Chapter 9 Rory'sPov
1207 Words
Evelyn Kane’s mouth curved faintly. “I have not been Mrs. Kane in years.”
Of course, I thought as I looked at her. Even her divorce sounded like a corporate restructuring.
“Fine,” I said. “Evelyn.”
Something flickered in her eyes. Disapproval? Somehow, I hoped it was.
“What do you want?”
She glanced past me into the apartment. “May I come in?”
“No.”
The faint smile remained. “You are exactly as difficult as they say.”
“And you are exactly as welcome as I feel.”
For one second, I thought she might laugh. But she did not. Instead, she reached into her handbag and withdrew a slim white envelope. Then she held it out to me. I did not take it.
“What is that?” I asked instead.
“A solution.”
My blood went cold immediately.
I had begun to hate that word. Solution. Resolution. Arrangement. Strategy. All the clean words powerful people used when they wanted something ugly to sound inevitable.
“To what?”
Her pale eyes lowered to my stomach and the hallway seemed to lose air.
Every muscle in my body locked just then even as Evelyn looked back up at me.
“You already know, Miss Callahan.” She said without emotions. “Let us not waste time pretending otherwise.”
I could not move. I could not speak.
The secret I had not even found the courage to say aloud to Jaxon had entered the hallway wearing cashmere and pearls.
“How?” I asked.
The word came out almost soundless.
Her expression did not change. “You are not as invisible as you think.”
Something vicious and cold opened inside me. I couldn't even name it yet. I managed “You had me followed?”
“I had my son watched.”
I laughed then because if I did not laugh, I might do something regrettable with the nearest heavy object.
“Congratulations. That is the most horrifying parental sentence I have ever heard.”
“Jaxon has never understood the cost of his impulses.”
I glared at her. “Do not call me an impulse.”
Her eyes sharpened and for the first time, she looked almost interested.
“No,” she said softly. “You are not an impulse. That is precisely the problem.”
I stepped back before I decided not to. Not because I wanted her inside but because my knees had started to feel unreliable and I refused to collapse in a hallway where any neighbor could open a door and witness the great Rory Callahan finally being brought down by a woman in pearls.
Evelyn entered as if she owned the apartment, which was impressive considering she had not been invited and I was actively imagining pushing her back out.
Her gaze passed over Jaxon’s things with faint irritation.
“The sentimental version of him leaves evidence everywhere,” she murmured.
I shut the door. “Say what you came to say.”
She placed the envelope on the coffee table while I stayed standing. Then she sat on the edge of the chair with perfect posture, removing her gloves finger by finger.
It was a performance. It was very obvious.
Everything about Evelyn Kane was performance. But unlike the fake relationship, hers had been perfected over decades. There were no visible seams. No flicker of guilt. No c***k where humanity slipped through.
“That envelope contains an offer,” she said. “Ten million dollars. Payable through a trust structure of your choosing.”
My stomach turned. “For what?”
“For you to leave New York.”
The room went very still and I stared at her for several seconds, unable to say anything.
She continued calmly. “You will withdraw from the Titans for medical and personal reasons. You will sign a nondisclosure agreement regarding my son, the pregnancy and any internal matters relating to the organization. You will relocate wherever you prefer. I can arrange excellent doctors, housing, long-term financial management and complete privacy.”
My mouth went dry just then. After several seconds, I managed to speak. “You are trying to buy my baby.”
Her eyes flashed in response. “I am trying to prevent a catastrophe.”
“No.” I couldn't believe I was speaking calmly but I moved on. “A catastrophe is a gas leak. A bridge collapse. Your personality at family dinners. This is a child.”
“It is a child connected to a man you barely know.”
“I know enough.”
“Do you?”
The question cut too cleanly and I hated that it found blood.
Evelyn relaxed back slightly, looking satisfied that she had hit where she wanted. “You know my son’s body. Perhaps his guilt. Perhaps even a few of his sins. But you do not know the history you are walking into.”
I folded my arms tightly over my body while my anger skyrocketed. “You have thirty seconds before I throw you out.”
She looked almost amused even as she spoke casually, “Jaxon cannot be a father.”
The words hit the room with such quiet force that for a moment I did not understand them.
Then I did.
My hand moved over my stomach before I could stop it.
Evelyn watched the movement and something cold passed over her face.
“There it is,” she said softly. “That instinct. That is what makes this difficult.”
I thought she was talking about the child but the way she looked at me told something else was up with this matter.
My throat tightened. “What are you talking about?”
She reached into her handbag again. This time, she pulled out a folded document. It was a file. White. Clinical. Marked with a name.
KANE, JAXON A.
My heart began to hammer. “No.”
“You should read it.”
“I said no.”
I didn't know for sure why I didn't want to. I just knew that I didn't.
She looked at me for a long while before saying, “You should understand the stakes before pride makes decisions for you.”
I stepped toward her. “If this is some legal threat—”
“It is medical.”
The word stopped me and doused some of my anger. Evelyn opened the file and laid the top page on the table.
I did not want to look. God knew that I really didn't want to. But I had to. For the sake of my child, I just had to.
There were dates. Test references. Genetic language I did not understand. A laboratory heading. Jaxon’s name. His date of birth. Lines of clinical text arranged with the ruthless indifference of medicine.
My eyes caught only fragments of what was on the file.
Hereditary risk.
Familial marker.
Neurological degeneration.
Further monitoring advised.
The room tilted and I gripped the back of the couch.
“What is this?”
“My son was tested as a teenager.”
My voice came out thin. “Does he know?”
- Writer
