HIS HEIR, HER SECRET

“Mommy, why is that man staring at us?” The innocent question made Elira’s breath hitch. Her grip on the grocery cart tightened as she slowly turned her head, eyes scanning the busy supermarket aisle. She hoped—prayed—that her son was pointing at someone else. Anyone else? But the moment her eyes landed on him, her heart plummeted. There he was. Damien Cruz. Even after five years, she could still recognize him instantly. Broad-shouldered and commanding in a sharp black suit, his presence was magnetic. His hair was shorter than before, styled with even more precision, and his face was harder—his once warm features now sculpted in cold steel. Time hadn’t aged him. It had refined him. Intensified him. He wasn’t just a man anymore. He was power wrapped in flesh and bone. And he was looking directly at her. Elira turned quickly, willing her knees not to buckle. Her heart pounded as though it were trying to break free from her chest. She bent slightly and placed a hand on her four-year-old son’s head, brushing his dark curls away from his forehead. “Don’t look, baby,” she whispered. “Let’s just grab the juice and go.” Liam giggled and pointed again. “But he looks like me!” Her stomach twisted. Of course, he did. Liam had Damien’s sharp nose, his heavy-lidded eyes, and that same stubborn crease between his brows whenever he pouted. She’d prayed that her son wouldn’t resemble his father so much. But fate had been cruel. Anyone who had ever seen Damien Cruz at twenty-five would see him again in Liam. Which meant the secret she had guarded for four years could be exposed in seconds. “Elira.” She stiffened. Her eyes fluttered shut. She hadn’t imagined it. That voice—deep, smooth, threaded with restrained fury—was real. She slowly turned around. Damien was now just a few feet away, standing tall, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that left her breathless. “Damien,” she said softly, her voice nearly catching in her throat. “I thought it was you.” His tone was unreadable, cold but not impolite. “It’s been a while.” She nodded, trying to keep her expression neutral. “Yes." It has.” His gaze flicked to Liam, then back to her. “You look… different.” She didn’t answer. What was there to say? She was different. A mother. A fighter. A woman who had spent four years trying to forget him while raising the living reminder of the love—and pain—they once shared. He took a step closer. “Is he yours?” She nodded again. “Yes." My son.” Damien’s expression remained unreadable. But his eyes—those sharp gray eyes—were calculating. “What’s his name?” “Liam.” His eyes narrowed. “Liam what?” She hesitated. “Liam Santos.” His jaw tightened. “You used your last name,” he said, almost accusingly. Elira swallowed. “Yes. I did.” There was a heavy silence. “How old is he?” Damien asked, his voice quieter now, laced with something she couldn’t name. She hesitated. She didn’t want to lie. But she also wasn’t ready to tell the whole truth—not here. Not like that. Not in the middle of a supermarket, with her child standing between them. “Four,” she finally said. Damien stared at her, the gears in his mind visibly turning. “Four,” he repeated slowly. “Elira, I haven’t seen you in five years.” “I know.” He took a deep breath. “Is he—?” “Mommy!” Liam suddenly interrupted, tugging his arm. “I want to get cookies too." Can I?” Elira smiled down at him with forced cheer. “In a minute, baby.” Damien’s gaze remained fixed on Liam. “Is he mine?” he asked again, more firmly this time. Elira’s throat closed. The question hung between them, charged like a storm waiting to break. She looked down at Liam, then back at Damien. “This isn’t the place,” she whispered. Please. Not here.” “Then where?” he snapped. “You disappeared, Elira." No word. No calls. "You walked out and left me in the dark—and now I find you with a child who looks exactly like me?” She felt Liam’s hand tighten around hers, sensing the rising tension. “I’ll explain,” she said quietly. “I will. Just… not now.” He took a deep breath and stepped back. “This conversation isn’t over.” “I know.” Without another word, Damien turned and walked away, but not before giving one last glance at Liam—a long, searching look that sent a shiver down her spine. Elira watched him go, her heart heavy with dread. The past—the very thing she had worked so hard to escape—had just found its way back into her life. And it was wearing a three-piece suit and asking questions she wasn’t ready to answer. When they got home that afternoon, Elira could barely breathe. She placed Liam on the couch, gave him his juice and tablet, and walked straight into the kitchen, her legs shaking. She leaned against the counter, burying her face in her hands. What now? She hadn’t planned for this. Hadn’t even imagined it. Damien had a million reasons never to step foot in her world again. What were the odds of them running into each other in the one supermarket she’d thought was “safe”? She heard her phone buzz on the counter. One new message. From an unknown number. We need to talk. Soon. — Damien Elira stared at the screen, her mind spinning. She should have told him years ago. Should have at least sent a letter. But at the time, she was scared. Hurt. Alone. And when the pregnancy test turned positive, she’d already made up her mind—she would raise the child on her own. She didn’t need Damien. Didn’t need his family’s money. Didn’t need the pain of having him close, yet not truly hers. But now… Now he knew Liam existed. He had seen him. Speak to him. And Damien Cruz was not the type of man who let things go. Her doorbell rang. Her heart skipped. She crept toward the window and peeked through the curtain. A black luxury car. She stepped back. No. He wouldn’t show up here this fast. Right? The bell rang again. And then a voice. “Elira. Open the door.” Damien. Her hands trembled as she reached for the knob. She opened it slowly, revealing him standing on her front step, looking every bit like the storm she had tried to escape. “We need to talk,” he said. She nodded. “I know.”