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She Thought She’d Won—Then His Wife Walked In with Quadruplets

Victor Drake, a man who never carried anyone’s bags, strolled through the airport with his mistress’s designer purse, certain he controlled the narrative. Nadia basked in the attention—until the terminal fell silent. Cameras rose. At the far end stood Evelyn, his wife, with four identical little boys clinging to her skirt. Quadruplets. His sons. The handbag slipped from his arm as the crowd whispered and flashed photos. Nadia froze. Victor’s throat tightened. His voice scraped the air. “Evelyn—” She stepped forward, her gaze locked on him, and said words that cut deeper than…

Victor Drake wasn’t the kind of man who carried bags. He had people for that. Yet here he was, strolling through the departure hall with a small cream designer purse dangling from his arm.

It wasn’t love—it was convenience. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Beside him, Nadia glided in a flowing dress that swayed with each step. Sunglasses perched perfectly, lips curved in a private little smile. She wanted to be seen, and Victor—arrogant enough to believe he controlled the story—hadn’t stopped her.

The terminal buzzed softly: muted boarding calls, polished shoes clicking over marble, the low hum of wealth on the move. Their jet was waiting outside, but Nadia insisted they walk the main floor. She wanted eyes on them. Victor thought it made him look untouchable.