Lyra was scrubbing the same corner of the hallway for the third time when her phone buzzed inside her apron pocket. She checked it and immediately froze.
Unknown Number.
Her breath caught, pulse racing.
She hadn't given her number to anyone at the hotel. Who could it be?
She hesitated, then answered quietly. "Hello?"
"Lyra Lawson?"
Her stomach sank.
"Yes… Who is this?"
"This is Blake from Hogan Holdings. Mr. Hogan would like to speak with you."
Her blood ran cold. "I think you have the wrong—"
"Please come to the 45th-floor conference room in 10 minutes."
The line went dead.
Lyra stared at the phone in disbelief. Why? Why was he doing this?
______
Ten minutes later, she stood in front of a sleek glass door, trying to keep her knees from buckling. The receptionist opened it without a word, and there he was.
Zane Hogan.
Flawless suit. Cold expression. And those eyes — sharp and unreadable.
"You sent for me?" she asked, keeping her voice even.
He gestured for her to sit, but she remained standing.
Zane placed a photo on the table.
Her heart nearly stopped. It was Noah. Smiling, tiny fingers grabbing his stuffed giraffe.
She grabbed it quickly, eyes wide. "Where did you get this?"
"A friend saw you picking him up from daycare," Zane said calmly. "He sent it to me. You said you had a son. You didn't say he looked exactly like me."
Lyra's throat tightened. She looked away. "Plenty of babies look like you."
"His birthday is ten months after we met."
She couldn't breathe.
"Is he mine?"
Lyra clenched her fists. "Why does it matter to you now?"
Zane leaned forward slowly. "Because if he's mine, I want to know."
Silence stretched between them, sharp and suffocating.
Finally, she whispered, "His name is Noah. That's all you need to know."
And with that, she turned and walked out, every step heavier than the last.
Behind her, Zane stared at the door long after it closed, his jaw tight.
He already knew the answer.