Chapter 5: The Ghost is my son’s Father

LORA

So apparently when billionaire werewolf CEOs say "business dinner," they mean reservations at some fancy place where the menu doesn't have prices and the waiters look like they could buy my apartment with their tip money. Great.

I stood outside Le Bernardin—because of course he picked the most expensive restaurant in Manhattan—checking my reflection in the window for the third time. My black dress was simple but classy, the kind Maya called "don't-mess-with-me chic." Too bad I felt like throwing up.

My phone buzzed. Alex on video call, chocolate smeared across his cheek.

"Mommy! Mrs. Chen made cookies and I helped!"

My babysitter appeared on screen, this sweet elderly woman who lived next door and treated Alex like her own grandson. "He was very good today. Only tried to climb the bookshelf twice."

"Only twice? That's progress." I blew him a kiss. "Be good for Mrs. Chen, okay baby? Mommy will be home soon."

"Is daddy coming home too?"

My heart stopped. "What did you say sweetie?"

Alex tilted his head, those golden eyes suddenly too knowing for a three-year-old. "The man with eyes like mine. Is he my daddy?"

Oh god. How do kids just... know things?

"We'll talk about it later, okay? I love you."

After I hung up, I stood there for a minute trying not to hyperventilate. Alex had never asked about his father before. Never seemed to notice that other kids had daddies and he didn't. And now suddenly...

"Ms Blake?"

I spun around and there he was. Erin Marrock in a navy suit looking like he'd stepped out of some billionaire fantasy. Which I guess he had.

"You arrive just in time," he said, and there was something in his voice I didnt understand. Nervousness? No way. Guys like him didn't get nervous.

"Yeah well, I'm very professional." I smoothed my dress down, suddenly self-conscious. "This place looks... expensive."

"I have excellent taste."

"Or you're compensating for something."

The words slipped out before I could stop them. Erin's eyebrows shot up, then he actually smiled. Not that cold business smile from earlier—a real one that made something flutter in my chest.

"Sharp tongue, Ms Blake. I remember that."

Heat flooded my cheeks. Of course he remembered. That night three years ago, I'd been brave enough to match his wit word for word. Before life knocked me down and taught me to keep my mouth shut.

Inside, the restaurant was all soft lighting and hushed conversations. The kind of place where people made deals that changed the world over tiny portions of food I couldn't pronounce.

Our table was in a corner, private but with a view of the city lights. Erin held my chair out like a perfect gentleman, which somehow made me more suspicious.

"So," I said once we'd ordered wine I definitely couldn't afford, "corporate rebranding. Tell me about this project that requires relocating my entire life."

"Straight to business. I like that." He leaned back, studying me with those golden eyes. "Marrock Industries has grown rapidly over the past decade. Multiple acquisitions, diverse portfolio. Our brand identity is... scattered."

"Scattered how?"

"Each division operates with its own visual identity. Different logos, color schemes, messaging. It looks like we bought companies and forgot to integrate them."

I nodded, already seeing the problem. "No cohesive brand story. Customers don't know what Marrock Industries actually represents."

"Exactly." Something flickered in his expression—surprise? "Most consultants take weeks to grasp that concept."

"I'm not most consultants." I sipped my wine, trying to ignore how his gaze made my skin warm. "What's the timeline?"

"Six months. Complete overhaul—logos, websites, marketing materials, corporate communications. Everything from business cards to building signage."

"That's ambitious."

"I don't do small projects, Ms Blake."

The way he said my name made something twist low in my belly. This was dangerous territory. Business dinner, I reminded myself. Nothing more.

"About relocating to New York—"

"You'd prefer to work remotely?" His voice went cold again. "That's not acceptable."

"Excuse me?"

"This project requires daily collaboration. Face-to-face meetings. You can't manage that from Portland."

I set down my wine glass harder than necessary. "Mr Marrock, I have a three-year-old son. I can't just pack up and move across the country for six months."

"Why not? Single mothers relocate for work opportunities all the time."

The casual dismissal in his voice made my temper rise. "Single mothers also have responsibilities you clearly don't understand."

"Enlighten me."

God, he was arrogant. "Childcare, schools, routine. My son has never been away from me for more than a few hours. You want me to disrupt his entire life for your branding project?"

"I want you to consider what's best for your son's future." Erin leaned forward, his voice dropping low. "This contract could set you up financially for years. College funds, security, opportunities."

"Money isn't everything."

"Spoken like someone who's never been without it."

That hit like a slap. "You don't know anything about what I've been through."

"Don't I?" His golden eyes were intent now, studying my face like he was reading something there. "You fled Seattle three years ago. Pregnant, alone, starting over in Portland with nothing but determination and talent."

My blood went cold. "How do you know that?"

"I do my research, Ms Blake. Especially when I'm considering such a significant investment."

"Investment in what? My work or my personal life?"

"Both, apparently."

The waiter appeared with our appetizers, some tiny sculpture of food that probably had a French name. I stared at it, my appetite gone.

"You investigated me."

"I investigate everyone I work with."

"This feels like more than a background check."

Erin was quiet for a long moment, cutting his food with surgical precision. When he looked up, something had shifted in his expression.

"Your son," he said carefully. "Alex. He's three years old?"

My heart started pounding. "Yes."

"Born in Portland?"

"Yes." The word came out as a whisper.

"And his father?"

I met his gaze straight on, chin lifted in defiance. "Not in the picture."

"By choice?"

"His choice. He disappeared."

Erin set down his fork. The restaurant noise faded to background static. Everything narrowed to this moment, this table, those impossible golden eyes staring into mine.

"What does he look like?" Erin's voice was barely audible. "Your son."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only stare at the man sitting across from me—the father of my child—and wonder how long he'd known.

"He has his father's eyes," I whispered.

Erin's jaw clenched. "Golden eyes are rare."

"Yeah. They are."

The silence stretched between us, heavy with three years of secrets and lies and a little boy who'd asked about his daddy for the very first time today.

Finally, Erin spoke. "I think we need to have a different conversation."

He signaled the waiter. "Check, please."

"But we haven't finished—"

"We're finishing this somewhere private." His voice was rough now, all business polish gone. "My apartment. Now."

"I don't think so. I’m not going anywhere with you."

"Ms. Blake." He leaned forward, and I saw something dangerous flicker in those golden eyes. Something that made my breath catch. "Lora. We have a lot to discuss about our son."

He’s my son. Mine only.

But then—he slid something across the table. A photograph. One I’d never seen before. And there, in the corner, was my boy… smiling.

My heart stilled.

“How—how did you get this?”

He didn’t answer. He only stood, calm and lethal, as though the war between us had already begun.

"Come quietly, or I’ll make you."