Chapter 7 7

Back at the estate, Hart didn't yell. That was worse.

He sat Camisha down on the sofa in the master bedroom. He poured her a brandy.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. He was looking at her like he was seeing a stranger.

"Because you wouldn't have cared," Camisha said. "You were obsessed with the stock price. You would have given me a bonus and sent me back to my cubicle."

"I made Isadora a partner because I thought she saved my life."

"I know."

"You let me believe a lie."

"I let you survive, Hart."

The next morning, the crisis escalated. Felix England had launched a hostile takeover bid. He had frozen the company's credit lines.

Hart was in the library, surrounded by lawyers. He was shouting. Nothing was working.

Camisha walked in. She was wearing sweatpants. She grabbed a marker and walked to the whiteboard.

While the lawyers argued, she wrote a complex formula. A reverse triangular merger combined with a poison pill defense using the Grandmother's Trust as collateral. She didn't just write it; she explained it, citing obscure tax codes and international finance laws that left the high-priced legal team speechless.

The room went silent.

Hart looked at the board. "That... that works."

He looked at Isadora, who was trying to look important in the corner. "Did you understand that?"

Isadora blinked. "I think we should just... ask my dad for money."

Hart scoffed. He turned to Camisha. "You're not just an analyst. You could have been a CFO."

"I was the top of my class at Wharton, Hart. You just never asked."

"Help me," Hart said. "Be my acting CFO. Help me beat Felix."

"What do I get?"

"If we win, I destroy the tax evidence myself. And... I give you full custody. You can leave."

Camisha hesitated. Freedom. "Deal."

For the next six hours, they were a machine. They worked in perfect sync. Camisha destroyed Felix on the conference call. She was brilliant. Sharp. Ruthless.

Hart watched her. He felt something dangerous blooming in his chest. Respect. And attraction.

Leo ran into the room. He had escaped the nanny.

"Mommy!"

He climbed up onto Hart's leather chair. He picked up a Montblanc pen.

Absently, while watching the cartoons on the TV screen, Leo started spinning the pen around his thumb. Flip. Catch. Flip. Catch.

Hart froze.

He spun his pen when he was thinking. It was a specific, difficult tick. He had learned it in boarding school. It was a nervous habit so ingrained, so uniquely his, that seeing this child replicate it was like looking into a distorted mirror.

"Who taught you that?" Hart asked Leo.

Leo looked up. "Nobody. I just do it."

Hart looked at the boy. The gray eyes. The peanut allergy. The pen spinning.

It was too much.

Hart stood up. He walked over to Leo. "You have something in your hair, buddy."

He reached out and plucked a single hair from Leo's head.

"Ouch!" Leo rubbed his head.

"Sorry." Hart put the hair in his pocket.

Camisha turned around from the whiteboard. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Hart said. His hand was clenched around the hair in his pocket. "Just a tangle."

That night, Hart called his private doctor. "I'm sending a sample. I need a DNA test. Rush it."

Isadora was listening from the hallway. Her face went pale. If Hart found out the boy was his, she was done. Not just fired-destroyed.

She pulled out her phone. She dialed a number. "I need a favor at the lab. It's going to cost me, but I need a sample swapped."