The Alpha Billionaire's Rejection

His Son

AUNIKA

The crystal chandelier above Alexander Sterling's penthouse cast fractured light across imported marble floors, and I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.

Not because of the pretentious modern art covering every wall, though the fifteen-foot sculpture that looked like twisted metal having an existential crisis was testing my sanity. Not because half of Manhattan's elite were packed into this space, laughing too

loudly at jokes that weren't funny while clutching champagne flutes like lifelines.

No, I wanted to disappear because Marlon Lance hadn't stopped staring at me for the past twenty minutes, and Alexander Sterling kept finding excuses to touch my arm.

"You look absolutely radiant tonight, Ms. Marshall." Alexander's breath was warm against my ear as he leaned in, his hand settling on the small of my back. "That dress is... devastating."

The black silk clung to every curve I'd spent eighteen months perfecting in expensive gyms, and I'd chosen it specifically because I knew Marlon would be here. Because I wanted him to see exactly what he'd thrown away. What he'd rejected.

Stupid. Petty. Exactly the kind of emotional decision that could destroy everything I'd built.

"Thank you." I stepped sideways, just enough to dislodge Alexander's hand without being obvious about it. "You throw quite a party."

"Only the best for New York's most intriguing venture capitalist." His smile was practiced, charming in the way that came from a lifetime of people telling him he was special. "Though I have to admit, I was hoping we could find somewhere quieter to talk."

Talk. Right. Because Alexander Sterling, heir to Sterling Industries, Victoria's older brother, and apparently my newest devoted admirer, had invited me here to discuss market volatility.

"I'm perfectly comfortable here," I lied, taking a sip of champagne that tasted like regret and bad decisions.

The truth was, I felt like I was suffocating. Every breath brought me Marlon's scent; cedar and that expensive cologne he'd started wearing, mixed with something darker that made my wolf pace like she was caged. Even from across the room, even with fifty other people between us, I could feel him watching me.

Calculating. Suspicious.

He can't know. He won't know.

I'd spent too much money on scent blockers, cosmetic procedures subtle enough to change the shape of my face without being obvious, voice coaching to eliminate the slight Southern accent I'd grown up with. E.R. Marshall was bulletproof.

Aunika Duvall was dead and buried.

"Ms. Marshall?" Alexander's voice pulled me back to the present. "You seem distracted."

"Just thinking about work." I forced my attention back to him, noting the way his pupils were slightly dilated, the flush across his cheekbones that had nothing to do with alcohol. "It never really stops, you know?"

"Which is exactly why you need someone to help you relax." His fingers brushed against my wrist, and I had to fight not to jerk away. "I know a place in the Hamptons. Perhaps, I get to know what E.R stands for and...."

"Alexander!" A woman's voice cut through our conversation, high and artificially bright. I turned to see Victoria gliding toward us in a dress that probably cost more than most people's cars, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. "I didn't know you'd invited Ms. Marshall to your little soirée."

Little soirée. As if this party hadn't cost more than some people made in a year.

"Victoria." Alexander's tone cooled by several degrees. "How lovely of you to join us."

Interesting. The Sterling siblings clearly had issues, which might explain why Alexander had spent the last month pursuing me with single-minded determination. Nothing like a little family rivalry to make a woman more attractive.

"Ms. Marshall." Victoria's gaze swept over me like she was cataloging every detail for later use. "I've heard so much about your... remarkable success."

There was something in her voice that made my skin crawl. Not quite suspicion, but close enough to make my pulse spike.

"All good things, I hope." I kept my tone light, professional. The same voice I used with hostile board members and politicians who thought they could intimidate me.

"Oh, absolutely. It's just fascinating how quickly you've risen in our little world. What did you say your background was before Marshall Ventures?"

Careful. This felt like a trap, even if I couldn't see the shape of it yet.

"Various consulting work. Nothing as glamorous as what I do now." I took another sip of champagne, buying myself time to think. "I prefer to focus on the future rather than dwell on the past."

"How refreshing." Victoria's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Marlon was just telling me how much he enjoyed your recent meeting. Weren't you, darling?"

And there he was, appearing at Victoria's side like she'd summoned him. Marlon Lance, looking unfairly good in his tailored black suit, his dark hair styled in that casual way that probably took his barber an hour to perfect.

Our eyes met across the small circle we'd formed, and something electric shot down my spine. Recognition. Hunger. The ghost of what we'd almost had before he'd destroyed it.

"Ms. Marshall." His voice was carefully neutral, but I caught the slight rasp on my fake name. Like it tasted wrong in his mouth. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Alexander was kind enough to invite me." I gestured toward my host, who was watching this interaction with poorly concealed jealousy. "I never turn down a good party."

"No," Marlon said quietly, his gaze never leaving mine. "I don't imagine you do."

There was subtext there. Layers of meaning that made my chest tight and my wolf restless. Did he know? Had he figured it out already?

"Well, isn't this cozy." Alexander's arm slid around my waist, possessive and obvious. "Four of New York's most successful people, sharing champagne and conversation."

I wanted to elbow him in the ribs. Instead, I smiled and let him pull me closer, because the alternative was acknowledging the way Marlon's jaw had tightened when Alexander touched me.

"Success is relative," Victoria said, her voice light and poisonous. "Some people have to work so much harder for it than others."

"True." I met her gaze directly, letting a little steel creep into my voice. "But I've always believed that the best revenge is living well."

"Revenge?" Marlon's voice was sharp. "That's an interesting choice of words."

Shit. I'd said too much, let too much of Aunika bleed through E.R.'s carefully constructed facade.

"Just a figure of speech." I shrugged, aiming for casual and probably missing by miles. "Competition breeds excellence, don't you think?"

"It breeds something." His eyes were dark and intense, searching my face like he was looking for cracks in my armor. "Though I'm not sure excellence is always the result."

"Gentlemen, ladies." Alexander's voice had an edge now, territorial and sharp. "Perhaps we should..."

"Mama?"

The single word cut through champagne chatter and sophisticated laughter. My blood turned to ice water in my veins.

No. No, no, no. He was supposed to be at home with Mrs. Patterson. Safe and hidden away from this world that could destroy us both.

I turned, and there he was. My three-year-old son, standing in the doorway to Alexander's penthouse in his Spider-Man pajamas, his dark hair messy from sleep, golden eyes wide and confused as they searched the crowd of strangers.

"Alexander?" His small voice carried across the room, and I watched every head turn toward him including the exact moment Marlon's face went white. "Mama, why did you leave? I had a bad dream."

Breathe. You have to breathe.

But I couldn't. Because my carefully constructed world was crumbling around me, and my son, my beautiful, impossible, dangerous son was standing in front of fifty of New York's most powerful people, calling me mama and looking exactly like the man who'd rejected us both.

"Oh my goodness," Victoria whispered, and there was something like triumph in her voice. "Oh my f*cking goodness."

Alexander Sterling was staring at my son like he'd seen a ghost, then at me, then at Marlon, whose hands had started to shake.

"That's..." Marlon's voice cracked. Broke. "That's my son."