"He's not on the list," the volunteer spoke softly, glancing down at the clipboard before looking up at Rita with a strained smile. "Should I—?""No," Rita growled, crossing her arms. Her eyes followed the tall man into the main hall of the community center. "Let him come in. But if he messes it up, I swear on every scalpel I've ever sterilized, I will throw him out myself."Luke Oden had attended dozens of events in his life—charity galas, fundraising events, exclusive investor soirees—but nothing had ever made him feel this exposed. No tuxedos. No cameras. Just creaky tile floors, folding chairs, and the smell of hand sanitizer mixed with cinnamon muffins.The community center buzzed with the warm hum of chatter. Children dashed back and forth between painting tables. Teenagers wearing volunteer T-shirts handed out pamphlets. Somewhere offstage, James laughed, no doubt dragging Christiana toward the bounce castle.Luke didn't care.He saw only her.Amiriam stood at a makeshift podiu
"Rita, would you tell him I'm not here?" Amiriam growled, gazing through the peephole. Luke stood on the other side of the door with a bouquet of white gardenias and what seemed to be a leather-bound journal clutched in his hand.Rita, seated cross-legged on the couch with a half-eaten bowl of popcorn, rolled her eyes. "You’ve told him you’re not interested like, three times. The man's got the persistence of a stray cat that’s been fed once."Amiriam paced. "I don’t know what he expects. A romantic reconciliation montage? Flowers aren’t therapy. A six-year-old with a hand-drawn card isn’t accountable."Knocking. Again. Slightly louder this time."Amiriam, please," Luke whispered. "Just five minutes. I promise not to ask for more."She sighed. "Okay. Fine. Five minutes. Only because I'm not going to keep hiding behind curtains like a cartoon villain."Rita grumbled, "About damn time," and muted the TV as Amiriam opened the door.Luke looked. sorry. Not pretending. Gardenias shook in hi
"You think you can humiliate me and get away with it?" Stacy's voice lashed through the press conference room like a whip, shrill and trembling.Flashbulbs exploded. The microphones vibrated on their podium stands. Dozens of reporters leaned forward in trained interest, eager to consume her next words.Stacy was keeping it together in a snug cream-colored jacket, hair perfectly coiffed, but the mascara was already beginning to run. Beneath the surface was a woman unraveling, and the scent of drama was thick in the air."Luke Oden took advantage of me. Lied to me. He promised me a family, and then dumped me when it didn't fit his image," she announced, her fingers clenching on the edge of the podium. "He knew these children could be his. And he was still making plans for brunch with another woman."Someone in the rear mumbled. A flash photographed.Stacy's lawyer, a thin man with a foxface and too-shiny tie, stepped forward. "Ms. Royce has suffered not only emotional distress, but dama
"You knew, didn't you?"Amiriam's voice sliced into the quiet of early morning like a scalpel.Luke spun at the sound of her voice, standing rigid beside the garden archway of the community center. The light of dawn cast a golden glow upon his face, but it could not ease the chill between them."DON'T," she snapped, striding toward him. "You knew the results, Luke. And you said nothing."He had turned away, jaw clenched. "I picked them up yesterday. It wasn't. I didn't know how to tell you.""You didn't know how to say 'I'm not the father'?" Her laughter had been acidic. "That's not a tongue-twister, exactly."There was a silence of a beat before he went on. "I didn't want you to think I was saying it to win you back.""So rather, you stayed quiet and let me learn through Rita sending me a rumor headline?" Her arms folded across her chest as her voice dropped into a tremble. "You let the media offer the closure you owed me."In the center, James drew alongside Christiana, little finge
The grand Oden estate was unusually quiet that morning, the kind of stillness that seemed to whisper warnings through the ornate halls. Jackson Oden sat in his study, the thick scent of sandalwood mixing with the crisp rustle of paper. His desk was littered with open folders—legal documents, DNA reports, hospital files. But most pressing of all, a draft titled “Last Will and Testament.”He adjusted his glasses and stared at the document that had taken him months to consider and hours to dictate. There were too many uncertainties—questions about Luke’s true parentage still unanswered, Stacy’s sudden return, and the unrelenting whispers of betrayal threading through the family.Jackson exhaled deeply.Time to make things right.He picked up his pen and added another clause.“In the event that my death precedes the identification of Luke’s biological father, Luke Oden shall remain a legal heir and guardian of James Oden, with all rights and responsibilities entitled therein…”The ink flo
The smell of rain swept the wind through the Oden estate that morning, thick with the kind of tension that came before a storm. The mansion was still, too still, until the knock at the front door, staccato and sharp, echoed through the marble halls like a gunshot.Mrs. Oden's gaze rose from where she was seated in the drawing room, eyebrows squeezed. A maid opened the door, and Stacy stepped inside—hair immaculate, belly swollen with child, eyes shadowed but calculating.She had not been seen in months.She said without introduction, "I must speak with Jackson Oden."Mrs. Oden rose to her feet slowly, hands smoothing her ivory blouse. "You have the audacity to barge in here uninvited?"Stacy's lips twisted in a bitter smile. "I would not be here if it was not important. It is about the baby."Mrs. Oden folded her arms. "The child you claimed was Luke's, then vanished?"Stacy's jaw tightened. "I made errors. But this is not about me. The baby—my daughter—has a rare condition. Doctors s