Rain traced silver rivers down the Hawthorne estate’s front gates.
Liam wasn’t expecting visitors. Not on a Sunday. Not at sunrise.
But when security called and said, “Sir… there’s a woman here. She says you’re the father of her son,”
he didn’t wait for Voss.
He came to the gate himself.
She stood under a black umbrella, hair wet, face pale but composed.
“Liam Hawthorne?” she asked.
He nodded slowly.
“My name is Celeste Hart. We met in Milan. Seven years ago. Brief. One night.”
His heart stilled.
“I have no interest in your money,” she said. “But our son… his name is Gabriel. And he’s starting to ask why his father never came for him,. Complains that he is mocked in school. Called a bastard who has no father.”
Liam swallowed hard. “Where is he now?”
She stepped aside.
And ther
