THE BILLIONAIRE SECRET BABY

POV: Aria Collins The last 2,000 naira note in my purse felt like it was mocking me. I smoothed it out on the table for the third time, as if that would make it multiply. Rent was due tomorrow. Leo's milk would run out by Friday. "Mama, look!" I looked up. My son, Leo, was on the floor of our tiny one-room in Abuja, pushing a toy car and humming. He was two. And he had Damian Kane's eyes. Dark. Intense. The kind of eyes that saw right through you. I quickly looked away and tucked the money back. I couldn't cry. Not in front of him. My phone rang. Unknown number. "Hello, is this Ms. Aria Collins?" a crisp voice asked. "This is HR from Kane Enterprises. You have an interview for the Executive PA position tomorrow at 10am. The pay is 300,000 naira monthly." 300,000. My breath caught. "I'll be there," I said quickly. I had nothing to lose. --- The next morning, Kane Enterprises looked like it was built to make people feel small. Glass. Steel. 30 floors of power in the middle of Abuja. I clutched my folder and walked in, in my only clean black dress and borrowed heels. Every other woman in the waiting room looked like she stepped out of Vogue. My phone vibrated. Aunty Bisi. "Aria, Leo is asking for you," she said softly. "He keeps calling for mama. He's fussy." Guilt stabbed me. "Tell him mama will be home soon with food, okay? I promise." I hung up just as the door opened. "Ms. Collins? The CEO will be conducting this interview personally." My stomach dropped. The CEO? I stood and walked in, head down. I'd practiced this. Professional. Polite. Don't make eye contact until necessary. "Good morning, sir," I said, voice steady. Silence. I looked up. And the world stopped. Damian Kane. Three years. Three years of running, of new cities, of telling myself I was over it. Gone. He was sitting behind a massive desk in a black three-piece suit. Older. Sharper. Colder. His dark hair was neater. The scar above his brow from that night was still there. And he was staring at me like I was a ghost. "Ms. Collins," he said. His voice was deeper now. Unforgiving. "Please, sit." I sat. My hands shook under the table. Those eyes. I would know them anywhere. Because I see them every night in my son. He flipped through my CV. "Two years experience. One child. Single mother." He looked up. "Interesting." Before I could answer, my phone buzzed on the table. Video call. Aunty Bisi. I panicked and swiped to decline. But my shaking finger hit accept instead. The screen lit up. Leo. Rubbing his eyes, hair messy, sitting on Aunty's lap. "Mama?" His little voice came through the speaker. Clear. Loud. "When are you coming home?" Time froze. Damian's gaze dropped to the phone. To Leo's face. Then to me. Then back to Leo. The room went dead silent. I could hear my own heartbeat. His jaw ticked. The same way it did when he was angry. When he was hurt. His expression went blank. That deadly, CEO mask. He leaned back in his chair. "Who," he said quietly, dangerously, "is that child, Ms. Collins?" My blood ran cold. Three years of running. Gone in five