I Listed My Sister's Twins Online and Three Billionaires Showed Up

The night before the engagement, my twin sister jumped out a window and ran from her own wedding.

The newborn twins, a boy and a girl barely out of the incubator, landed in my bed.

My father had his whole weight against the door. You marry into that family in her place, or every last one of us is dead.

I was already reaching for my phone to call the police when her text came in.

"These two little bastards belong to Theodore Farley of the Harbor District. The man plays dirty, and he plays hard. Be a good girl and stand there in the line of fire for me."

I searched the Farley name.

A century-old dynasty. Reach into everything, everywhere.

A shield, was I?

Without missing a beat, I took a sharp, high-res photo of the babies with the birthmark clearly in frame, and posted it on the local resale app.

"Twins, boy & girl, 99% like new. $50, shipping included. Possibly Farley stock."

An hour later, the bedroom door my father had been guarding so fiercely was kicked off its hinges.

The richest man alive, the country's biggest celebrity, and the crown prince of the East Coast elite. Three men, every one of them locked on me.

"Where is my child."

A beat.

My father's legs gave out. He dropped to his knees with a thud, a dark stain spreading down the front of his pants.

"Gentlemen, these kids have nothing to do with me!"

He jabbed a finger at the cradle. "Kay Pruitt had them out there messing around with God knows who. You want their mother, go find her!"

The lead bodyguard stepped forward and planted a combat boot square on his face, shoving the rest of the words back down his throat.

I watched, cold, and reached over to draw the cradle's wind cover snug.

Curt Gilbert pulled down the mask under his ball cap, baring the face that lived on the trending lists.

"Where's Kay?"

"She posts my ultrasound to her socials, then pulls a vanishing act. Does she think I'm a corpse?"

Beside him, Michael Delgado, in a bespoke suit, let out a contemptuous laugh, kicked the broken stool out of his way, and shoved his phone up into Curt's face.

"Look at the date, big star."

"When Kay sent me this one, she was on my private yacht."

Curt read the screen, and his face went green.

"Enough."

Theodore Farley parted the two of them and walked to the cradle.

In his hand was a delivery slip from the resale app, the red-lotus birthmark on the back of the infant's neck printed right there on it.

"The two of you have been played from the start."

"That birthmark Kay sent me. Only a Farley is born with it."

Curt and Michael both froze, heads snapping toward the two babies in the cradle.

I took out my phone and set my payment code on the table.

Then I pulled open a drawer, lifted out three medical tweezers, and laid them down one by one.

"Form a line."

I tapped the table. "Three hairs each. Follicle attached."

Curt pointed at my nose. "And who the hell are you to give me orders?"

"Rush fee is two grand. Out of pocket."

I didn't look up. "Pull, or get out."

Michael stepped closer, staring at this face of mine, identical to Kay's.

"You think wearing the same face means I won't touch you?"

He raised a hand to flip the table.

"You've been paying a fortune to monitor that app, traced the birthmark all the way here. Isn't that to confirm the bloodline?"

I pushed the tweezers a little nearer. "Will flipping a table tell you who the father is?"

His hand stopped in midair, his face cycling through white and gray.

Theodore studied me for a long moment, then took the leftmost tweezers, plucked three hairs clean from his temple, and dropped them into the sterile bag I'd set out.

"Mr. Farley!"

The bodyguard burst out.

Theodore lifted a hand to silence him, scanned the code, and paid the two grand.

"Three days for results."

"Three at the fastest."

I sealed the bag shut. "Until those results come, don't soil my turf."

On the floor, my father thrashed, snarling through the boot. "Maureen Pruitt, you little animal, how dare you talk to Mr. Farley like that."

Theodore didn't so much as glance his way. The boot bore down hard, my father let out a single scream, and went out cold.

Curt Gilbert and Michael Delgado traded a look. Jaws tight, both of them picked up the tweezers, plucked a hair, and scanned the code to pay.

Theodore Farley turned for the door, his shoes landing on the concrete with a dull, heavy sound.

At the threshold he stopped and looked back at me.

"You've got more nerve than Kay."

He gave a cold laugh. "Three days. We'll see who's still standing."

The next morning the roar of three delivery trucks choked the alley shut.

Cases of imported formula. Two solid-wood cribs. Diapers from three different brands, no two the same.

The forty-square-meter dump had nowhere left to set a foot.

My father and stepmother slipped in before the sun was even up.

She pressed herself against a crib, stroking the wood over and over, all but drooling.

"Oh my, this crib's gotta be worth a small fortune."

My father didn't say a word. He just hoisted two cases of formula onto his shoulder and headed out.

"Maureen, haul the rest down to the corner shop."

He didn't even look back. "Old Lee buys at half price. That's a good chunk of cash."

I crossed to the door in one step and blocked him.

"Put it down."

He glared, spit flying.

"I'm your father! So what if I take a little of your stuff?"

My stepmother said nothing. She'd already sidled up to the bassinet, eyes working.

"Scott, those two brats are the real money tree."

"Carry them straight to the Farleys. Squeeze a few million out of them for a bride price."

My father dropped the formula and lunged for the bassinet.

I stepped back, pulled the black call button Theodore Farley had left the night before from my pocket, and pressed the red switch.

"Farley property under attack. Second floor, 4 South Alley."

My father threw his head back and laughed.

"You think a busted walkie-talkie's gonna scare anybody?"

Two minutes later the security grille outside the window gave one enormous crack.

Glass burst inward, and three bodyguards in black came through the frame.

My father's laugh was still caught in his throat when the lead man's fist connected.

Two bloody teeth flew out and hit the bare plaster.

My stepmother spun to run and took a boot to the small of the back, going down face-first.

The head bodyguard turned to me and lowered his head.

"Ms. Pruitt. How do you want this handled?"

I pointed at the open door.

"Throw them out of the complex like trash."

"Don't dirty the place where the kids sleep."

The bodyguards dragged the two of them out by their collars.

My father clutched his bleeding mouth and cursed, the words coming out mangled.

"Maureen, you ungrateful girl! I'll call the cops and have you locked up!"

I walked over and bent down to look at him.

"Go ahead. Call."

"Tell them you stole food out of Theodore Farley's son's mouth, and see if anyone dares touch it."

He started shaking head to foot, didn't dare make a sound, and went scrambling out on hands and knees, dragging my stepmother with him.

The head bodyguard handed me a ring of keys and a key card.

"Mr. Farley's orders. The conditions here are too poor."

"A high-security riverside apartment is ready. Please move there immediately."

I took the keys and swept a glance over the supplies packed into the room.

"We move."

That night I settled in at the riverside apartment with the babies.

Once they were down, I started clearing out the heap of junk luggage Kay had shipped back earlier.

When I tore into a box of old diapers, my fingers brushed something hard tucked in the lining.

I peeled back the cardboard. Inside was an old phone with a shattered screen.

I plugged it in, keyed in Kay's birthday, and it unlocked.

In the notes app, a file titled Sugar Daddy Rotation Schedule popped up.

I opened it and looked at the dense rows of rotation entries, my finger resting on the screen, not moving.

The screen lit up.

A text from Vancouver.

"Take your beating and shut up. Be a good little dog and don't ruin my good time in Vancouver."

I sent the security screenshot of three men lined up to get their hair plucked, along with the scheduling spreadsheet.

Less than ten seconds later, the dots started blinking on her end.

Then ten sixty-second voice messages came firing in, one after another.

"Maureen! Where the hell did you get this? You show that spreadsheet to any of them and I'll fly back and end you!"

I held down the record button.

"Before you end me, figure out how you're going to explain your little time-management system to the three of them."

"They're tearing the world apart looking for you right now."

Silence on her end.

I switched the phone to silent and tossed it onto the coffee table.

The window gave a soft scrape.

A man in a baseball cap and black mask climbed through, tripped over the stroller, and went sprawling face-first onto the floor.

Curt Gilbert tore off the mask and slapped a black card onto the table.

"Ten million. You swear up and down I'm the kid's real father, and the money's yours."

I picked up the card and spun it between my fingers.

"Big star, out doing charity in the middle of the night?"

"Ten million to buy yourself a kid?"

"Kay loves me most. The baby's definitely mine."

Curt lifted his chin. "I'm not letting Theodore Farley and Michael Delgado steal my thunder."

I slapped the old phone flat against his face.

"See for yourself."

He fumbled to catch it, stared at the screen, and the color drained out of him by degrees.

"Thursday, Curt Gilbert, gallery date. Friday, Michael Delgado, yacht party..."

His voice started shaking as he read.

"I'm just a Thursday special?"

"She told me I was the only soulmate she'd ever had!"

"She said my singing was her favorite thing in the world!"

I pointed at the crib beside him, where the babies were starting to fuss.

"Well, you're here. Go mix the formula."

"Don't just stand there crying about it."

Red-eyed, Curt walked over to the bottle warmer, scooping powder into a bottle while tears ran down his face.

"How could she do this to me? I wrote her three songs!"

"I kept the whole front row at my concert reserved for her!"

I rapped my knuckles on the table.

"Water at a hundred and four, don't scald the baby."

"Cheap kind of soulmate, aren't you."

Curt sniffled and gave the bottle a clumsy shake.

"This isn't over. Why does Michael get Friday? What's he got that I don't?"

I took the bottle from him and slipped it into the baby's mouth.

"Pray the kid's yours first."

"Otherwise you won't even hang on to your Thursday-special status."

Curt crouched at the side of the crib, watching the baby blow spit bubbles, tears dripping down one after another.

"This kid really looks like me. Look at that nose, nice and straight."

"That's prime Gilbert genes, no question."

I glanced at the baby, whose features hadn't even settled into anything yet.

"Michael and Theodore Farley said the exact same thing."

"You three really do have remarkably consistent genes."

Curt shot to his feet and jabbed a finger toward the door.

"Bullshit! This is Gilbert blood! Once the test comes back, I'm slapping the report in their faces!"

At three in the morning, the phone on the coffee table buzzed like mad.

The testing center.

The second I answered, a harsh burst of static came down the line.

"Ms. Pruitt, something's wrong, whatever you do, don't"

The call cut off, forced dead.

A text popped up, the red exclamation mark impossible to miss.

"DNA comparison flagged a critical anomaly! Report fully sealed!"

The three-day deadline was up.

I settled the babies in the apartment and took a cab to the testing center alone.

I'd barely stepped out of the car when a dozen thugs with steel pipes had the front doors blocked solid.

My father stood at the front, a cigarette between his fingers, and blew out a ring of smoke.

Maureen, hand over the report.

Don't make me get rough with you.

I stood at the bottom of the steps and looked at him.

What gives you the right to that report?

You think you've earned the right to call yourself my father?

He flicked his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his heel.

I'm your old man! Kay said if I destroy that report, she'll wire me a hundred grand a month.

He waved a hand, and a few thugs closed in, steel pipes in their fists.

Hold her down. Search her!

Don't let her ruin your sister's good thing!

Nobody's walking out of here with that report today!

An engine roared to life around the corner.

Three limited-edition sports cars fishtailed up onto the sidewalk and pinned the whole pack of thugs in place.

The doors flew open. A dozen bodyguards in black suits poured out and dropped the men in two or three quick moves.

Michael stepped out of the McLaren in the middle and pulled off his sunglasses.

Old Scott, that's a lot of nerve.

You'd dare lay a hand on someone of mine?

My father's legs buckled, and he dropped straight to his knees.

Mr. Delgado, it's a misunderstanding, all of it!

I was only teaching my disobedient daughter a lesson. I never meant any offense to you!

Michael kicked him in the shoulder and knocked him flat.

Crawl off. Don't get my shoes dirty.

I see your face again, I break your legs.

He turned to me and lifted his chin.

Come on. Let's go get the report.

Let's find out if the kid's mine. I've already booked the hotel for the baby celebration.

I ignored him and walked straight through the doors of the testing center.

The lobby was eerily empty. Even the duty nurse was nowhere to be seen.

I went to the front desk and rapped on the glass.

I want the DNA comparison report for Kay and those three men.

The young nurse at the desk was huddled in the corner, her voice shaking apart.

Miss Pruitt, the report... we can't give you the report anymore.

I frowned.

What does that mean? Is the system down?

She shook her head over and over and pointed upstairs.

Half an hour ago, the Farleys locked the system.

They even took the attending doctor away.

We don't know anything.

Michael had followed me in. When he heard that, he slammed his sunglasses down on the desk.

What's Theodore Farley playing at?

He wants to rig this behind closed doors and keep the kids for himself?

Big as the Farleys are, they don't get to throw out the rules like this!

I pulled out my phone and dialed the number Theodore had left.

It rang three times before he picked up.

The report's in. Whose kids are they?

Dead silence on the other end. Just heavy breathing.

Mr. Farley, playing dead won't help you.

One of you settle the bill. I don't have time to play rich-family games with you.

The arrogance from our first meeting was gone from his voice. It came low now, with a cold edge I couldn't name.

It's far more complicated than you think.

I pressed him.

How complicated?

It's just three men fighting over who gets to be the father, isn't it?

Don't tell me it's quadruplets.

It isn't only about who the father is.

Theodore paused.

Bring the children to the western estate. We'll talk face to face.

The line went dead, and the dial tone echoed through the empty lobby.

Michael leaned in, his brow knotted tight.

What did Theodore say?

Did he buy off the doctor to fake the results?

I slipped the phone into my pocket and turned to go.

He said it isn't only about who the father is.

Michael froze, then hurried after me.

What's that supposed to mean, not only about the father?

The kids didn't just drop out of thin air, did they?

I stopped and looked back at him.

"Go get Curt Gilbert. We're all going to the western estate."

Michael kicked the trash can beside him.

"Bring that walking embarrassment along? Haven't we humiliated ourselves enough?"

I pulled open the taxi door and got in.

"Because this thing is probably a hundred times more disgusting than playing the sucker."