I stood there.
Not moving. Not breathing. And anxious, and despite that cough... it echoed in my chest like a memory I wasn't supposed to have.
I saw the fear in Isabella's eyes, how she stepped in front of the door like a soldier ready to block a bullet. Her whole body screamed "don't go near."
But something told me that the cough wasn't just from a sick roommate. Or an aging parent.
It was something more. Something… younger.
"You're not alone," I said, my voice low.
She didn't answer. Her hands trembled at her sides, fingers curling into fists as if that would hold her world together.
"Isabella." I took a step closer.
"Don't," she whispered. Her tone wasn't angry this time. It was desperate. Eager. Pleading. "Please."
I should've respected it. Walked out and let her keep whatever secrets she buried.
But I couldn't. I tried but it wasn't possible despite the sound of the cough, it wasn't something I should ignore.
Because part of me already knew.
I just needed the truth to punch me in the chest so I could stop pretending otherwise.
"Is there a child in there?" I asked.
Silence.
Then another small cough. This one is closer, weaker.
She closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and nodded once. "Yes."
Something inside me snapped. A thousand timelines unraveled in my mind, and every one of them pointed to the same damn question.
"How old?" I asked.
She opened her eyes slowly.
"Three," she whispered.
My heart stopped.
Three.
Exactly the number of years since that night. That night in Paris. The night she left without a word after everything we shared.
I stared at her like I was seeing a ghost. "Is he…?"
She didn't move. Didn't speak.
And that silence? It said everything.
"Why didn't you tell me?" My voice was sharp now, hurt bleeding through the edges.
Her lips trembled. "Because you would've taken him from me."
"What?" I blinked. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"You're a billionaire, Micheal. Powerful. Untouchable. You live in a world where people like me get crushed. I've seen it. I wasn't going to let you take my son and raise him in some marble cage."
I didn't know whether to laugh or scream.
"Do you really think I'd do that?"
I asked with a low tone of voice.
"I didn't know what you'd do. I didn't know who you'd become. All I knew was… the boy growing inside me wasn't a mistake. He was mine. And I had to protect him."
My legs gave way and I sank onto the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling like the floor was gone. "He's mine?" I asked, just to hear it.
She nodded again. Slower this time. Eyes glossy.
"His name is Liam," she said, voice shaking. "And he's the best thing that's ever happened to me."
My throat tightened. I ran a hand over my face.
A son.
I had a son.
While I was busy building empires and signing deals, my own blood had been coughing in a tiny room, wrapped in shadows. And dirt with an unsecured environment.
I stood. "I want to see him."
Her eyes widened in alarm. "He's sleeping. He's not feeling well. You shouldn't—"
"Isabella, I'm not leaving until I see my son."
She hesitated. Looked toward the back door like the weight of the universe was behind it.
I told her, with a lovely voice, allow me to see my son.
Finally, she stepped aside.
I followed her through the narrow hallway. The light in the room was dim,to the extent that I could tell I was stepping on. But I could make out the small bed tucked in the corner. A teddy bear sat by the pillow, threadbare and loved. And in the middle of it all… a little boy curled up under a faded blue blanket.
He looked… like me.
Same jawline. Same messy dark hair. Even his lips—
God.
I was amazed.
I dropped to one knee beside the bed, my heart caught between awe and agony.
"Liam," she said softly. "This is… Micheal. He's a friend."
Friend?
I looked at her, but didn't argue. Not yet.
Liam stirred and opened his eyes—blurry with sleep and fever.
"Hi," he whispered, his voice raspy.
"Hey, buddy," I said, my throat raw. "I'm… I'm Micheal."
He gave a sleepy nod, then turned back over.
He didn't know who I was.
He didn't know I'd just walked into his life like a storm.
And yet, something inside me broke open. Watching him… breathing, sleeping… existing.
Isabella laid a hand on my shoulder.
"I didn't want you to find out like this," she murmured.
I stood slowly, my eyes never leaving Liam. "What's wrong with him?"
"He gets sick a lot. The doctors say his immune system's weak. We've been in and out of clinics, but the best treatments are—"
"Expensive," I finished.
She nodded.
I turned to her. "You should've called me. You should've said something—"
"I couldn't."
"Why not?"
"Because the night I told you I loved you," she said quietly, "you left me for a meeting."
I froze.
She looked down. "I stood there in the hotel room, holding the sheets around me, and I realized… I was just another one-night exception to your rule. So I left. Before you could prove me right."
Damn.
I had no idea. That night in Paris, I thought… I thought it was just beginning.
But for her, it was the end.
I let the silence stretch. My jaw clenched. Regret bleeding into every cell of my body.
Then Liam coughed again. His little body shook with it.
And suddenly, everything else disappeared.
"Pack your things," I said to her.
"What?"
"You and Liam. You're both coming with me."
She blinked. "Where?"
"To my place. Where he'll have full-time doctors. Safety. Clean air. And everything else he's been missing."
Her eyes narrowed. "You don't get to just swoop in and take over—"
"I'm not taking over," I said, stepping close. "I'm stepping in. This is my responsibility. I lost three years ago. I'm not losing another minute."
And that was when Liam cried out in his sleep.
A pained, coughing sob.
Isabella ran to his side.
And I turned to the door.
Because I already had a team to call, doctors to schedule, and a penthouse to prepare.
They were coming home with me.
No matter what she said.