Davin cleared his throat.

The sound cut through the room like a blade.

He looked down at the paper again, as if confirming what he already knew, then lifted his eyes—steady, professional, unreadable.

“The results confirm,” he said evenly, “that Roman…. is Bernard Thorne’s biological son.”

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then Salima exhaled.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a long, careful release of breath she’d been holding for thirty years. Her shoulders softened, ever so slightly, as if the weight of an unspoken fear finally loosened its grip.

Victor looked away, pressing his lips together. Disappointment flickered across his face before he masked it, nodding once to...