Chapter 3 The DNA and the Devil

The envelope was cold in my hands.

White. Official. Deadly.

Inside it, a court order. A date. A time. A demand for truth.

Paternity hearing: 10:00 a.m., Family Court, Manhattan.

Damon Blackwood wasn't just knocking on my door anymore-he was kicking it off the hinges.

I sat in the cramped kitchen of our one-bedroom apartment, staring at the paper like it might burst into flames if I blinked. Micah sat on the floor nearby, humming to himself, building towers out of alphabet blocks.

So innocent. So unaware.

I should've run when I had the chance. Left the city. Changed my name. Again.

But I was tired.

Tired of hiding.

Tired of looking over my shoulder.

Tired of being afraid of the man who-whether I liked it or not-was my son's father.

I pressed a hand to my temple. Damon's name shouldn't still echo through my body the way it did. He was a mistake. A transaction. A memory I buried in exchange for my son's heartbeat.

But that didn't change the fact that I could feel him in every corner of Micah's smile.

The morning of the test arrived with gray skies and cold air. It felt appropriate.

I wore a plain black blouse and jeans-no makeup, hair pulled back. I didn't want to look like the girl Damon once undressed. I wanted to look like the woman who had raised his son without him.

Micah was quiet in the cab. He clutched his stuffed bear and kept glancing at me like he could sense something was wrong. I kissed the top of his head and told him it was just a check-up.

That wasn't a lie.

It just wasn't the whole truth.

The testing facility was discreet, polished, private. The receptionist didn't even blink when she read Damon's name on the appointment list. Money had a way of making things invisible.

We were led to a sleek white waiting room with glass walls and soft music. Micah climbed onto my lap, humming again.

And then the door opened.

He walked in like a storm wearing a suit.

Damon Blackwood.

All tall, crisp lines and quiet destruction.

He wore a charcoal blazer over a dark shirt, no tie. His hair was swept back, his jaw freshly shaved, and his storm-gray eyes locked on mine the second he entered.

I didn't look away.

"Liana."

"Damon."

His eyes shifted to Micah. He didn't smile. Just looked at him like he was trying to memorize every detail.

Micah squirmed on my lap and whispered, "Mama... who's that man?"

Before I could speak, Damon took a step forward. "My name is Damon. Hi."

Micah blinked. "That's a funny name."

I nearly choked on my breath. Damon's lips twitched-the smallest hint of amusement-and he nodded. "You're not wrong."

Micah tilted his head. "You talk like the man on Mama's phone."

Damon froze.

I stiffened. "Micah."

He grinned, unaware of the grenade he'd just dropped. I'd once listened to an old interview of Damon's during a sleepless night, headphones in, tears threatening. I hadn't realized Micah had overheard.

Damon's gaze flicked back to mine, sharp and unreadable. "You've been listening to my voice?"

"It was an accident."

"Was it?"

Before I could fire back, a nurse stepped in with gloves and swabs. The moment shattered.

"This will be quick," she said cheerfully. "Just a cheek swab."

Micah squirmed but didn't cry. Damon went next, expression tight as the nurse explained the process.

When it was over, she collected the samples and stepped out. The silence that followed wasn't peaceful.

Damon broke it. "You really weren't going to tell me?"

"I didn't think you'd want to know."

"Don't insult me."

I stood slowly, lifting Micah into my arms. "It doesn't matter now. You have your test. You'll get your answer."

"And what then?" he asked, stepping closer. "You think I'll disappear?"

"I think you'll do what powerful men do. Control. Manipulate. Take."

He tilted his head. "You still think I'm the villain here."

"Aren't you?"

His voice lowered. "I didn't even know he existed."

"That's the point."

A beat of silence. And then, softly, "You could've told me."

"I couldn't risk it."

"You don't get to make that choice alone."

"I already did."

He stepped closer. "You hid my son."

"I protected him."

His eyes flashed. "From me?"

"From everything you are."

He didn't respond. He didn't need to.

The glass door opened again. An assistant stepped in. "Mr. Blackwood, your car is ready."

He didn't move.

Just looked at Micah again, softer now.

"You'll hear from my lawyers," he said, then looked at me. "But next time, we don't do this in court."

"What does that mean?"

"It means if you keep treating me like a threat... I'll become one."

And with that, he turned and left.

That night, I stood in Micah's room long after he'd fallen asleep, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest.

I couldn't let Damon win.

But some part of me wondered if he already had.

Two days passed.

Then three.

No news. No results. Just silence.

And then, a knock at the door.

Not a courier.

Not a threat.

Him.

Damon stood in my hallway, holding a thin manila folder in one hand and something else in the other-something I couldn't see.

"You're supposed to wait for the court."

"I don't wait."

"You can't be here."

"Liana," he said, voice low, "you and I need to talk. Now."

I stepped aside reluctantly, and he entered. The apartment looked even smaller with him in it-like trying to hold a storm in a shoebox.

He dropped the folder on the table. "The results. It's confirmed. He's mine."

I didn't reach for it.

I didn't need to.

I'd known since the first time I saw Micah's eyes.

Damon stepped closer, and this time, he didn't raise his voice.

"I'm not taking him from you."

That made me pause.

"What?"

"I'm not taking him," he repeated. "Not through the courts. Not with lawyers. Not yet."

My voice cracked. "Then why are you here?"

He placed a second folder on the table. Black. Sleek.

"This," he said, "is a proposal."

I stared at it. "What kind of proposal?"

"One that gives you security. Legally. Financially. Emotionally."

"Emotionally?"

His jaw tightened. "I want access to my son. I want visitation. I want to know what he eats, what he dreams about, what makes him laugh. I want to be part of his world."

"And what do I get in return?"

He looked at me-and for once, I saw something close to vulnerability flicker across his features.

"You get safety. Support. Stability."

I laughed bitterly. "And strings."

He didn't deny it.

"It's a contract, Liana. Like the one you signed three years ago. But this time, it's not for one night."

My breath caught.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I want you and Micah in my life. Under my protection. Permanently."

The words hung between us like a fuse lit at both ends.

"And if I say no?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His answer was simple.

"Then I take you to court. And I win."

I stared at the contract.

At the man who once bought a night of my life.

Now trying to buy the rest of it.

And for the first time, I didn't know if I could afford to say no.