THE CEO SECRET HEIR

Chapter 13:The unknown letter S.

Mia stared at the message until the letters blurred together, flour-dusted thumb hovering over the screen without pressing anything at all. I know who you are. I know about the boy.

Her first instinct was to call Damian right there in the middle of the bakery, dough abandoned, apron still tied crooked around her waist. Her second instinct — colder, sharper, born of five years spent trusting almost no one but herself — told her to think first.

She didn't know for certain the message had come from Selene. The signature was just an initial. It could be anyone — a reporter fishing for confirmation, someone at the gala putting pieces together for gossip rather than malice. But some instinct low in her gut told her the guess was right, and that instinct had kept her and Kian safe for five years without anyone's help.

She didn't respond. Not yet. She finished her shift with her hands moving on autopilot, mind circling the message from every angle, and left the bakery at two with the unease sitting heavy in her chest the entire walk to the park.

Damian was already there when she arrived, sitting on a bench near the edge of the small playground, out of his suit for once — dark jeans, a plain jacket, nothing that would draw a second glance from anyone walking past. He stood the moment he saw her.

"I have the signed retraction," he said, holding out a folded document before she'd even sat down. "Delivered by hand this morning to your building, effective immediately. The custody language is voided. I made sure of it myself."

Mia took the paper without really looking at it, mind still on the text message burning a hole in her pocket. "Someone else already knows."

Damian went still. "Knows what, exactly?"

"About Kian." She pulled out her phone, unlocked it, and held the screen toward him without further explanation. She watched his face change as he read it — the color draining fast, jaw tightening in a way that had nothing to do with performance.

"Selene," he said, quiet and certain.

"You don't know that."

"I do." He handed the phone back, already reaching for his own, thumb moving fast. "That's her initial. That's exactly the kind of message she'd send — polite enough to look reasonable if anyone ever saw it, threatening enough that the meaning is impossible to miss." He looked up, and Mia saw real fear behind his eyes for the first time since the ballroom. "How would she even know? I haven't told anyone. Not my chief of staff, not my board, no one."

"Someone at the gala saw us leave together." Mia's voice was tight. "It was already half on the radio this morning — 'unidentified woman in catering uniform.' It wouldn't take much digging for someone determined enough to connect the rest."

Damian exhaled hard, dragging a hand through his hair, the first c***k in his composure she'd seen all day. "If she knows about Kian before I've had any chance to control how this comes out, she'll use it. Not out of jealousy — she doesn't love me any more than I love her, this was never that kind of arrangement. She'll use it because a child changes the terms of the merger our engagement was supposed to secure. An heir outside of our arrangement threatens every inheritance clause built into it."

Mia's stomach turned cold. "You're telling me my son is worth something to her on a balance sheet."

"I'm telling you she'll see him that way before she sees him as a child, yes." Damian's voice was grim, none of the softness from last night left in it now. "I need to talk to her before this goes any further. Get ahead of it, the way I told you I would."

"And say what? That you have a secret son with the caterer from your own gala?" Mia's arms wrapped tight around herself despite the mild afternoon air. "That's not damage control, Damian, that's handing her exactly the kind of leverage you're afraid she already has."

"Then what would you have me do? Let her sit on that information and decide how to use it against us on her own timeline instead of mine?" His voice rose slightly before he caught himself, glancing toward the playground where a handful of children played, lowering it back down. "I would rather control the narrative than react to hers."

Mia didn't have an answer for that — not one that felt safe, not one that didn't require handing over some measure of trust she wasn't sure she had left to give. She sat down heavily on the bench, the retraction letter still clutched in one hand, and stared out at the children on the playground without really seeing them.

"I need to pick Kian up soon," she said finally, exhaustion pressing down harder than the fear now. "This can't keep happening. Every single day since the gala has been one crisis after another."

"I know." Damian sat beside her, careful to leave space between them, hands loosely clasped between his knees. "I know this isn't what you wanted when you agreed to let me in. I'm trying, Mia. I know trying isn't the same as succeeding."

She didn't answer right away. When she finally spoke, her voice had gone quiet, tired in a way that had nothing left to do with anger.

"If she comes after him," she said, "if any of this touches Kian in a way that scares him, or hurts him, I will disappear so completely you will never find either of us again. I don't care how many lawyers you have."

Damian turned to look at her, and whatever he saw in her face made him nod once, solemn, no argument left in him.

"I believe you," he said quietly.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, sharp and sudden, breaking the fragile stillness between them. He glanced at the screen, and Mia watched his expression shift into something guarded and alert, the same look he'd had in her living room the night before.

"It's her," he said. "Selene. She wants to meet. Tonight."