Chapter 1765:


    The three of them held their ground, careful not to move too quickly — and careful, above all, not to catch Christina’s eye. Only once Henrik had walked some distance down the corridor did they move to catch up.


    “Dad.”


    “Grandpa.”


    Henrik stopped and turned. They gathered around him quickly.


    “Any news on King?” Henrik asked.


    “Nothing,” Santos said. “No one seems to know what King looks like. The entire surgical team was brought in by the doctor — outsiders, every one of them.”


    Colette’s voice was drawn tight. “Is the Martel line truly going to end with Alban?”


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    “Absolutely not,” Henrik said, with a sharpness that didn’t invite debate. “My great-granddaughter is lying in that room right now.”


    “Henrik,” Colette pressed. “Did you learn anything useful while you were in there?”


    “Not in any concrete sense,” he admitted. “But I am certain she is ours. The moment I saw her, I felt it — something deep and immediate. Blood recognizes blood.”


    The three of them exchanged a quiet look. He was working from instinct, not evidence.


    “The paternity resultse back tomorrow,” Santos said. “We’ll speak properly then.”


    As they made their way down the corridor, Alban kept ncing back toward the ward.


    Somewhere over the past two weeks, without fully noticing the moment it happened, he had arrived at a quiet certainty: he was in love with Gillian. Whether Adide turned out to be his by blood or not, he wanted a life with her. If Gillian could ept that he was unlikely to give her children of his own — and if she would agree to marry him — he intended to leave everything, one day, to Adide.


    The following morning, the Martel family gathered to collect the paternity test results. The sealed envelope sat before them like a verdict, their faces tight, the silence in the room wound as taut as a held breath.


    “Open it,” Henrik said, his impatience barely contained.


    Alban’s fingers trembled faintly as he picked up the envelope. He drew a slow breath, steadied himself, and broke the seal. The room felt impossibly still as he drew out the report.


    Every set of eyes fixed on the page as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.


    “Alban Martel is confirmed as the biological father of Adide Torres…” Colette read the words aloud in barely more than a whisper, as though she were afraid that saying them too loudly might make them disappear.


    For one suspended moment, the room held its breath.


    Then emotion broke through everything.


    Colette threw her arms around Santos. “Santos — did you hear that? The Martel family has a sessor. She’s truly our granddaughter.”


    “I heard it,” Santos said, holding her tightly, his voice thick and unsteady.


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