Damien POV
I stand at the edge of the terrace, whiskey glass in hand, watching them through the glass doors.
Elena sits on the floor with Noah, building some ridiculous tower out of colorful blocks. The boy’s laughter rings out—bright, unguarded, innocent. Every time he tilts his head or concentrates on stacking another piece, something in my chest tightens like a vice.
Those eyes.
Storm-gray. Same shape as mine. Same intensity even at four years old. The dark hair that falls across his forehead the exact way mine did as a kid. The stubborn set of his jaw when the tower wobbles and he refuses to let it fall.
Coincidence. It has to be.
But the longer I watch, the louder the voice in my head gets. Mine.
Elena glances up and catches me staring. Her expression hardens instantly, protective walls slamming into place. She pulls Noah a little closer, as if she can shield him from me with her body alone.
Smart woman. She should.
I step inside, setting the glass down. “Noah. Come here for a second.”
The boy looks at his mother first—always checking with her. That small act sends another spike of jealousy through me. He shouldn’t need permission. Not from her. Not when he carries my blood.
Elena gives a reluctant nod.
Noah walks over, dinosaur tucked under his arm. He stops in front of me, looking up with zero fear. “Hi.”
I crouch down, studying him up close. My hand moves before I can stop it, gently pushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. The resemblance is painful. Unmistakable.
“How old are you again?” I ask, keeping my voice light.
“Four,” he says proudly. “I’m big now.”
Four.
The timeline hits like a freight train.
Five years ago she left. Nine months after that night…
No. I shove the thought down. She ran to another man. She built a life with someone else. This kid is proof of her betrayal.
But those eyes keep staring back at me.
—
Flashback – Five Years Ago
The penthouse was empty.
I stood in the same spot where she’d caught us, the scent of Isabella’s perfume still clinging to the sheets like cheap regret. Security footage showed Elena leaving at 2:17 AM. No bags. Just the clothes on her back and the shattered look on her face I couldn’t get out of my head.
I called her. Blocked.
Texted. No response.
I tore the city apart for three weeks straight.
Private investigators. Every contact I had. Her apartment—cleared out. Her job—quit. Her friends—suddenly knew nothing. It was like she had vanished into smoke.
I drank. I destroyed things. I fired people for breathing too loudly.
At night I sat in the dark with her forgotten hairpin on the nightstand—the one she always kept in her sleeve like a stupid good-luck charm. I’d spin it between my fingers for hours, replaying that moment.
The way she looked at me when she saw Isabella beneath me.
I hadn’t touched Isabella before that night. It was staged. My father’s ultimatum: prove your loyalty or lose everything. Push Elena away before she became a weakness my enemies could use. I thought I could explain later. Fix it.
I was wrong.
She was gone.
And something inside me broke that never healed.
I stopped sleeping. The Eclipse scent I wore because she loved it now made me sick. I built walls higher, became colder, more ruthless. Every merger, every deal, every enemy I crushed — it was all noise to drown out the silence she left behind.
I told myself I hated her for running.
But the truth was worse.
I was destroyed.
—
Present Day
I blink, pulling myself back to the penthouse.
Noah is still standing in front of me, waiting. Those gray eyes—my eyes—watch me with innocent curiosity.
“You look like someone I used to know,” I murmur, more to myself than him.
Elena appears at his side instantly, scooping him up as if I might snatch him away. “We should get ready for bed, baby.”
But Noah leans over her shoulder, waving at me. “Goodnight, Mr. Voss!”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
As Elena carries him down the hall, I stay rooted in place, fists clenched at my sides.
The suspicion is no longer quiet. It’s roaring.
If that boy is mine…
If she hid my son from me for four years…
I pour another drink, staring out at the city I own. The rage is cold now. Calculated. Mixed with something far more dangerous.
Obsession.
She thinks this is a thirty-day cage.
If Noah is my blood, the cage just became permanent.
And Elena will never leave it again.
I finish the whiskey in one swallow.
Tomorrow, I start digging for the truth.
—
To be Continued…….