Buried Family Secrets

Cooper’s pov

Three months later

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Three months since Daisy stood on my doorstep, heavy with my child, and I told her to get rid of it. I had buried the knowledge so deep it only surfaced in the quiet hours—when the office lights dimmed and nothing remained to distract me. She had carried my son. Then the baby died. She left the country. That was all I allowed myself. Anything more would have finished me.

I stayed in the office longer than anyone else because work was the only place grief couldn’t fully reach me.

I loosened my tie an inch and kept signing document after document.

The door opened without a knock.

Magnus never came to my office. He summoned. He demanded. He never simply walked in. The air changed the moment he stepped across the threshold. I finished the signature, set the pen down, and only then raised my eyes.

He stood just inside with an impatient expression.

“Why did you leave your office and come here?” I asked, voice even, almost bored. “I hope it isn’t to tell me about getting married and giving you a grandson.”

He closed the door. “It is your duty to this family. Hurry up. Marry Anastasia and give me a son.”

I leaned back. “I never told you I was going to marry Anastasia.” The words were quiet. “Wait until your favourite son gets out of jail. He can give you as many heirs as you’d like.”

Magnus sat across from my desk. When he spoke again, his voice was low and urgent.

“Tristan is not my biological son. You are my only son.”

The sentence hung like smoke after an explosion. I stared. Then a short, bitter laugh escaped.

“Lies.”

He didn’t blink.

“Why are you like this?” I asked. “Saying anything to get what you want.”

His face stayed serious. “Your mother was in love with another man before she met me. That man is Tristan’s biological father. Not me.”

I kept staring. The laugh came again, thinner. Then I saw he meant it. Every word.

I stood and loosened the tie the rest of the way. “Then why did you let Tristan get away with everything? Why make my life miserable? Why be so hard on me? I’m your biological son. You should have treated me better if you knew.”

Magnus held my gaze. “You spent your whole life believing I loved Tristan more.” He paused. “You think I hated you? No. I expected more from you because you were my son. Every punishment, every impossible standard was meant to make you stronger.” His jaw tightened. “Tristan carried another man's blood. I spoiled him because I believed that if I loved her son enough, your mother might one day love me the way she loved Tristan’s father.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “She never did.”

The memories arrived without permission. Tristan’s birthday cakes with extra candles. My mother rushed to the door whenever Tristan’s car pulled up, her voice soft in a way it never was for me. I had spent years chasing her love, and now I understood why. Tristan was the child she had with the man she truly loved. I was the son she had with the man she could never bring herself to love.

Heat climbed the back of my neck. “Who is Tristan’s biological father?”

Magnus’s eyes cooled. “That is not your concern.”

The refusal was worse than any name. There was an older secret buried under this family, and he would take it to his grave.

“You will remarry immediately,” he said, as if the previous sentences had never happened. “Produce children. Continue the Hutchinson bloodline.”

“I wish I had been the one who wasn’t your son.” My voice stayed almost calm. “Tristan is in jail, yet I’m happy for him. He doesn’t have to be the only son of the worst father ever.”

Magnus’s face darkened. “Watch your mouth and do what is required. You are twenty-eight. When do you intend to procreate like every other conglomerate heir?”

I looked at him for a long moment. “I tried once. You made it very difficult for me and Daisy to marry in the first place. You created chaos. You rejected her because of whatever grudge you had with Judge Benedict Donovan. You blamed her for every little thing. Then the universe handed you a chance to separate us for good, and you took it. You made sure I never got to live happily with my wife.”

“Ex-wife.” He said. No remorse. Just the correction, precise and cold.

I stepped closer. “You’re a monster.”

The words came out almost numb.

“The Hutchinson bloodline ends with me. I already lost the only child I will ever have. I will never remarry. I will never father another child. Hell, I’m getting a vasectomy. If I ever decide I cannot bear the loneliness, I will adopt.” I took one more step. “Every company. Every estate. Every penny you spent your life building will pass into another family’s bloodline. That is your punishment for making me abandon the only woman I will ever love.”

Something snapped in Magnus’s face. He pushed me hard enough that I stumbled into the desk. Then his hand closed around the heavy crystal paperweight and swung it at my forehead. I hit the floor, tasting blood.

He stood over me, breathing hard. The anger drained as quickly as it had come, leaving something almost like shock.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to.”

Then, he stretched his hand to help me up.

I looked at his hand, then slapped it away.

“Get away from me.”

I pushed myself to my feet, wiped the blood from my eyebrow with the back of my hand, and walked toward the door.

“Cooper…” he called after me.

I never looked back.

I drove myself to a hospital. The waiting area was quiet except for the low murmur of voices and distant beeping of machines. I sat with a gauze pad pressed to my forehead, waiting for stitches. Two nurses spoke a few chairs away, voices low but clear.

“…a three-month-old boy from St. Miracle’s Orphanage. The nuns brought him in this morning. Severe respiratory distress and complications from oxygen deprivation at birth. He needs surgery tonight, or he won’t make it. The orphanage can’t cover the cost.”

Three months. If my son had lived, he would have been around the same age. The thought sat heavy. I stood, walked to the reception desk, and kept my voice low.

“The infant from St. Miracle’s. I’ll cover his surgery in full.”

The nurse looked startled, then gave me an account number on a slip of paper. I typed the figures into my phone and sent the money immediately.

One of the elderly nuns approached. She took my hand briefly between both of hers.

“God bless you,” she said. “You will never lose your own son if you have any.”

Funny. I already lost him.

I turned to leave, but she stopped me with a gentle touch on the sleeve.

“Would you like to hold the baby you just saved?”

“No.” I took another step.

Her voice followed, soft and almost wondering. “He has the same eyes as yours.”