Chapter 2

April Mayo POV:

The next morning, I made the call. It had been seven years since I' d last spoken the number into a phone, but my fingers remembered the sequence as if it were yesterday.

A crisp, familiar voice answered on the first ring. "Sterling residence."

"It' s me," I said, my voice cracking slightly.

There was a stunned silence, then a choked sob. "Miss April? Oh, dear God, is it really you?"

Tears streamed down my face as I spoke to my father' s head of staff, a woman who had practically raised me. When I told him about Dexter, his grandson, the silence on the other end was profound, heavy with unspoken emotion.

"He wants to know when you' re coming home," she said, her voice thick with tears. "He wants to meet his grandson. He says he' ll send a jet, a helicopter, anything you need. Just come home, April. Please."

Home. The word felt foreign, a distant country I hadn' t visited in years.

I looked at Dexter, asleep in his bed, clutching the small wooden wolf Emerson had carved for him. He was mumbling in his sleep. "Daddy promised... big party..."

His fifth birthday was in two days. A wave of nausea washed over me. I wanted him to leave this place with happy memories, not the gaping wound of a broken promise. I wanted him to have one last perfect day.

That was my mistake. Hope is a dangerous thing.

At dawn, two days later, the sharp rap on the door wasn' t a birthday surprise. It was Connie Buchanan, Emerson' s mother, flanked by two imposing men. She had never liked me. To her, I was a nameless, parentless stray who had sullied her precious bloodline. She looked at Dexter with a thinly veiled disgust, as if he were an unfortunate stain on the family' s pristine reputation.

"Get dressed," she commanded, her voice as cold as a winter morning. "Both of you. Emerson is making an important announcement at the family estate. You are required to be there."

Dexter' s eyes lit up. "Is Daddy there? Is he waiting for me?"

I couldn' t bring myself to answer. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I knew this wasn' t about a birthday. This was an execution.

The Goodman estate was sprawling and ostentatious, a monument to new money trying desperately to look old. As we were led into the grand ballroom, a sea of disapproving faces turned to stare. The air was thick with the scent of lilies and judgment. And there, standing on a raised dais, was Emerson.

He wasn' t looking at me. His eyes were fixed on Chloe Cochran, who stood beside him, her hand resting delicately on her stomach. She glowed with a smug, predatory radiance.

Connie stepped forward, her voice ringing with authority. "I have gathered you all here today to share some joyous news. Chloe is with child. An heir to the Goodman fortune."

A wave of polite applause rippled through the room.

"This child," Connie continued, her gaze sweeping over the crowd and landing on me with chilling precision, "will be the only legitimate heir to Goodman Innovations. Emerson and Chloe will be officially bonded in a ceremony next month."

I stared at Emerson, searching for any flicker of the man I once loved. He wouldn't meet my eyes. He just stood there, a handsome statue, while his mother systematically erased me and our son from his life. He gently placed a hand over Chloe' s on her stomach. "I can' t wait to be a father," he said, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

A tiny hand squeezed mine, trembling. I looked down at Dexter. His face was pale, his eyes wide with confusion and a pain so profound it shattered my heart.

"Mommy," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Daddy said he can' t wait to be a father... If she' s having a baby... then what am I?"

The question hung in the air, a devastating indictment that silenced the room. A few of Emerson' s cousins snickered.

"Look at the little bastard," one of them sneered. "Does he really think he has a place here?"

"An illegitimate child would be a stain on our family' s reputation," another added. "He can' t be the heir."

Connie' s smile was triumphant, cruel. "Do not worry. We have a solution. To avoid any scandal, we will graciously allow the boy to stay, as an adopted orphan under the family' s care. And as for his nanny," she said, her eyes boring into me, "she can remain in our service as a maid."

I remembered then, a conversation I' d overheard weeks ago. Connie' s voice, sharp and conspiratorial, telling Chloe, "You are of pure blood, my dear. You must give Emerson a proper heir."

It had all been a lie. A carefully constructed plan to discard us.

Dexter started to cry, silent tears tracking paths down his small face. "I' m not an orphan," he whispered, his body shaking. "I' m not."

Emerson finally flinched. He took a half-step forward, his mouth opening as if to speak, but Chloe placed a restraining hand on his arm. He looked at her, then back at us, his jaw tight with indecision. He said nothing. He chose her. He chose ambition.

That was it. The last flicker of hope died, leaving behind only cold, hard rage.

I stepped forward, pulling Dexter behind me. "He has nothing to do with you," I said, my voice clear and steady. "He is not a Goodman."

I knelt down, cupping Dexter' s face in my hands. His tears soaked my fingers. "Dexter," I said, my own voice breaking. "Listen to me. From now on, he is not your father. Do you understand? Don' t ever call him that again."

Emerson' s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. He finally looked at me, really looked at me, a desperate, questioning expression on his face. But the love I once saw there was gone, replaced by a void. I felt nothing for him anymore. Nothing but contempt.

Dexter sobbed, a gut-wrenching sound of a five-year-old' s world collapsing.

As I stood to leave, Chloe stepped in front of me, blocking my path. Her smile was poison. "Not so fast. There' s the matter of the ring."

She gestured to the simple sapphire ring on my finger. It had belonged to Emerson' s grandmother. He had given it to me the day Dexter was born, promising it was a placeholder for a real wedding band, a symbol that I was his true mate, his only one.

"Emerson," I asked, my voice dangerously quiet, "did you agree to this?"

He flinched, looking away. "It' s just... a family heirloom, April. It belongs with... the family."

Of course. It was all about family. Their family.

Slowly, deliberately, I pulled the ring from my finger. It felt cold against my skin. I held it out to Chloe, dropping it into her perfectly manicured palm.

"Congratulations," I said, my lips curling into a smile that didn' t reach my eyes. "I hope it brings you all the happiness you deserve."

Emerson stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief.

I turned, scooping a sobbing Dexter into my arms. I didn' t look back. He watched me go, his mouth slightly parted, as if he was only just now realizing the ground beneath his feet had crumbled.

He was too late.

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