the situation with new eyes. If I wasn't a Monette by blood, then the entire premise of Callum's obsession with me was built on a fabrication—or at least, a different kind of obsession than he'd claimed.

"Stop," I said quietly, but with enough authority that both of them fell silent. "I want a new DNA test. One that I control, with samples I collect personally. No intermediaries, no opportunities for manipulation."

Callum's expression was unreadable. "If that's what you need."

"It is." I turned to him, meeting his gaze squarely. "And until I have those results, your proposal remains unanswered."

"The offer won't remain open indefinitely," he warned.

"Then I suggest you pray the results come quickly." I placed the crumpled reports on the table between us. "In the meantime, I think you should leave. Both my mother and I need time to process everything that's happened."

For a moment, I thought he might refuse. Then, with a slight inclination of his head, he conceded. "As you wish. But remember, Clarette—regardless of blood, you are a Monette in all the ways that matter. You've proven that through your actions, your choices. No test can change that fundamental truth."

He left without another word, the black diamond ring still in its box, abandoned on the garden table like a dark promise—or a threat.

As the sound of his footsteps faded, Valencia reached for my hand. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should have told you sooner, but I needed to be sure."

"If these results are accurate," I said slowly, "then who am I? Who are my real parents?"

Valencia's eyes filled with tears. "You are my daughter, Clarette. My biological child. But your father... your father was not Vincent Monette, nor Callum."

"Then who?"

She looked away, toward the distant hills. "A man I loved briefly, desperately, during my separation from Callum. A man who died before you were born, never knowing you existed."

"And Callum? Did he know the truth?"

"I believe he suspected," she admitted. "But it suited his purposes to claim you as a Monette. To make you—and the world—believe you carried the Monette brilliance, the Monette destiny."

I sank into a chair, suddenly exhausted. "So everything—my position in the company, my marriage to Gideon, Callum's obsession with me—all of it was based on a lie."

"Not entirely." Valencia's voice softened. "You earned your place in that company through your own merit. And Callum's obsession... that, I fear, is all too real, regardless of bloodlines."

As the Tuscan sun began to set, casting long shadows across the garden, I stared at the black diamond ring glittering on the table. Whether I was a Monette by blood or not, I had been irrevocably shaped by their world, their ambitions, their secrets. The question now was whether I would continue to let those forces define me.

Or whether, like my mother before me, I would find the courage to forge my own path—whatever the cost.