Ethan.
After Jackson left my office, the weight of what he had told me settled heavily in my chest, refusing to loosen its grip. My thoughts churned with a mixture of shock, guilt, and something I couldn’t quite name.
From the moment I first saw Fiona’s son, a small, insistent voice in the back of my mind had whispered the truth.
His eyes, the way he tilted his chin, even the mischievous curl of his smile—it was like looking at a younger version of myself. But suspecting something and having it confirmed were two entirely different things.
The truth hit me like a punch to the gut. I was his father.
The idea should have thrilled me. The thought of having a son—a part of me that could carry on my name, my legacy—was something I never imagined for myself.
But this wasn’t just any chi
