When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 77

Amelia

Three Years Later

The black SUV glided down the familiar driveway of the Astor estate. I looked out the window, still stunned that after three years, I was about to leave Boston behind.

“So, have you finally picked out gifts for the twins?” Olivia asked, scrolling through her phone beside me. “Can’t believe they’re already turning three. Feels like just yesterday you were cursing Ethan while pushing them out.”

I smiled, the memory of that chaotic, beautiful day flooding back. “I got Lucas that doctor playset he’s been obsessed with since our last hospital visit. And for Ella, an art easel with non-toxic paints. God help us when she figures out what walls are really for.”

“Perfect choices,” Olivia said with a grin. “Little mini versions of you—just in different packages.”

I turned back to the window as we neared the grand house that had become our home. “I still can’t believe we’re actually moving back to New York next week. Part of me is excited, but another part…”

“Is terrified?” Olivia finished for me, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “Hey, we’ve got everything planned down to the last detail. The hospital’s transition team is ready, the apartment’s all set up, and Thompson Enterprises is running smoothly with professional management. Plus, the Astors will visit often.”

“I know,” I sighed. “It’s just—”

Before I could finish, the car pulled up to the mansion’s entrance. The massive oak doors swung open, and two small figures came bounding down the steps, full of energy.

“Mommy! MOMMY!” Their voices hit me like a wave of pure joy.

My heart melted instantly—it happened every time I saw them. No matter how exhausted I was from long hospital shifts or how complicated life got, seeing my kids run toward me with arms wide open wiped everything else away.

I barely had time to crouch before they were on me, tiny arms wrapping around my neck, soft cheeks pressed to mine. Lucas’s dark curls tickled my nose while Ella’s golden-brown hair brushed my eyelashes. They smelled like baby shampoo and the chocolate chip cookies Mrs. Garcia always sneaked them before dinner.

“I missed you guys so much,” I whispered, holding them close, feeling their fast little heartbeats against my chest.

“We made birthday cupcakes with Mrs. Garcia!” Lucas announced proudly.

“And I drawed you a picture!” Ella added, her grammar still adorably off.

“Drew,” I corrected gently, kissing her forehead.

They both spotted Olivia getting out of the car and squealed, “Oli-mommy! Oli-mommy!”

I glanced at Olivia, catching the flicker of emotion that crossed her face whenever the twins called her that.

Though Olivia always laughed it off, I knew what it meant to her, especially after losing her own baby in that terrible miscarriage. She put on a brave face, joking about keeping her figure for future movie roles, but I’d heard her crying late at night for weeks afterward.

“There are my favorite munchkins!” Olivia scooped up Ella while I held Lucas. “Did you save me any cupcake batter to lick?”

“Mrs. Garcia said it’s unsanitary,” Lucas said solemnly, pronouncing the big word carefully.

“Well, Mrs. Garcia needs to live a little,” Olivia whispered with a conspiratorial smile, making both kids giggle.

Hand in hand with Lucas, I stepped into the mansion that still took my breath away, even after nearly three years.

The grand foyer was decked out with colorful balloons and streamers, a “Happy Birthday” banner stretched across the entryway. Mrs. Wilson, the housekeeper, was directing staff carrying wrapped presents and party supplies.

“Dr. Thompson, welcome home,” Mrs. Wilson greeted warmly. “The kids have been watching the clock all afternoon, asking every five minutes when you’d get here.”

“Were they good today?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. Despite their endless energy, Lucas and Ella were surprisingly well-behaved—something I secretly credited to Ethan’s genes more than mine.

“Angels, as always,” Mrs. Garcia called from the kitchen doorway. “Though Miss Ella tried to convince me finger-painting the dining room chairs would be an improvement.”

I laughed, remembering my own arrival here three years ago—how terrified I’d been, pregnant and emotionally drained, meeting my mother’s family for the first time. The memory came back clearly…

---

Three years earlier

Taking advantage of my position at Boston Medical Center, I reviewed my mother's adoption records, and all the clues pointed to the Astor family. After I finally mustered the courage to contact them, Daniel Astor reached out and arranged to meet with me.

“This might sound strange, but I believe you might be related to me,” I said directly.

“My aunt Karen disappeared when she was little. Would you be willing to do a DNA test? We’ve been waiting for this for so long,” Daniel said.

I should have been more cautious, more guarded. But after everything—the divorce, finding out I was pregnant, learning about my mother’s adoption—I was desperate for any connection, any truth about where I came from.

“I’m a doctor. I can run the test myself,” I said before I could stop myself. “I’ll need a sample from you.”

The test results came back two days later. I stared at the results on the screen, hands shaking. The genetic markers confirmed it: Daniel Astor and I are first cousins—enough shared DNA to prove it. My mother, Karen, was a true Astor.

When I called Daniel with the news, his voice cracked with emotion. “Can you come to our home? The family’s all here. They’ve been waiting for this day for over thirty years.”

That evening, I stood before a magnificent Beacon Hill estate, heart pounding as Daniel led me inside. Four people waited, their faces a mix of hope and nervousness.

“This is my uncle Benjamin Astor,” Daniel said, introducing an elegant man in his sixties whose eyes—my eyes—filled with tears as he approached me. “Karen was his sister.”

"I knew it," Benjamin whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I saw you at that event in New York. I asked about your parents, and now it all makes sense."

One by one, I met my family: Benjamin’s wife Eleanor, who held me like I might break; Sophie, Daniel’s younger sister, who stared at me in wonder.

“We have so much to tell you,” Benjamin said softly, guiding me to a sofa. “About your mother, about our family, about why we’ve been searching for so long.”

He carefully took out a small sachet, explaining that it was something all newborns are given to wear. He looked at me softly and asked if I had ever seen my mother wear it.

I reached out, holding the sachet, inhaling its faint, familiar scent. And in that moment, tears streamed down my face.