Diane Chen's office is designed to intimidate, and it's working.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Seattle. A desk the size of a small aircraft carrier. Law books lining the walls like soldiers standing at attention. Everything about this space says expensive and serious and you're going to need both.
We're here at 8 AM because that was the earliest emergency appointment available. Axel sits to my left, rigid with controlled fury. Mateo's on my right, leg bouncing with barely contained energy. Between us, the lawsuit documents are spread across Diane's massive desk like evidence at a crime scene.
"Let me make sure I understand the claims." Diane flips through the pages, reading glasses perched on her nose. She's mid-fifties, silver-streaked hair pulled back in a severe bun, the kind of lawyer who bills four figures an hour and is worth every penny. "Mr. Drummond alleges that approximately two weeks after the October incident, you met him at his Philadelphia apartment for a 'reconciliation discussion' that became physical."
"That didn't happen."
"I believe you. But he's prepared to testify under oath that it did." She sets down the papers. "He's also produced supporting evidence. A hotel receipt from that timeframe showing a room booked under a name similar to yours. A text message screenshot—allegedly from your phone—referencing a 'need to talk in person.' And a witness statement from his building's former doorman claiming he saw you enter the premises that night."
My stomach turns. "All of that is fabricated. I was in Seattle by then. Or—no, I was still in Philadelphia but staying with my sister. I never went near his apartment."
"Can your sister confirm your whereabouts for that specific night?"
I try to remember. Two weeks after his birthday. Early November. I was drinking too much and sleeping too little, the pregnancy still a secret I hadn't fully accepted. Was Naomi home that night? Was anyone?
"I don't know," I admit. "I'd have to check with her."
"Do that. Any documentation helps—credit card receipts, phone records showing your location, anything that places you elsewhere." Diane removes her glasses, fixing me with a direct stare. "Here's what you need to understand. Cassian knows he's not the father. The timeline you established publicly doesn't work for him, and he knows DNA will prove it. So why is he filing this suit?"
"To punish her," Axel says flatly. "To make her suffer."
"Yes. But also strategy." Diane leans back in her chair. "This lawsuit isn't designed to win. It's designed to damage. To drag Dr. Marlowe through depositions and discovery. To force DNA testing that becomes public record. To create doubt in the media, even if courts ultimately rule against him."
"So he loses but we still lose," Mateo says bitterly.
"Not necessarily. But you need to understand the battlefield before you can fight effectively." She pulls out a legal pad, starts making notes. "His claims fall into three categories. First, paternity—easily disproven with DNA testing. Second, defamation—he's alleging that Dr. Marlowe's public statement about his infidelity was false and damaged his reputation."
"His reputation was damaged because he cheated," I point out. "That's not defamation. That's consequences."
"Truth is an absolute defense against defamation claims. If we can prove the infidelity occurred as you described, that claim collapses." Diane makes another note. "Third and most concerning: alienation of affection. He's naming Mr. Nielsen and Mr. Velasco as co-defendants, claiming they 'intentionally interfered' with his relationship and 'alienated' your affections from him."
"We weren't together when they—" I stop. Remember the timeline. The night of his birthday. The threesome that happened while I was technically still his fiancée, even if I'd just caught him cheating. "The relationship was over."
"Was it legally documented as over? Did you return the ring that night? File any paperwork? Tell anyone officially?"
I hadn't. I'd run. Packed a bag and fled to Naomi's and tried to pretend my life wasn't imploding. The formal ending came later—after I knew about the pregnancy, after I'd already decided to leave Philadelphia.
"No," I say quietly. "Not officially. Not that night."
Diane nods like she expected this. "Then technically, he can argue the relationship was ongoing when your involvement with Nielsen and Velasco began. It's a weak argument—courts don't look kindly on alienation claims when infidelity precipitated the separation—but it's an argument he can make."
Axel's jaw is tight enough to crack. "What do we do?"
"We fight. Aggressively and strategically." Diane sets down her pen. "Here's my recommended approach. First, we counter sue for harassment, defamation, and intentional infliction of emotional distress. We make this lawsuit about his pattern of behavior—the infidelity, the Derek Hollins situation, this frivolous legal action. We put him on defense instead of letting him control the narrative."
"Can we do that?" Mateo asks.
"We can do quite a lot when someone hands us this much ammunition." A ghost of a smile. "Second, we move to depose his 'witness'—the doorman. Paid testimony rarely holds up under cross-examination. If we can prove he was compensated for his statement, the entire reconciliation claim crumbles."
"And the DNA testing?" I ask.
"That's where it gets complicated." Diane's expression sobers. "Courts generally favor a child's right to know their parentage. If he pushes hard enough, a judge may order testing regardless of his probability of being the father. And once that happens..."
She doesn't finish the sentence. She doesn't have to.
Once that happens, Cassian isn't the only one who gets answers. Axel and Mateo would know too. We'd all know which children belong to which father—information we deliberately chose not to seek.
"We've agreed not to test," I say. "The three of us. We don't want to know."
"That's your choice to make as a family. But a court order supersedes personal preference." Diane gathers the documents, stacking them neatly. "My advice? Prepare yourself for the possibility. Discuss what it means. Decide now how you'll handle the information rather than being blindsided in a courtroom."
The ride home is quiet.
Mateo stares out the window, unusually still. Axel drives with white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. I sit in the back seat surrounded by legal documents and the weight of everything we're facing.
"He's going to make us know," Mateo says finally. "Whether we want to or not. He's going to force the question we agreed never to ask."
"Maybe," I say. "Or maybe we beat him before it gets that far."
"And if we don't?"
I don't have an answer. None of us do.
At home, the babies are with Naomi, giving us space to process. We sit in the living room—the same room where we celebrated Derek's departure three weeks ago, champagne and cake and the belief that we'd won.
"Whatever happens," Axel says slowly, "whatever those tests show—it doesn't change anything. Not for me."
"Me either," Mateo agrees. "Biology doesn't make a father. We already decided that."
"I know." I take both their hands, holding tight. "But deciding in theory is different from knowing in practice. And Cassian knows that. He's counting on the information to tear us apart even if the lawsuit fails."
"Then we don't let it." Axel's voice is fierce. "We decide now, together. No matter what the results say, all three children are all of ours. Period. We don't let him use our biology as a weapon."
"Together," Mateo echoes. "Whatever comes. We face it as a unit."
I look at them—these two men who chose this fight alongside me, who could walk away but won't, who refuse to let someone else's cruelty define our family.
"Together," I agree.
The lawsuit sits on the coffee table between us. Cassian's opening move in a war he thinks he's going to win.
He's wrong.
But proving it is going to cost us everything we have.