Chapter 5

Dangerous Nights

Zariah’s POV

The first frost of winter had settled on New York City. Zariah tightened her scarf and guided Michael’s small hand in hers. 

“Are you sure about this, Mama?” he asked sleepily, rubbing one eye with his fist.

Zariah softened. “You said you wanted something I made, and not from a box, and I've been working all week. Tonight, I’ll make it up to you.”

His mouth curved into a tired but hopeful smile. At six years old, Michael was already perceptive, too grown for his age. 

The fluorescent lights of the twenty-four-hour grocery store spilled across the sidewalk as they approached. Inside, it was nearly empty. A teenager mopped the tiles at the front, humming off-key, and an elderly woman pushed a cart slowly down the cereal aisle.

Zariah grabbed a basket, crouched to meet Michael’s eyes and pulled a beanie cap over his head, and whispered, “Stay close, okay? We’ll be quick.”

He nodded solemnly. They moved through the aisles, her hands reaching for tomatoes, basil, garlic, and fresh bread. Michael plucked a bag of cookies from a shelf and held them up with a pleading look. 

Zariah sighed, then smiled. “Fine. But only after dinner.”

He nodded in appreciation and tossed them into the basket. For a brief moment, it felt almost normal, like they were just another family running errands late at night. No flashing cameras, no headlines. Just a mother and son.

Then the doors at the front slid open. The sound hit her first. The click-click-click of shutters.

She’d rejoiced too soon. “Zariah! Over here!”

Her blood ran cold. She could not let them see Michael.

She then instinctively moved in front of Michael, crouching down and clutching him close. His small hands fisted into her coat. She could feel his tiny heart racing against her chest.

“No, no, no,” she whispered, panic clawing up her throat. She had kept him hidden for six years, and she couldn’t stop now.

A figure stepped out from the end of the aisle. It was Adrian Blackwell.

Of course.

He wore a collared black sweatshirt with the shirt collar open. His dark hair was messy, under the harsh supermarket light. He looked like trouble wrapped in expensive fabric. But his eyes, when they went down to her crouched form, to the little boy pressed against her, he blinked.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Stay back,” Zariah hissed, shielding Michael.

Adrian didn’t listen. He strode forward, ignoring the paparazzi spilling into the store behind him. He stopped just a foot away, crouching low to her level.

“Relax,” he said, lowering his voice so that it was meant only for her. “I’m not here to hurt you. Or him.” His eyes slid briefly to Michael, who peeked up nervously before hiding his face again.

Zariah’s jaw tightened. “Then move.”

“Not until you let me help.” He glanced over his shoulder at the flashes growing brighter. “Unless you’d prefer your son’s face on the morning papers?”

Zariah’s stomach twisted, and she thought she was going to fall sick. Adrian wasn’t supposed to know; no one was. But she had no time to argue. Cameras were everywhere now. 

Her hands shook as she tried to shield Michael’s face. “Fine. But if you—”

“Save it,” Adrian cut in smoothly. He stood in one fluid motion, then bent and scooped Michael into his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey!” Zariah snapped, shooting up after him.

“Quiet,” Adrian said, calm but firm. Michael clung to his neck, eyes wide but silent. “Trust me for five minutes.” She hated how the cameras were closing in, how she had no other choice.

Adrian tightened his grip on Michael with one arm and reached for Zariah’s wrist with his free hand. “Head down. Follow me.”

Before she could resist, he pulled her along, cutting through the aisles with long, purposeful strides. The paparazzi shouted, stumbling after them, but Adrian didn’t slow. He pushed through a staff door, down a back hallway that smelled of bleach and cardboard, and shoved them all into the night.

The alley was cold, dark, and blessedly empty. Zariah bent, prying Michael gently from Adrian’s arms. She clutched him close, pressing her lips to his hair, murmuring, “You’re safe. You’re safe, baby.”

Michael buried his face in her neck, trembling.

Adrian leaned against the wall, breathing evenly, as if he’d just finished a casual stroll. 

“You hid him well,” he said quietly.

Her head snapped up. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t know,” Adrian went on, ignoring her glare. “Until tonight.” His eyes went back to Michael, then back to her. “That’s why you run, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve been protecting.”

Zariah’s throat tightened. “Don’t you dare tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” he said, his voice suddenly softer. Almost serious. “Not a word.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you for tonight.” Zariah really meant it. “Now that you know, we can just be friends now, right?”

Adrian scrunched his face. “Friends?” He closed the distance between them. “What do you mean?”

He was so close that she thought about reaching up on her tiptoes and kissing his lips. She shook those thoughts out of her head. “ I don’t think most men would want to be with a single mom.”

Adrian looked at her like she was crazy, and then he leaned in and placed a kiss on her lips, drawing back quickly before he kissed her in front of her child.

He smirked faintly, “Not possible, princess.”

Zariah shook her head and stormed off toward the waiting car at the curb, refusing to look back.

The next morning, sunlight streamed weakly through her curtains. Zariah’s phone buzzed relentlessly on the nightstand. Still half-asleep, she reached for it, squinting at the screen. There were a thousand missed calls and dozens of messages.

She sat up quickly, drawing the duvet to her chest. She opened the first notification, and it felt like she fell from a height.

“Zariah Fontelles’ Hidden Child?” An anonymous source who was seen with her recently had just confirmed this.

Her blood turned to ice. No. No. No.

She scrolled, fingers trembling. There it was, grainy photos from the night before. Her in the store, and Michael’s small figure, which was blurred but still visible. Her chest constricted until she couldn’t breathe. Her phone slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor.

Her secret was exposed, and very soon the truth about Michael would come to light. That he was Leonard Blackwell’s son.

And only one man knew. Adrian Blackwell. Her hands curled into fists, and her chest burned with anger. He’s promised to keep his mouth shut and he hasn't. Who else would have leaked information to the press after she’d instructed her PR team to clear up the mess of yesterday?

Of course, it was him. Her babysitter was under an NDA, and she could be sued if she tried. The 23-year-old student definitely wouldn’t risk it.

Who else would betray her so quickly? Who else had been seen with her lately, who knew?