Chapter 2 The Question He Shouldn't Ask

"Who is that boy?"

His voice was low. Controlled. But beneath it, I felt the edge.

I should've lied.

I should've run.

But I was frozen.

Micah's small hand was still in mine, warm and trusting. Oblivious. He didn't know that the man who stood in front of us could shatter everything I'd spent three years building.

Damon Blackwood.

He stood there like he owned the world-and maybe he did. His tailored suit clung to his frame like it had been stitched directly onto power. His eyes, cold and calculating, flicked from me to Micah and back again.

He already knew.

Some part of him did.

I tried to steady my voice. "You're mistaken."

His brow twitched, ever so slightly. "Am I?"

"Let go of my wrist."

He didn't move. His grip wasn't bruising, but it was possessive-like letting go would be conceding something he didn't want to admit.

"I asked you a question."

"And I said you're mistaken."

His eyes narrowed. "He has my eyes."

My pulse stuttered. "Coincidence."

Damon looked past me, gaze locking on Micah again. My son was distracted, pulling a napkin from the table and folding it the way I taught him. Innocent. Unaware.

Too much like him.

"His name," Damon said.

"That's none of your business."

His jaw clenched.

I didn't wait for more. I stepped back, pulling Micah gently with me, and forced my tone into steel. "We're leaving. Do not follow us."

I turned without another word and walked-fast and tight-lipped-out of the gala hall, down the long marble hallway, and through the gold-trimmed doors.

Micah looked up at me with wide eyes. "Mama? Are you okay?"

I forced a smile. "Of course, baby. Just tired."

I didn't let my panic show. Not until we were in the car. Not until I locked the door behind us in the tiny one-bedroom apartment I'd rented under an alias.

And only then-when he was tucked into bed and the city outside was silent-did I fall apart.

Damon Blackwood was never supposed to see him.

I'd built my life around that truth. I moved cities, changed numbers, lived under the radar. All to keep Micah safe from the man who could destroy us with a single command.

Not because I believed Damon was evil.

But because I knew he was dangerous.

Not the kind who yells or throws things or threatens loudly-but the kind who ruins lives quietly, with lawyers and signatures and money no one could match.

If he knew Micah was his son... he wouldn't just demand answers.

He'd take him.

And I couldn't let that happen.

I curled up on the couch, staring at the photo on my phone. Micah's first day at preschool, wearing a too-big backpack and a lopsided grin. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled-just like Damon's didn't.

My heart clenched.

This secret had always been mine to carry. But now it was slipping from my grip.

The next morning, there was a car outside.

Black. Tinted. Parked two doors down like it didn't belong to me but wasn't leaving.

I didn't need confirmation.

Damon had found me.

And he wasn't backing off.

I didn't show up for my part-time bakery shift. I called in sick. Micah was due at his pediatric check-up that afternoon, and I planned to use the back entrance of the clinic to avoid drawing attention.

But when I stepped out of the clinic with Micah in my arms, he was there.

Leaning against that same black car like he wasn't a CEO but some silent enforcer.

Damon Blackwood in broad daylight was more dangerous than he'd been in shadows.

And he looked livid.

"You followed me?"

He didn't answer. Just opened the door. "We need to talk."

"There's nothing to say."

His gaze slid to Micah again, now half-asleep against my chest. The resemblance was undeniable. His mouth was tight. "Get in."

"No."

"Don't make me repeat myself."

I bit back the urge to scream. "You don't get to give orders. Not to me. And definitely not about my son."

He stiffened.

"My son," I repeated.

He moved slowly then, carefully, like he was trying not to detonate something fragile. "You think you can hide him from me?"

"I already did. For three years."

"And now you're back in my city. Walking around with my-"

"Say it," I snapped.

His mouth shut. A war raged behind his eyes.

I exhaled, stepping away. "Micah isn't your pawn. He's not a headline. He's a child. And you-" I paused, choosing my words like stepping around glass, "-are not safe for him."

That hit.

Hard.

His hands clenched at his sides. "You think I'd hurt him?"

"I don't know what you'd do, Damon. That's the problem."

He stepped closer. "You had no right-"

"I had every right," I cut in. "I was the one who had to throw up every morning. Who had to work through labor because I couldn't afford a hospital birth. I was the one who chose his name. His first word. His favorite food. And I did it without a cent from you. So don't come here acting like you're entitled to anything."

Silence.

The air between us crackled with things neither of us dared say.

Then his voice, low and deadly: "You think you can keep him from me now?"

"I think you should try me and find out."

I walked away.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

Every sound made me flinch. Every shadow felt like a threat.

And the worst part? I still remembered how his hands had felt that night. How his voice sounded against my neck. How something in me had broken, and how I'd let it happen.

The man I met three years ago was untouchable.

But now he wasn't a stranger.

Now he was the father of my child.

And he wasn't going to let this go.

The letter came the next day.

A formal notice. From his lawyers.

Petition for Paternity.

Custody Review.

DNA Test Order.

My hands shook as I read the words. It was beginning.

I was no longer in control.

Damon wasn't asking questions anymore.

He was taking action.

And this time, he wasn't hiding behind contracts or one-night rules.

He was coming for Micah.

And the truth?

Some part of me was terrified that if he really fought for him... he'd win.

I stared at the envelope and knew one thing for sure-

Damon Blackwood was done waiting.

And now, he was coming for everything.