IN HIS EYES

CHAPTER THREE

Isla kept her back straight and her gaze focused on the computer screen in front of her, even though the letters blurred together like fog. Roman’s office was too quiet. He hadn't spoken in twenty minutes, but she could feel the weight of his gaze from across the desk like a branding iron pressed against her skin.

She typed something—anything—into the scheduling app, trying to look competent, unaffected. But her fingers trembled just slightly, betraying the storm that brewed beneath her polished facade.

The silence broke when Roman leaned back in his chair and said with unsettling calm, “You have a child, don’t you?”

Her entire body froze.

Her eyes snapped up. “Excuse me?”

“Julia mentioned it. Said you requested flexible hours because you’re a mother.” He said it casually, but his eyes were razor-sharp. “Is that true?”

Isla swallowed hard. “Yes. I do.”

He tapped his fingers on the desk, watching her with interest. “How old?”

She forced herself to keep her voice neutral. “Five”

Roman’s jaw tightened.

She didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t press further. But the math was simple. Too simple. Isla could see the calculation in his eyes, the dawning suspicion tightening his expression. He wouldn’t ask yet. He was too strategic for that. He would wait, watch, gather evidence.

And that terrified her more than any direct confrontation.

The rest of the day dragged like wet cement. She delivered schedules, returned calls, avoided eye contact, and managed to keep a professional smile glued to her face.

But inside?

Inside, she was drowning.

When she finally left the office that evening, the setting sun bathed the city in molten gold. Isla walked quickly through the parking garage to her car, her heart skipping every time she heard footsteps echo behind her. Her nerves were frayed. Her mind swam with questions.

Had he figured it out? Would he confront her tomorrow? Would he demand to meet Eli?

She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles went white.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Not yet.

Not until she had a plan.

Eli ran down the hallway as soon as she opened the door. His small arms wrapped around her knees with the force of a missile.

“Mama!”

Isla dropped her bag and scooped him up, burying her face in his soft curls. “There’s my sweet boy. Did you miss me?”

“I made a drawing today,” he whispered proudly, eyes bright. “Of us! Me and you. And the space rocket.”

She laughed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “That sounds amazing. Show me.”

He squirmed out of her arms and darted to the coffee table, where crayons, a dinosaur-shaped cup of water, and three wrinkled sheets of paper lay in a happy mess. Isla knelt beside him, smoothing the drawing with shaking hands. Her body had left the office hours ago, but her mind… her mind was still locked in that glass tower with Roman Creed and the memories he awakened with every blink.

Eli’s drawing was chaotic, bright, full of life. A house with blue curtains, her in a purple dress with long spaghetti arms, and him with a giant smile. But it was the third figure he’d drawn that stopped her breath—a tall man with black hair and blue eyes.

“Who’s that?” she asked softly, trying not to let her voice waver.

Eli grinned. “My daddy.”

Her chest squeezed. “Oh, baby… we talked about this.”

“I know he’s not here yet,” Eli said, drawing a new crayon line across the paper. “But he will be. One day. You said someday I’ll meet him. So I draw him so I don’t forget.”

Isla blinked rapidly. She had said that—once, on a night when he cried himself to sleep and she’d whispered lies for comfort. Someday. Not now. Someday.

Eli was only five But he was smart. Sharp like Roman. Observant.

Just like his father.

She didn’t sleep that night. Not really. Even after Eli curled into her side and dozed off with a hand clutching her necklace, Isla lay awake, staring at the ceiling, imagining all the ways her life could fall apart.

Roman had always been relentless. He didn’t stop until he got what he wanted. And now, he wanted answers.

The Next Morning – Creed Enterprises

Isla entered the office early, hoping to get ahead of whatever storm Roman was brewing behind that polished exterior. Julia offered her a polite nod but said nothing. Tension hung in the air like a live wire.

Roman didn’t summon her until nearly noon.

When she stepped inside his office, he was staring out the massive glass windows again, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a pen.

“You’re late,” he said without turning.

“I wasn’t,” she replied evenly.

He glanced over his shoulder. “I meant five years late.”

Her pulse spiked.

“I assume we’re not playing the Isla Hart game anymore,” he continued, facing her now. “Because I’ve had my team dig into your file. There’s no birth record. No social media. Nothing before five years ago.”

She forced her chin higher. “That’s not illegal.”

“No,” he said, walking slowly toward her, “but it is suspicious. Especially since I now know your son is five”

He stopped two feet away.

“Want to tell me who his father is?”

Isla’s mouth was dry. Her throat, a vice. “That’s none of your business.”

Roman’s eyes darkened. “Is it?”

She tried to hold his gaze, but her fingers curled into fists.

“I deserve to know,” he said softly, dangerously. “If he’s mine, I deserve—”

“No,” she snapped, louder than she meant to. “You don’t get to deserve anything and he's not yours.”

Silence exploded between them.

“You left me, Roman,” she whispered. “You walked away without a word. No goodbye. No call. You disappeared like I was a mistake you regretted. So don’t stand there acting like I owe you any explanation about my life.”

His jaw worked, but he didn’t argue.

Isla turned, every step a war against her own trembling legs. “I work for you. That’s all. If that’s a problem, fire me. Otherwise, stay out of my personal life.”

And she walked out, head high, throat burning.

That Evening – Unknown Location

Roman poured himself a drink in the privacy of his penthouse, the city lights glittering behind him. He played the conversation over again in his mind—her shaking voice, her eyes full of something she hadn’t said.

She was hiding something.

He picked up his phone and tapped the contact for his most trusted investigator.

“I want full surveillance on Isla Hart,” he said coldly. “Her apartment, her child. I want photos. DNA if you can get it. I want to know everything.”

He ended the call and downed the scotch.

Because Roman Creed didn’t lose.

Not women.

Not answers.

And certainly not his own son if that was his son