Dangerously mine

I saw him before he saw me.Morning light sliced across his face, sharpening the hard lines of his jaw. He looked like he belonged on a cover of a sports magazine or at the head of the boardroom. His eyes swept the street slow and assessing.Then they landed on me. before yesterday i had never seen this guy, why is he suddenly everywhere?Flavian tugged my sleeve. “Mommy… why is that man from the cafe staring at us again?”I crouched, forcing a smile. “Maybe he’s waiting for someone.”We headed toward the school gates.We were late.i barely went to sleep last night. Thoughts looped all night, and when exhaustion finally won, my alarm went off.Regent Premier School stood ahead ; polished, perfect and expensive.I definitely couldn’t afford it but Ironically, my grandparents could. A trust fund they set up the moment Flavian was born.The same people who begged me not to have him.“He’ll ruin your life.” they said but he was the only thing holding it together right now.“Good morn

I turn to face the man I haven’t been able to forget.I’m braced for it — the judgment, the lecture, the look that says bad mother.But he doesn’t look at me.He crouches in front of my son.“Here, buddy. The Kit Kats I promised.”My spine stiffens. “What did I say about taking food from strangers?”“Relax,” he says, finally acknowledging me. “He was hungry. I offered to share so he’d know it was safe.”“Well, thanks, but he doesn’t need them. We’re leaving to get food.”“He can have them later.” His tone is calm. Too calm. “Here, buddy.”It feels like a power play. My son looks between us, unsure. He’s already had a long day.“Fine,” I say. “You can have them.”He takes them quietly. “Thank you.”I stand. “What are you even doing here? Do you just hang around here all day?”His jaw tightens. “I was leaving a board meeting when I saw him alone. I approached out of concern.”“Concern, my ass.”I grab my son's hand. “Say goodbye.”“Goodbye, Mr. Flavian,” my son says softly.I don’t look

The house felt wrong after Flavian fell asleep. Not quiet in a comforting way. Just hollow like something bad had already happened and the walls were waiting for me to notice.Tiffany Farrow’s card sat on the kitchen counter, bright and accusing, I shoved it into a drawer like that could erase it.I’d already done laundry, cleaned the fridge, vacuumed twice. My body was exhausted but my mind refused to shut up.So I opened a bottle of red wine.If fear wouldn’t knock me out, maybe Merlot would..My mind drifted back to the week I found out I was pregnant.Grandma had made anchovy salad. I’d barely smelled it before I was in the bathroom throwing up. They rushed me to the ER. The doctor came back pale, holding my folder like it might explode.pregnant.Grandma cried. Grandpa didn’t yell which was somehow worse. He just kept asking how I could be so careless, how my life would be ruined before it even started.I didn’t understand any of it and despite their attempts to make me do the ''

FlavianThe office was silent in the way only expensive spaces could be. The kind of quiet designed to keep thoughts organized, contained.Normally, it worked.Up here, problems turned into numbers. Risks turned into contracts. Decisions were clean and Controlled.Tonight, none of that helped.I loosened my tie and stared out at the city, lights scattered below like they meant something. Like there was a pattern I was supposed to understand.All I could hear was her voice.You could have just asked me.It hadn’t been loud. That was the problem. No anger or dramatics. Just hurt.My phone rang. My driver. I’d called him to take me home, hoping the familiar routine would quiet my head. I left the building, rode the elevator down, and slid into the back seat. He drove the way he always did,silent.Tonight, I would have appreciated otherwise.I was home before I registered the drive. I didn’t take off my jacket. Didn’t turn on all the lights. I stood by the window, the glass reflecting a v

FLAVIAN'S POVI was reviewing the deposition outline when my secretary informed me the lawyers had arrived.I gathered the remaining papers and left my office, already in the mindset I used for situations like this. Depositions weren’t new. This wasn’t the first time I’d had to defend my company’s integrity or the technology people loved to misunderstand when it suited them.I opened the conference room door.And she was there.Fiona Carlisle.She didn’t belong in my office. She didn’t belong in this building. And she definitely didn’t belong anywhere near this case.Yet there she stood, composed and painfully beautiful, holding a folder like she hadn’t occupied my thoughts for weeks.Something tight and unwelcome pulled in my chest.This deposition had just become complicated.I didn’t hide my reaction fast enough. Fiona, however, gave nothing away. Her posture was perfect, expression neutral, eyes on the documents as though I were nothing more than a name on a legal notice.I force