And the Sterling family was in full crisis mode.
According to my sources, which were excellent and well-compensated, the wedding had continued after I left.
Julian and Victoria had gone through with the ceremony in front of a crowd that could talk about nothing else.
The reception had been tense, strained, with whispers following the bride and groom everywhere.
They had cut the cake, done the first dance, gone through all the motions.
But everyone knew the marriage was doomed before it even began.
You could not build a future on a foundation of secrets and abandoned children.
Arthur Sterling released a statement through his lawyers.
It was full of legal language and carefully worded non-denials.
It did not admit the children were Julian’s.
It did not deny it either.
It threatened legal action if I continued to spread “false and defamatory statements.”
I responded with a single tweet from my company’s official account.
“Truth is an absolute defense to defamation. I look forward to proving the truth in court. – NV”
The tweet went viral.
Within hours, #SterlingScandal was trending worldwide.
People were taking sides.
Some called me a gold-digger, a home-wrecker, a woman seeking revenge.
Others called me a hero, a role model, a woman who refused to be silenced.
I did not care what they called me.
I had spent three years being called nothing, being ignored, being erased.
Now I was being seen. And that was what mattered.
Three days after the wedding, I received an unexpected visitor at my hotel.
Julian Sterling.
He looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was uncombed, and he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt instead of his usual tailored suits.
He looked human for the first time since I had known him.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
I looked at him for a long moment, then stepped aside to let him in.
The children were in the other room with their nanny. I did not want them to see this.
Julian sat on the couch, his hands clasped between his knees.
“Are they really mine?” he asked.
I pulled out my phone, opened a folder, and showed him the genetic testing results I had done when the children were born.
Ninety-nine point nine percent probability that Julian Sterling was the father.
He stared at the screen for a long time.
“Why did you not tell me?” he asked.
I laughed bitterly.