EPISODE2
1165 Words
CHAPTER TWO
Present Day
“Ma’am, you can’t go up there without an appointment.”
Ana gripped the strap of her worn bag, her fingers digging into the leather as the receptionist stood to block her path.
“I won’t take more than five minutes,” Ana said quickly, her voice thinner than she wanted it to be. “Please. Just—tell him Ana Rivera is here.”
The woman’s expression didn’t change. “Mr. Thorne doesn’t take walk-ins. Especially not... unlisted ones.”
Unlisted. Like she was a mistake that didn’t belong in the building.
Ana tried to steady her breathing. The elevator behind the front desk blinked with floor numbers she couldn’t reach. She glanced at the massive Thorne Corp logo etched in black steel behind the glass wall. Polished. Impenetrable.
She shouldn’t be here. She had rehearsed a hundred ways this might go, and none of them started like this—flushed, anxious, barely able to hold eye contact with a woman who probably earned more than she ever had in her life.
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t life or death,” she said.
The receptionist’s brow twitched, uncertain whether it was drama or truth. “Security—”
“I’m not here to make a scene,” Ana cut in, her voice cracking. “I just want to talk to him.”
A quiet beep interrupted them. The receptionist looked at her screen, then lifted her chin. “Mr. Vale is on his way down.”
Ana’s blood turned to ice. Trent Vale.
Of course Cassian wouldn’t waste time with her personally. Of course he’d send someone else to get rid of the problem before it made it to his office.
She turned just as the elevator slid open and Trent stepped out.
Dark navy suit. Expensive shoes. A jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds. He scanned the room once and spotted her instantly.
His smirk was mild. Calculated. “Miss Rivera.”
Her throat tightened. She hated how quickly he remembered her name.
“Mr. Thorne doesn’t recall scheduling a reunion,” Trent added, voice dry. “Care to explain?”
She hated this man.
“I need five minutes,” Ana said. “Just five. It’s about my son.”
That got his attention.
He glanced at the receptionist. “We’ll take it upstairs.”
Ana flinched. “You mean—he’ll see me?”
“No,” Trent said. “But I will.”
The elevator ride was silent.
Her reflection trembled in the elevator’s golden paneling. Her coat was too old. Her eyes were too tired. Her lips were chapped. She looked like someone dragging dirt across a world that demanded marble.
The doors opened to a floor that smelled like glass and silence.
Trent didn’t lead her into Cassian’s office. He stopped in a side room, something like a private lounge, and gestured to a black leather chair.
“Sit.”
“I came to see Cassian.”
“And Cassian doesn't entertain ghosts from four years ago.” Trent leaned against the glass wall, arms crossed. “So talk fast.”
Ana sat slowly, heart pounding. “I had a child.”
“I assumed that was coming.”
“His name is Noah. He’s four. And he’s Cassian’s.”
Trent’s eyes narrowed. “You’re aware of the NDA you signed.”
“I didn’t break it.”
“No? Showing up at our corporate headquarters with a child you never disclosed seems fairly against the contract.”
“I haven’t spoken to the press. I haven’t told anyone who his father is. I’ve kept him away from the media, from everyone. This isn’t about money—”
“Oh?” he interrupted. “Because it smells exactly like money.”
She blinked quickly. “He’s sick. He has a blood disorder. The doctors say he needs a rare genetic match for the transplant. I’m not one.”
Trent was silent now.
“I’ve tried everything,” Ana went on. “I’ve begged for donors. He’s on a waiting list that won’t help him in time. They said a biological parent—especially a father—could increase the odds of finding a compatible match.”
“And suddenly, Cassian becomes relevant.”
She shook her head. “I never wanted to involve him. I swear. I was going to take the secret to my grave.”
“But?”
“But my son is dying.”
The words filled the space, thick and final.
Trent stared at her. No smirk now. No clever words.
Then he exhaled. “Wait here.”
He left without another word.
Ana stood. Her legs moved restlessly, her hands shaking as she pressed them to her face. Everything inside her told her to run. It wasn’t too late. She could still leave and protect Noah from the man who wouldn’t want him.
Then the door opened again.
And Cassian Thorne walked in.
Ana’s knees nearly buckled.
He looked the same.
No—he looked worse. Better. Sharper. Years hadn’t softened him; they’d sculpted him. His tailored charcoal suit fit him like it was part of his skin. His expression was unreadable. Cold.
He shut the door with a quiet click.
Ana swallowed hard. “Cassian…”
He didn’t answer. He stepped forward slowly, eyes sweeping over her like he was trying to remember if they’d ever met.
“Say what you came to say,” he said finally.
“I didn’t come here to hurt you.”
“Odd start. Considering that’s exactly what this is.”
Her chest tightened. “I—”
“You signed a contract.” His tone was flat, controlled. “You broke it.”
“I didn’t. I raised him alone. I’ve never used your name.”
“But you’re here now. Asking for something.”
“It’s not for me.” Her voice broke. “It’s for him.”
She reached into her coat and pulled out a crumpled envelope. Inside was a photo—Noah, sitting on a hospital bed, smiling faintly, IV in his arm.
She handed it to him.
Cassian didn’t take it.
“Just look at him,” she whispered.
Silence.
Then—finally—he took the photo.
His eyes flicked down. Then he froze.
Slate gray eyes. Pale skin. Brown hair.
Too much like him.
His jaw clenched.
“When?” he asked quietly.
“Three weeks after I left.”
He looked up. “You didn’t think I deserved to know?”
“I was scared.”
“Of me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Ana flinched. “Cassian, please.”
He handed the photo back. “What do you want?”
“A test. Just a test. To see if you’re a match. You don’t have to do anything else.”
Cassian stared at her.
Then, quietly, he said, “Leave your number. I’ll think about it.”
- Writer
