Four days later, Payton sat alone in the private tea room of the St. Regis, her back straight and her expression unreadable.

Spencer turned his terrified gaze toward Chloe. "Is this true?"

Chloe’s sweet demeanor instantly vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating glare. "You think you're so superior, Spencer? The Davis family ruined my father twenty years ago! We took what was rightfully ours! You have six months to live, and when you die, my twins inherit everything!"

"Get her out of my sight!" Spencer roared, his voice breaking with anguish as security guards seized Chloe and dragged her screaming out of the executive suite.

Spencer collapsed against his desk, clutching his chest as cold sweat covered his brow. He looked up at his mother, his eyes filled with desperate panic.

"Mother... am I going to die?" Spencer wept. "Is there no treatment? No donor?"

Eleanor sat beside him, taking his shaking hands. "There was one hope, Spencer. A protective suppressor gene that could neutralize the autoimmune decay. But it required a donor with an exact genetic mirror."

Spencer’s eyes widened. "Payton..."

"Yes," Eleanor whispered. "Payton carried that exact suppressor. She was your salvation. But you drove her away for a deceitful mistress and two poisoned babies."

The realization hit Spencer like a physical blow. The six years of devotion, the quiet nights, the loyal love he had traded away for Chloe’s lies—he had destroyed his own life and cast away the only woman who could have saved him.