POV: Ethan Sterling
The world stops spinning.
"How old is he?" My voice doesn't sound like my own. It's too controlled. Too quiet. The voice I use right before I destroy someone's career.
Vivian's face goes pale. Her hand tightens on the boy's shoulder—protective, like she thinks I'm going to snatch him away.
Maybe I am.
"That's none of your business," she says, but her voice shakes.
"How. Old. Is. He?"
The ballroom has gone completely silent. Three hundred people holding their breath, waiting to see what happens when a CEO confronts his past.
Claire's fingernails dig into my arm. "Ethan, surely you don't think—"
I shake her off without looking at her. My entire focus is on the child standing in front of me.
He's small. Maybe waist-height. His dark hair sticks up in the back like he's been running his hands through it. His gray eyes—my gray eyes—watch me with curiosity instead of fear.
And that chin. That stubborn, defiant tilt.
I've seen that chin in the mirror every day for thirty-two years.
"Five," Vivian finally says, lifting her chin in that same defiant way. "Leo is five years old."
Five.
The math hits me like a punch to the gut.
Six years ago, Vivian and I spent one night together. One impossible, incredible, terrible night that I've replayed in my head a thousand times.
Nine months of pregnancy.
Five years old.
Oh God.
"He's mine." It's not a question. It's a statement. A fact. A truth that's been hidden from me for five years.
"He's mine," Vivian corrects sharply. "I raised him. I fed him. I stayed up with him when he was sick. I taught him to walk and talk and be kind. You don't get to claim him just because you share DNA."
Her words are knives, each one cutting deeper than the last.
Because she's right.
I wasn't there. I didn't know. I didn't get to see his first steps or hear his first words or hold him when he cried.
But whose fault is that?
"You left." My voice comes out harder than I intend. "You disappeared without a word. You were pregnant with my child and you left."
"You called me a liar!" Vivian's composure cracks, her voice rising. "You accused me of trapping you! You said I planned everything to manipulate you into marriage or a payout or—" She stops, glancing at Leo, who's watching us with wide, confused eyes.
Marcus steps between us, his hand on Vivian's arm. "This isn't the place for this conversation."
"Stay out of this, Zhang." I don't even look at him. "This is between me and the mother of my child."
"Fiancée," Marcus corrects, and something hot and violent surges through my chest.
"Fake fiancée," I shoot back. "You think I don't know a business arrangement when I see one? You're using each other. But that doesn't change the fact that she kept my son from me for five years."
Vivian flinches like I've slapped her.
Leo tugs on her hand. "Mama, why is everyone yelling?"
She immediately kneels down, smoothing his hair, forcing her voice to go soft. "They're just... talking loudly, baby. It's okay."
"Are you mad at that man?" Leo asks, pointing at me.
Vivian's eyes meet mine over Leo's head. In them, I see six years of pain, anger, and something else—something that looks like grief.
"No, sweetheart," she lies. "I'm not mad. We're just... surprised to see each other."
"He looks like me," Leo says matter-of-factly. "Does that mean we're related?"
The question hangs in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled.
Vivian's face crumbles for just a second before she rebuilds her mask. "Leo, why don't you go with Sofia? She'll get you some juice."
"But—"
"Now, please."
Sofia—a woman I recognize as Vivian's friend from the tabloid photos—immediately takes Leo's hand. "Come on, kiddo. I saw a chocolate fountain earlier. Want to investigate?"
Leo perks up. "Really?"
As Sofia leads him away, Leo looks back at me one more time. He waves.
I raise my hand automatically, waving back.
That's my son. That little boy is my son.
The moment Leo is out of earshot, Vivian stands up and steps close to me—close enough that I can smell her perfume. Something floral and expensive that I don't recognize. Everything about her is different. Polished. Guarded.
"Listen carefully," she says, her voice low and dangerous. "You lost the right to be his father six years ago when you told me I was a gold-digging whore who trapped you with a pregnancy."
"I never said—"
"You said I researched you. You said I planned the whole thing. You said I was using our night together to manipulate the Chen acquisition." Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but her voice doesn't waver. "You destroyed me, Ethan. So I left. I protected my baby from a man who would hate him for existing."
Each word is a dagger, but I deserve every single one.
"I was wrong," I force out. The words taste like ash. "I should have—"
"Should have what? Trusted me? Believed me? Given me a chance to explain?" She laughs bitterly. "It's six years too late for 'should have.'"
Marcus appears at her side again, playing the protective fiancé. It makes me want to punch him.
"We're leaving," he announces.
"No." I step forward, blocking their path. "We need to talk. Really talk. Not here—somewhere private."
"There's nothing to talk about," Vivian says coldly.
"I have a son I knew nothing about. There's everything to talk about."
"Had," she corrects. "You had a chance to know him. You threw it away six years ago."
"Because I didn't know he existed!" My voice rises, and I force myself to breathe. Control. I need control. "You made that choice for both of us, Vivian. You decided I didn't deserve to know. You decided he didn't deserve a father."
"I decided to protect him from being unwanted!" Her voice cracks. "From being seen as a mistake. From growing up knowing his father thought he was a trap."
The pain in her voice hits me harder than any accusation.
Claire chooses that moment to insert herself into the conversation. "Vivian, you can't possibly expect us to believe this child is Ethan's. It's been six years. You could have—"
"Shut up, Claire." I don't even glance at her. "This doesn't concern you."
"Of course it concerns me! I'm—"
"Nothing. You're nothing to me." The words come out flat and final.
Claire's face goes red, then white. She opens her mouth, closes it, then turns and storms away.
I should care that I just humiliated her in front of three hundred people.
I don't.
Vivian is watching me with an expression I can't read. "You should go after her. Your girlfriend just—"
"She's not my girlfriend. She's barely an acquaintance." I take another step closer to Vivian. "And right now, the only thing I care about is the fact that I have a five-year-old son who doesn't know I'm his father."
"And whose fault is that?"
"Both of ours." The admission costs me, but it's true. "You for leaving. Me for driving you away. But Leo—" I nearly choke on his name. "He's innocent in this. He deserves to know the truth."
"The truth?" Vivian's laugh is sharp. "What truth, Ethan? That his father accused his mother of being a manipulative liar? That sounds like a great bedtime story."
"The truth that I made a terrible mistake," I say quietly. "The truth that I've regretted those words every day for six years. The truth that if I had known about him, I would have—"
"Would have what? Married me out of obligation? Taken him away from me? Used your money and power to destroy me in court?"
Is that what she thinks? That I'm a monster who would steal a child from his mother?
Maybe six years ago, I was exactly that kind of monster.
"I would have been there," I say simply. "However you wanted me there. Co-parenting, marriage, separate lives—I don't care. But I would have been there for him. And for you."
Vivian's eyes search mine, looking for the lie. Looking for the trap.
She won't find one. Because for the first time in six years, I'm telling the complete truth.
"It's too late," she finally says, but her voice is softer now. Tired. "We can't go back."
"No. But we can go forward. Let me meet him properly. Let me explain—"
"Explain what? How do I tell a five-year-old that his father didn't know he existed?"
"By telling him the truth. That we made mistakes. That adults sometimes mess up. That—"
"Mr. Sterling!" A voice interrupts. James Park, my COO and best friend, pushes through the crowd. "Sir, we have a situation. The presentation is supposed to start in five minutes and the press is getting restless."
I don't take my eyes off Vivian. "Cancel it."
James's eyes widen. "Sir?"
"Cancel the presentation. Reschedule. I don't care."
"But—"
"James." I finally look at him. "Handle it."
He sees something in my face that makes him nod and disappear.
Vivian is already turning away. "Goodbye, Ethan."
"This isn't over," I call after her.
She stops, looks back over her shoulder. "Yes, it is. It was over six years ago. I'm just here to collect what's mine—my mother's company. Once I have it back, Leo and I are leaving Sterling City. And this time, I'm making sure you can't find us."
The words hit me like ice water.
She's going to disappear again. She's going to take my son and vanish, and this time I won't even have hope to hold onto.
"Don't." The word comes out more desperate than I intended. "Please. Just... give me one chance. One conversation. If you still want to leave after that, I won't stop you. But give me one chance to explain. To apologize properly. To meet my son."
Vivian stares at me for a long moment.
Then she pulls out her phone, types something, and shows me the screen.
It's an address. Her address.
"Tomorrow. Seven PM. Bring a DNA test consent form—I know you'll want legal proof." Her voice is businesslike now, cold. "Leo will be asleep. This conversation is between us. Clear?"
I nod, memorizing the address.
"And Ethan?" She steps close one more time. "If you hurt him—if you make him feel unwanted or like a mistake for even one second—I will destroy you. I don't care about your money or your power or your connections. I will burn your entire empire to the ground. Understood?"
"Understood."
She nods once, then walks away, her heels clicking on the marble floor.
I stand there, watching her leave, my mind racing.
I have a son.
I have a son named Leo who's five years old.
I have a son, and his mother hates me.
I have a son, and I missed five years of his life.
I have a son—
My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number.
I open it.
The message contains a single photo—old, grainy, like it's been cropped from security footage.
It shows Claire leading a stumbling, confused-looking Vivian down a hotel hallway.
Below the photo, a text: "She didn't trick you. You were both tricked. Check the Jade Garden Hotel records from six years ago. Room 2847. You'll want to see who accessed your room that night. —A Friend"
My blood turns to ice.