Chapter 4: Noah

It was all coming at me so fast that I couldn’t keep up.

Wasn’t I already overextended? With everything going on at work and the new label launch coming up, I hardly needed more things to deal with.

It had been a week since Chris showed up, and now the kid, my kid, was living in my house with me. He reminded me of Brianne and my younger self in ways I could never have expected. Like how clumsy and shy he was, but also sharp, intelligent, and self-sufficient—like Brianne—and how he didn’t like to wear shoes or socks indoors—like me—to mention a few.

Today was the day. I was expecting the DNA test results to arrive this morning. I only had time to go for the test yesterday, and paid them extra to have the answer for me by today.

Directly after the blood test, they also recommended that I do another sperm analysis to ensure the low sperm count that caused my infertility diagnosis hadn’t worsened.

Whether Chris was my son or not was the real issue here. The answer would determine the path my life was going to take next.

I’d received a message notifying me that the file containing the DNA results had been sent to my office address two hours ago. By now, Candice had probably dropped the file on my desk.

My nerves were vibrating even before I arrived at the office building. I already knew within my very bones that Chris was my son, but I needed to be sure.

By the time I parked and got out of my midnight blue BMW M4 GTS, my palms were sweaty and my chest was burning hot.

The reality of having a son hadn’t hit me yet. It was as if I was aware of something impossible happening to me, but it was still too surreal for me to be convinced that it was here to stay. A part of me tried to continue living in denial, thinking Chris wasn’t mine because of Brianne’s infidelity, but the similarities were irrefutable.

Silvia was a lifesaver—albeit a very reluctant one. She was looking after Chris at home while I was trying to juggle work and my new reality, but I noticed this morning that her patience was beginning to run a little thin with me.

I slipped my left hand into my pocket while I held my laptop bag in the other. Deep in thought, I headed through the lobby, called and got into an empty elevator for once, which was nice, and rode it up to the top floor. As I stepped out of the elevator and into the reception area leading into the cubicle section, I got the reaction I always did whenever I entered a room; everyone stopped whatever they had been talking about before I walked in.

I greeted a few of my employees as I made my way to my office, ignoring the usual surreptitious looks, nervous rustling, and discreet murmurs following in my wake.

Candice greeted me with a cup of coffee and informed me that my first meeting with a potential client was set to start in an hour. Reassuring me that she’d made certain everything in my office was set up and ready to go.

I thanked her and went into my office, closing the door behind me. I let out a huff of relief, my chest already feeling less constricted, but only after a long sip of strong caffeine from my steaming cup.

The shelf against the wall left of me was where I showcased our best-selling wines and served them to my guests. As my secretary promised, the wine bottles and sparkling crystal glasses were elegantly arranged there, ready for my meeting. I always said it was just for hospitality, but it was in part a bribe, and also a way of testing what others thought about the wine.

I would usually study my potential clients’ reactions and expressions the moment the glass of wine reached their senses—twitching lips, flared noses, squinted eyes, or satisfied grins. I got the latter most of the time, along with lavish praises and compliments.

Even though it was the most effective way of introducing people to my brand, I didn’t always know if they were telling the truth. One of the many things I’d learned about human behavior was that most of the time, people would only show and say what they thought you wanted to see and hear.

You could never know anything beyond what others decide to reveal to you. That was a person's power over another.

Maybe that’d been the power Brianne had over me. If only I’d been able to see beyond her words back then—and paid closer attention to the way she’d acted around me—I would have known our relationship had in truth ended long before she cheated on me.

Despite the depressing turn my thoughts had taken, I stood there and looked around my office. As I took it all in, an uplifting sensation started to swirl around within my ribcage. Up here on the seventieth floor, I was on top of the world. This was my empire, my passion, my life—proof that I’d achieved the success and wealth I’d always strived for.

As always, my eyes lingered on the impressive floor-to-ceiling antique clock against the wall. It was a lustrous deep brown, skillfully carved from black walnut wood into the shape of a wine bottle. It had cost me almost half as much as my car, as I had to commission it from one of the country’s most well-known custom furniture artists, Silvadore—or that was what he called himself—but it was also one of my proudest purchases.

Then my eyes roved over to the two black, plush leather couches facing each other, and a see-through glass table that sat at the center atop a lush Louis Vuitton rug. That was where I hosted special guests that I wanted to feel more comfortable while I let them test the wine, showing off my wealth without making it seem like I was doing it.

The moment my gaze landed on the file looming in the middle of my work desk, my stomach collapsed to the floor. I padded hesitantly toward it—the whole time watching it as if it was about to jump for my jugular—picked it up, took a deep breath, and threw it open before I changed my mind. As I suspected, it was the result of the DNA test.

It was conclusive: Chris was my son.