Family Secret

Chapter 22

Nate stood among the cluster of men near the grill, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his swim shorts. On the surface, he was the picture of calm conversation, but every word was measured, every nod calculated.

“Cisco Monroe,” Nate said smoothly, as if the name had only slipped in naturally. “I imagine a man like that doesn’t miss a neighborhood gathering.”

Thomas snorted. “Monroe? Please. That man barely leaves his estate. Never seen him at one of these things.”

Elijah’s father shook his head. “A recluse. Sends his people out, does his business through others. I don’t think he even likes people, to be honest.”

Miha’s father added, lowering his voice slightly, “He’s… difficult to reach. If you wanted his attention, you’d need leverage.”

Nate’s jaw tightened, though his face gave nothing away. So Cisco Monroe wasn’t just a name on a list—he was a fortress of a man, the kind who made others come to him. This would be harder than anticipated. The direct approach was nearly impossible. Perhaps, Nate thought, he would have to rely on the children forming bonds—slow, steady access through friendship. Not ideal, but effective.

From the corner of his eye, Nate caught Gregory shifting, raising his brows. Gregory let out a long, low whistle, drawing the attention of the men.

Nate followed his gaze.

And for a moment, the world stopped.

Alexia was emerging from the pool.

She rose with a kind of unstudied grace, water clinging to every curve of her body as though reluctant to let her go. Droplets ran in rivulets down her toned stomach, over the lines of her thighs, across the flawless arch of her collarbone. Her blonde hair was slicked back, revealing her sharp cheekbones and the natural glow of her skin.

The sunlight caught her in fragments—glinting off the water, shimmering against the smoothness of her skin—making her look like she’d stepped out of a dream instead of a pool.

Gregory let out a low chuckle, murmuring something Nate didn’t catch, and the men around them smirked knowingly.

But Nate didn’t hear.

He was frozen, his sharp discipline faltering as he stared. His pulse quickened, and for one dangerous second, he forgot where he was.

Forgot who he was.

Alexia walked up to Nate, droplets of water still clinging to her skin, her towel draped loosely in one hand. She wore a warm, casual smile as her sharp eyes searched his.

“You alright?” she asked lightly, tilting her head.

Nate blinked once, snapping back into himself, and gave a stiff nod. “Yes,” he managed, though he didn’t quite trust his voice. His usual cool control felt just out of reach, his chest a fraction too tight.

Before the silence could stretch, Gregory stepped forward, his grin broad and his eyes far too appreciative as they swept over Alexia. He extended a hand to her.

“Gregory Summers,” he said smoothly. “And I’ve got to say—you are absolutely stunning. Forgive me for asking, I don’t mean offense, but… Latina?”

Alexia smiled politely, patting at her damp skin with the towel. “Yes,” she replied, her tone even. “Latina and Italian.”

Gregory raised an impressed eyebrow, turning his attention to Nate with a knowing grin. “You’ve got your hands full with this one, my friend.”

Before Nate could respond, a sharp voice cut in.

Carissa Summers.

She strolled up with the same smugness she carried everywhere, her expression set in a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Hopefully,” she said sweetly, though her tone dripped with venom, “you can keep up with her. I’ve heard Latinas can be… very promiscuous. And with her being so young, well…” She trailed off, smirking as if she’d just set the perfect trap.

Alexia’s jaw tightened, her lips parting with the sting of a retort—but before she could speak, Nate moved.

He wrapped his arm around her waist.

The gesture was instinctive, calculated—a move for the audience, to play the role of husband. But the second his hand brushed against her skin, he realized his mistake. She was impossibly warm, soft, smoother than he’d imagined.

And then she leaned into him. Not stiffly, not just for show—she leaned in with a quiet, natural ease that made it feel dangerously real.

Nate’s throat went dry. He cleared it, forcing composure back into his voice. “I think,” he said calmly, his arm still firm around her waist, “I’ll manage.”

Carissa’s smile faltered ever so slightly.

Alexia’s lips curled into the faintest smirk.

And Nate held his mask in place, ignoring the chaos stirring somewhere beneath it.

Gregory gave a low chuckle, resting his hand on his wife’s shoulder as though to steady her sharp tongue. “Carissa,” he said firmly, “be nice.”

Carissa scoffed, rolling her eyes as she swirled her wine. “I am being nice. I’m just saying…” Her tone dripped with smugness, her eyes glinting with challenge.

Gregory only shook his head, clearly used to her antics, before turning back to Nate with a grin. “But if you don’t mind me asking… how did you manage to land someone of her ethics?” He motioned toward Alexia, his brows lifting in a mix of admiration and teasing. “You’re English—proper, polished, disciplined. The complete opposite. And she’s…” He chuckled. “Well, fiery, chaotic, passionate. A spitfire if I’ve ever seen one. How on earth did that happen?”

Nate parted his lips, already drawing in a measured breath to answer with something diplomatic, polite—something to divert the conversation before it crossed further into dangerous territory. But then—

Alexia moved first.

Her hand slid lightly onto his chest, soft yet deliberate. The warmth of her touch seared through the thin fabric of his shirt, sending his carefully held composure wobbling. A smile curved across her lips, equal parts playful and suggestive.

“Well,” Alexia said sweetly, her voice carrying just enough for those around them to hear, “in public, he’s the perfect gentleman…” She let the pause hang, her lashes lowering in mock coyness before she finished, “but behind closed doors…”

The implication was crystal clear.

Nate froze. His eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat as the words sank in. His usually sharp, unreadable face betrayed him—heat rising up his neck, dusting across his cheeks. The realization of what she’d just insinuated crashed over him, and for the first time in far too long, the master spy found himself caught off guard.

His jaw tightened, then flexed. He tried to school his features back into neutrality, but it was too late—the faintest pink flushed his face, betraying his embarrassment.

Gregory laughed, clapping him on the shoulder with a hearty chuckle. “Ah! I see, I see!”

Carissa’s eyes narrowed with a glare at Alexia, her lips pressing into a thin line.

And Nate—Nate could do nothing but hold his composure as best he could, silently vowing retribution for Alexia’s little stunt, all while his ears still burned red.

On the far side of the lawn, the children’s laughter rang louder than the adults’ conversations. Miha, the little Asian girl with braids bouncing against her shoulders, darted across the grass with surprising speed. Elijah, sturdy and quick on his feet, chased after her with a determined grin. Clint, with his wild red hair, glasses sliding down his nose, and slightly awkward stride, tried his best to keep up, his laughter wheezing out between breaths.

It was a lively game of tag, all carefree energy and innocent joy—until Kyan stopped dead in her tracks.

Her eyes glazed, her body going still as the laughter around her seemed to fade. A vision rippled through her mind, one only she could see, locking her small frame in place like a statue.

The other kids didn’t notice at first. Clint’s hand smacked her arm at full tilt, Elijah barreled into her shoulder, and Miha tripped, tumbling into them all. They went down in a small heap of limbs and giggles.

“Sorry!” Clint blurted, scrambling to his feet, pushing his crooked glasses back up his nose.

“Yeah, sorry, Kyan!” Miha added quickly, brushing grass off her knees.

Elijah offered her a hand, concern flickering in his dark eyes.

Kyan blinked, snapping out of the trance, her breath shaky.

Ryan, who had been keeping one eye on them, forced a light chuckle as he approached. “It happens. She gets… distracted easily,” he explained, masking the tension in his voice. “I’ll take her to grab a juice box. We’ll meet you guys on the playground.”

The kids nodded, not pressing further, and scampered off, already shouting about who was “it” next.

Ryan’s smile fell the second they were out of earshot. His jaw tightened as he crouched slightly to Kyan’s level. “You ok?” he asked softly, his voice stripped of its usual casual front.

Kyan shook her head, her big eyes darting back toward the adults. “That mean lady,” she whispered, “the one picking on Mommy… she’s going to try and make Mommy mad.”

Ryan’s brow furrowed. “How?”

Kyan leaned closer, her voice barely more than breath. “She’s going to try and kiss Daddy… in front of everyone. To make them fight.”

The words made Ryan’s chest go tight. His jaw clenched, his gaze flicking instinctively toward Nate and Alexia. He knew Carissa’s type—entitled, manipulative, poisonous. And he also knew the truth no one else did: their marriage was a façade. A cover for Nate’s mission. Alexia was his shield, his leverage, his key.

If she left—if she believed the lie Carissa would try to spin—everything would unravel.

And Nate would have no reason to keep them. No reason to keep him. Ryan and Kyan would be sent back to the orphanage, back to the cold walls and empty beds, back to being forgotten.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Ryan’s small hands balled into fists at his sides as he swallowed down the fear rising in his throat. He looked at his sister, his voice low and firm. “We won’t let her.”

Kyan nodded, clutching his sleeve, her trust in him absolute.