Damian walked slowly toward us. He was still the exact same man who appeared on the covers of business magazines, wearing an impeccable custom suit, speaking with a confident voice, and carrying a surname that could open any door. However, when he looked down at the children, he seemed to have completely forgotten how to breathe.
“How old are you?” Damian asked, his voice shaking slightly.
“Five years old,” Elijah answered.
The simple words hit Damian incredibly hard. Alyssa went completely pale next to him. She knew the dates very well, since our divorce had been finalized when I was already secretly pregnant.
“Are they triplets?” Damian murmured, his eyes scanning their faces.
“There are three of us, but we are not an exhibition,” Atlas replied sharply.
The restaurant manager quickly approached our table, ready to intervene. I started putting away the small jackets and the children’s drawings.
“We need to talk,” Damian ordered, using his usual commanding tone.
