Baby Daddy Roulette

Chapter 69

Mateo’s POV

The call comes while I'm alone.

Selene's at work, Axel's at practice, and I'm home with the babies—still on light duty as my knee finishes healing, playing the role of house dad that I used to joke about and now actually am. Aria's napping. Elio's destroying a cardboard box with the focus of a tiny demolition expert. Sören's watching him with that look that says he's memorizing techniques for later.

My phone buzzes. Unknown number.

I should ignore it. Every instinct says ignore it. But I've been waiting for something to break—the settlement we rejected, the trial looming, Cassian's silence feeling more like a coiled snake than a surrender.

"Hello?"

"Mateo." His voice is smooth, controlled—the charming version of Cassian, not the desperate one from the courtroom. "Don't hang up. I'm not looking for a fight."

"What are you looking for?"

"A conversation. Man to man." A pause. "I think we can help each other."

I should hang up. Tell Selene. Get Diane involved. Instead I find myself walking to the kitchen, away from the babies, phone pressed to my ear.

"I'm listening."

"The lawsuit's going to end badly for me. We both know that. The DNA proves I'm not the father—never was, never could have been. My lawyers are already preparing the 'graceful exit' strategy."

"So why call me?"

"Because the lawsuit isn't why I'm calling." His voice shifts, something darker underneath the charm. "I wanted to give you information. A gift, you might say. Something your little family has been very careful not to learn."

My blood goes cold. "What information?"

"The DNA results, Mateo. The ones the lab has under seal. The ones showing exactly who fathered those beautiful triplets." He lets the silence stretch. "I know you've all been so careful not to ask. So committed to the idea that biology doesn't matter. Very progressive. Very modern."

"Yeah, so? Get to the point."

"Two and one." The words land like stones. "That's the split. Two of those children are Axel's. One is yours."

I stop breathing.

"Heteropaternal superfecundation—that's the technical term. Rare, but documented. Multiple eggs, multiple fathers, one pregnancy." His voice is almost gentle, which makes it worse. "Two-thirds and one-third. Majority and minority. You're the minority share, Mateo."

"You're lying."

"I'm not. I have the records—obtained them before they were encrypted. Happy to send you proof if you'd like." He chuckles softly. "Although I suspect you'd rather not see them. Rather stay in your comfortable ignorance, pretending you're all equal parents to all three children."

My hand is shaking. I grip the counter, trying to steady myself.

"Why tell me this?"

"Because I want you to understand something." The charm drops away entirely now. "I'm going to lose the lawsuit. Selene's going to win her little victory, get her restraining order, go back to playing house with her two basketball stars. But I won't be quiet forever."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning I know things, Mateo. I know the breakdown—two Axel's, one yours. I know which children belong to which father." He pauses. "Although actually, that's not quite true. I know the numbers. But the specific assignment—which baby is which man's—that detail wasn't in the records I obtained."

Something shifts in my chest. Not relief, exactly. But something.

"So you don't know which one is mine."

"Not yet. But records can be obtained. Information has a way of surfacing." His voice hardens. "Here's my gift to you, Mateo: two-thirds versus one-third. You get to carry that knowledge now. You get to look at those three babies and know that most of them aren't yours. You get to wonder, every time Axel holds one of them, whether he's holding his biological child while you're holding... borrowed goods."

"Fuck you."

"I thought you'd say that." He sounds almost pleased. "But you won't tell Selene about this call, will you? Because then you'd have to admit that you know. That the numbers are rattling around in your head now. That every time you look at those children, you're going to be doing the math."

I hang up.

My hands won't stop shaking. I stand in the kitchen, phone clutched like evidence of a crime, and try to breathe through the roaring in my ears.

Two of them are Axel's. One is mine.

But I don't know which. Cassian doesn't know which. The names aren't attached to the numbers—just the cold mathematics of biology splitting three children between two men.

Elio toddles into the kitchen, cardboard debris clinging to his hair, and reaches for me with that trusting expression. "Teo! Up!"

I pick him up automatically, settling him on my hip, and the weight of him—familiar, beloved—feels different now. Is this one mine? Is he the one who carries my DNA, or is he Axel's and I've just been... what? Borrowing him?

Cassian wanted this. Wanted the poison in my head. Wanted me looking at my children and seeing fractions instead of faces.

Two-thirds versus one-third.

Minority share.

I bury my face in Elio's hair, breathing in the baby-shampoo smell, and try to remember what I believed before this call. That biology doesn't matter. That choice makes a family. That all three of these children are mine regardless of what any test says.

It felt true an hour ago.

Now it feels like something I'm desperately trying to convince myself of.

Aria wakes from her nap crying, and I have to put Elio down to get her, and the whole time I'm doing the math. Two are Axel's. One is mine. Is Aria mine? Is Elio? Is Sören?

I should tell Selene. Should tell both of them. We promised—after the breaking point, after I nearly destroyed us with Cassian's last poisonous text—we promised to communicate. No more suffering in silence. No more letting him manipulate us from outside.

But Cassian was right about one thing: telling them means admitting that I know. That the numbers are in my head now. That I took his call, listened to his poison, and let it take root instead of hanging up immediately.

How do I explain that?

So I don't tell them.

I make dinner. I bathe the babies. I read stories and sing songs and do all the things a father does. I play the role of equal parent while the numbers scroll through my mind like a stock ticker I can't turn off.

Two and one.

By the time Selene and Axel get home, I've almost convinced myself I can carry this alone. That I don't need to burden them with information they chose not to have. That I can keep Cassian's poison from spreading.

"Hey, cariño." Selene kisses me, then frowns. "You okay? You look..."

"Long day with the monsters." I gesture at the babies. "Elio discovered he can climb the bookshelf. Almost gave me a heart attack."

She laughs, accepts the deflection, moves on to dinner conversation. Axel squeezes my shoulder as he passes, the silent check-in that's become our language.

I smile and nod and die a little inside.

Two-thirds.

One-third.

The numbers are in me now.

And I don't know how to get them out.