The Discarded Ex-Wife's Glorious Fragrance Comeback

Seraphina stepped out of the restroom. The noise of the JFK arrivals hall hit her instantly. She immediately glanced toward the security podium, only to find it completely empty. The officer had rushed off to break up a loud, aggressive passenger dispute fifty feet down the hall. She scanned the sea of moving bodies, looking for her twins.

Her eyes locked onto a massive concrete pillar near the VIP channel.

Two small figures stood there, their backs to her.

She frowned, her medical and maternal instincts instantly picking up on something bizarre. The boy was wearing a perfectly tailored, miniature charcoal suit. The girl was dressed in an absurdly expensive, stiff lace dress. They looked like they were attending a high-society gala, not surviving a transatlantic flight. Had they raided the garment bag she’d strictly forbidden them to touch? It was the only explanation for the sudden transformation, though the speed of it defied even her calculations. Perhaps Zara had arrived early and helped them play this prank? No, Zara was still twenty minutes out. Seraphina’s tired brain struggled to bridge the gap, but the visual evidence—her children’s faces, their height—was undeniable.

She walked over fast, her heels clicking sharply against the tile.

"Gideon, really?" Seraphina scolded lightly, reaching out.

She grabbed the boy's hand. The moment her fingers wrapped around his, she noticed it felt slightly bonier than usual. "Dehydration," her medical mind noted automatically. "I need to check his electrolytes the moment we hit the hotel." The chaos of the terminal left no room for a full diagnostic, so she simply tightened her grip and pulled him forward.

Peregrine stumbled. The sudden yank threw him off balance. His first instinct was to rip his hand away and yell for his security detail.

But then he looked up.

He saw the woman's face. His breath caught in his throat. His heart slammed against his ribs. It was her. The woman from the hidden photographs in his father's locked desk drawer.

A strange, electric warmth shot up his arm from where her hand held his. The rigid tension in his muscles vanished. He didn't fight. He just let her pull him.

Isolde stood frozen. She watched her brother get dragged away by a stranger. Her massive eyes stretched wide with pure terror. Her small fists grabbed fistfuls of her lace skirt. She opened her mouth to scream, but her throat was locked tight. Not a single sound came out.

Seraphina stopped and looked back. She saw the girl standing there like a statue.

"Silas, come on," Seraphina sighed. She reached out with her free hand, grabbed Isolde's arm, and pulled her into her side. "Stop daydreaming."

Isolde crashed into Seraphina's legs. She was instantly enveloped in a soft, warm scent of jasmine and vanilla. It was a mother's scent. Something Isolde had never, ever felt. The absolute terror in her chest melted into a confusing, desperate need.

Isolde leaned her head against Seraphina's thigh. Her little fingers slowly reached out and clamped onto the fabric of Seraphina's trench coat. Hot tears welled up in her eyes.

Seraphina looked down. She frowned. Silas was usually a whirlwind of chatter. This stony silence was her 'red-zone'—the state she entered only when she was dangerously overstimulated and on the verge of a total meltdown. Seraphina knew she had to get her out of this sensory-overloaded hall immediately before the screaming started.

"Are you feeling sick?" Seraphina asked softly. She pressed the back of her hand against Isolde's forehead. It felt cool. No fever. "Just jet lag, huh? Let's go."

She tightened her grip on both their hands and marched toward the exit.

Fifty feet away, inside a high-end boutique, the real Gideon was paying for a box of pastel macarons. He turned around to hand one to his sister.

He stopped dead.

The pink macaron box slipped from his fingers. It hit the floor with a loud smack. The delicate cookies shattered, scattering across the polished tiles.

Silas followed her brother's frozen stare. She slapped both hands over her mouth. A loud gasp sucked into her lungs.

They watched, completely paralyzed, as their mother walked toward the exit doors. She was holding the hands of two kids who looked exactly like them. It was like looking into a terrifying, walking mirror.

Gideon's genius brain fired on all cylinders. He instantly ruled out cloning. The math was simple, but the conclusion was earth-shattering.

He grabbed Silas's arm and yanked her hard behind a display rack.

"Don't scream," Gideon hissed, his face pale. "We have siblings."

Silas's eyes were huge. She pointed frantically toward the doors, her whole body vibrating with the urge to run after their mother.

Gideon pressed his hand flat against her chest, holding her back. "No. Wait. Look."

Heavy, fast footsteps echoed from the VIP corridor. Four massive men in black suits pushed through the crowd. In the center was Julian's executive assistant, M. Blackwood. Sweat poured down Blackwood's forehead. He was looking around frantically.

Blackwood's eyes swept past the boutique. He spotted the two small figures hiding behind the rack.

The color rushed back into Blackwood's face. He let out a massive breath of relief and practically sprinted over.

He stopped in front of them and bowed slightly. "Young Master. Miss. Please, you cannot wander off like that. Your father is waiting."

Gideon and Silas looked at each other. A silent, high-speed conversation happened between their eyes. They both understood the assignment instantly.

Gideon wiped all emotion from his face. He lifted his chin, mimicking the cold, arrogant posture he had seen on the boy who looked like him. He didn't say a single word.

Silas pressed her lips tightly together. She shrank behind Gideon's back, grabbing his jacket and looking at Blackwood with wide, fearful eyes. She perfectly copied the terrified girl they had just seen.

Blackwood didn't notice a thing. He just thought the kids were throwing one of their usual silent tantrums.

"Please follow me to the VIP lounge," Blackwood urged, gesturing for the bodyguards to form a protective ring around them.

Gideon grabbed Silas's hand. He stepped out from behind the rack and walked forward into the lion's den. A dangerous, twisted game of identity had just begun.