Elena’s POV
The demand came at dawn.
I was making coffee in the kitchen, still raw from last night’s scandal and Damien’s brutal defense, when he appeared like a storm cloud—suit already on, hair perfectly styled, but his eyes wild.
“We’re doing a DNA test,” he said without preamble. “Today.”
My mug slipped from my fingers and shattered on the marble floor. “What?”
“You heard me.” He stepped closer, voice low and unyielding. “I’ve waited long enough. Those eyes. The timeline. The way you look at him like he’s your entire world and my personal curse. I need to know.”
Anger surged through me, hot and immediate. “You think I’d lie about something like this? After everything you’ve already taken from me?”
“I think you ran once,” he countered, gray eyes burning. “I think you hid him for four years. I won’t live with doubt anymore. The lab tech is already on the way. Swab. Results in twenty-four hours. End of discussion.”
I wanted to scream. To slap him. To grab Noah and run. But Sophia was still here, the scandal was still raging online, and Damien’s protection—however poisonous—was the only shield we had.
“Fine,” I whispered, voice trembling with fury. “But when it comes back exactly as I’ve said, I hope the guilt eats you alive.”
—
The twenty-four hours were hell.
Damien barely left the penthouse. He watched Noah like a hawk—every laugh, every gesture, every innocent “Mr. Voss, look!” cataloged with painful intensity. The jealousy that had simmered before was now a raging inferno. He thought I’d given his son to another man. I could see it tearing him apart.
I stayed close to Noah, protective, terrified of what the truth would unleash.
When the private doctor returned the next evening with the sealed envelope, the air in the penthouse grew thick enough to choke on.
Damien snatched it from the man’s hand and dismissed him with a single sharp look. Sophia took Noah to his room without being asked. Smart girl.
We stood alone in the living room, city lights glittering mockingly behind us.
“Open it,” I said, arms wrapped around myself.
His hands—those powerful, ruthless hands—trembled slightly as he tore the envelope. He scanned the paper once. Twice.
Then the world exploded.
The document fluttered to the floor.
Noah Voss — biological match: 99.9998%.
Damien’s face went through a dozen emotions in seconds—shock, disbelief, then a raw, volcanic rage that made me step back instinctively.
“He’s mine.” His voice cracked on the words. “My son. You hid my fawkng son from me for four years.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them. “After what I saw that night? After you destroyed me? I was terrified you’d take him. Or worse—turn him into you.”
He moved like lightning, grabbing me by the arms and hauling me against his chest. His grip was bruising, possessive, desperate. “Four years, Elena! Four years of his life I missed. First steps. First words. Every fwking night I sat in this empty penthouse thinking you’d replaced me while my blood was out there calling someone else father!”
His voice broke completely. Tears—actual tears—glistened in his storm-gray eyes before he pulled me into a fierce kiss that tasted of salt and fury and soul-deep desperation.
I sobbed against his lips even as I kissed him back, hands fisting in his shirt. “I was alone. Scared. Pregnant and heartbroken. You don’t get to play the victim now.”
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, breathing ragged. “He’s mine. You’re both mine. Do you understand what that means?”
His hands slid down to my waist, holding me with a terrifyingly fierce grip. “No more running. No more secrets. Noah will know who his father is. And you… you will never take him from me again. I will do whatever it takes to keep you here.”
Anger, relief, love, and hate crashed together inside me. I shoved at his chest even as I clung to him. “You’re still a monster.”
“Your monster,” he growled, voice dark and broken. “The one who would burn the world for you and our son.”
He kissed me again—a sudden, deep rush of emotion, like he could erase the lost years with sheer force of will. Tears mixed between us as he held me tight, his hands gripping my shoulders and back, holding onto me as if he could somehow reclaim all the time we’d lost.
When we finally broke apart, catching our breath, Damien dropped to his knees in front of me—something I never thought I’d see. He buried his face in his hands, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist like a man drowning.
“My son,” he whispered hoarsely. “Our son.”
I threaded my fingers through his hair, crying silently as the weight of everything crashed down.
The truth was out.
And nothing would ever be the same.
—
To be Continued…
….