THREE

GREGOR

Her eyes narrowed in blatant disbelief. Watching her, I was convinced she was staging some grand performance, and this would be her final act. As for her appearance, she was the kind of woman I’d pass by without a second glance. The idea that we’d had a child together? Ridiculous. My type was blonde and bold, and if we’d ever tangled in the sheets, that fiery red hair would have burned itself into my memory. I’d never once taken a redhead to bed.

"Hello, miss," I greeted, savoring her unease. The way she shivered was almost intoxicating. With my own life spiraling, seeing someone else unravel felt strangely gratifying.

"You came..." She stuttered.

"Of course. If my son's life is in danger like you said, did you really think I'd disregard that?"

Her eyes narrowed again. Maybe it was just her thing. My blunt answer had clearly shaken her. Up close, I was certain I’d never slept with her. She lacked everything I usually wanted in a woman for a night—no tempting curves, no makeup, and those lips looked like they’d never met a tube of lipstick. She was the antithesis of my usual tastes, so why bother lying without even trying to play the part? Most women who tried this at least put on a show before DNA tests and lawyers exposed them. Was it possible she was telling the truth?

"Could you stop looking at me like that?" she said, tensing before swallowing hard.

"Sorry," I said, my voice clipped. It was an act I could manage. As she'd asked, I stopped studying her plain features and got to the point. "So where's your son?"

My question jolted her into action. Energy shot through her slender frame as she led me down the hall. I let my gaze linger on her once more. She didn’t seem scared, which set her apart from the usual gold-diggers. Since the moment we met, she’d worn a steely look that, if I read it right, meant she despised me. The ward door swung open, and I caught my first look inside. The cramped room stank of antiseptic, but not the reassuring kind. It was a thin mask for the countless tragedies these walls had seen. I brushed past the wary glances of two people and focused on the boy in the bed, locked in a battle for his life. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. The boy, I hated to admit, drew me in. I stepped closer, taking in his Mediterranean features, sun-kissed skin, hair black as midnight, and—was that a resemblance to me? No way. My mind had to be playing tricks. I forced myself to remember why I was here. Not to rescue a child, but to confront someone who’d tried to drag me into this mess. None of it added up.

"Where's the doctor?" I demanded, hoping to end this quickly.

"He's coming," a middle-aged man answered. I heard him mutter under his breath, loud enough for me to catch. "Gregor Vallis?" Of course. Everyone would see me as the monster here, given the boy's condition. The whispers pissed me off more than they should have. A bit of regret, too. Typical life of Gregor: stunted contracts, a forced engagement, and now daddy-baby issues. My thoughts scattered when the doctor rushed in.

"You're the father?" he asked, a bit surprised himself. My first instinct was to deny it outright, but for some reason, my mouth stayed shut. Maybe it was the small, human part of me hoping that innocent, lifeless-looking child and I shared a blood type.

"Seems so," I said, honestly.

"Okay. Please, come with me."

I nodded, stealing one last glance at the woman who’d dragged me into this. She crouched by the boy’s side, eyes shut tight. Something about her radiated sincerity, and though doubt still gnawed at me, I found myself hoping she was wrong. I followed the doctor down a dim, flickering hallway. The hospital looked like it was begging for a fresh start.

"Please, take a seat," came a voice I hadn’t noticed before. The woman’s uniform marked her as a nurse, so I swallowed my pride and sat down. She wrapped a band around my arm and prepared a needle. At last, my mind cleared enough to focus on what I really wanted.

"Doctor!" I called to the man who'd brought me here. He turned, and I continued. "I need you to do something for me."

"Which is?" he asked.

I winced as the needle slid in, the nurse drawing blood without a word of warning. Ignoring her cold efficiency, I pressed on with what I needed to say.

"Could you run a paternity test on the boy?"

The doctor gave me a puzzled look before replying, "Okay." He turned to the nurse drawing my blood and gave her instructions before leaving the room. I finally relaxed once the needle was out of my skin. Then the nurse asked, "Your name?"

***

JUSTINA

By nightfall, Adonis’s teacher and the headmaster had vanished. I’d asked the doctor about Mr. Gregor, but he said the man was gone. I was still spinning from the shock that he’d shown up at all. Maybe he meant it as a cruel joke, but to me, it felt like a small miracle. If only Laura could have witnessed it. A rare moment of quiet reminded me my stomach was empty, and if I didn’t eat soon, I’d end up as a patient myself. The hospital cafeteria was daylight robbery, so I decided to dash home, grab some clothes for Adonis, and eat something that would keep me going through the night and probably into tomorrow. As I hurried out, rain started to fall, quickly swelling into a downpour. I was drenched in seconds, searching for shelter, but the sky was relentless. Running back to the hospital was pointless; I was already blocks from my apartment and soaked to the bone. So I trudged on, shoes squelching, rain whipping at my skin like it had a vendetta. I felt exposed, shivering. Passing cars sent waves of filthy water splashing over me, just another Meriwiel hazard. Summoning what little strength I had left, I pushed forward. A car horn blared, headlights nearly blinding me. I cursed the bastard behind the wheel of the black Aston Martin and kept walking, but it soon became clear the car wasn’t just trying to pass. It was following me. Refusing to let fear win, I spun around to face the driver.

"Are you following me?" The windows were tinted, but I was sure whoever sat behind them heard me loud and clear. The passenger door swung open, and a low voice said, "Get in."

As if I’d trust a friendly stalker offering me a lift. I leaned down, ready to unleash the sharpest insult I could muster, but stopped cold. I recognized the driver. Our past stretched further than I cared to remember, and the sight of him only fueled my anger. Why was Mr. Gregor tailing me?