Chapter 7

“I’m sorry, Momma…”

Luzon’s soft voice, tinged with remorse, broke through my anger. He stood there, his big round eyes filled with innocence as he gazed up at me. It was hard to stay mad when I looked into those eyes.

I knelt down and pulled him into a gentle hug. “Shh, it’s okay, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re just a little boy.”

He clung to me tightly, his small arms wrapped around my neck. I could feel his tiny heart pounding against my chest.

I looked over at Lazarus, who was watching us with a strangely distant expression. It was as if he were observing from afar—detached and emotionless.

“Momma… is Daddy mad at me?” Luzon’s voice wavered with worry.

I glanced back at Lazarus. “No, sweetheart. Daddy’s not mad at you. He’s just… different. That’s all.”

I didn’t know how to explain it to my son, so I kept it simple. I didn’t want to burden him with the complexities of adult emotions.

Luzon nodded, though he still looked uncertain. “Okay, Momma.”

I gave him a reassuring smile. “You’re a good boy, Luzon. Momma loves you so much.”

He smiled back, his eyes lighting up. “I love you too, Momma.”

I stood up, held his hand, and looked at Lazarus. “We should go inside now. It’s getting late, and you need to rest.”

Lazarus nodded, and the three of us walked back into the luxurious room. It felt strange being in such an opulent space with my son and the man I once loved. Everything felt surreal.

As I settled Luzon onto the bed, I couldn’t help but think about the complexity of our situation. A part of me still carried anger and resentment toward Lazarus, yet I couldn’t deny the connection between him and our son.

“Are you sleepy, baby?” I asked when Luzon nuzzled his face against Lazarus’s neck.

“I feel close… like Laki,” he murmured softly.

He didn’t respond after that. He slowly closed his eyes, his long, thick lashes almost touching his cheeks.

Lazarus and I stood there for a few minutes, watching Luzon, who seemed comfortable in his father’s arms.

When Luzon fell asleep, I carefully took him from Lazarus. He handed our son over to me gently and even helped pull the comforter up. Together, we laid Zon on the soft bed, and I tucked the blanket up to his chin.

Silence enveloped us.

“Calista.”

He broke it.

I bit my lower lip and even the inside of my cheek, trying to steady myself—just like how calm he appeared right now.

“Let’s talk outside,” he said, still looking at me.

Despite the pain I had inflicted on him earlier—tearing the DNA test results and hitting him with my résumé—he remained calm.

So different from the Lazarus I knew before.

I kissed my son’s forehead and adjusted his shoulder-length hair. When I looked up, Lazarus was already watching me. I rolled my eyes and walked past him.

I heard his footsteps behind me as I opened the door and stepped out first.

Just like earlier, the opulence of his condo still amazed me. There weren’t too many furnishings, but even a single glance at the tables, sofas, and television told me they cost more than the house I bought in the subdivision.

The living room was decorated in shades of white, gray, black, maroon, and dark blue. It wasn’t harsh on the eyes. It looked simple—yet lonely and pale.

He stepped out moments later. I hadn’t gone down the steps yet. There were five steps leading down to what seemed to be the main living area.

“To my room,” he said.

I swallowed hard when I heard his deep baritone voice right behind me.

“Huh? Why in your room? We can talk in the kitchen, downstairs, or even here,” I said, turning to face him and stepping back slightly.

“Nothing will happen, Calista.”

He was referring to what happened years ago.

I don’t know why I’m still affected by it while he seems completely unfazed. Sometimes I think the only thing he truly wants from me is my son.

“I said nothing will happen,” he repeated calmly.

I let out a deep breath. “Nothing? What about before? Even in an empty classroom, something happened. And now, inside your room?” I looked away, focusing on the abstract paintings on the wall. “I just don’t want that to happen again, Lazarus.”

“It could happen anywhere,” he said sternly. “If I can’t control myself, then something will happen—anywhere.”

He stepped closer but paused after passing me, then turned to face me again. “Anywhere.”

Just like those abstract paintings, he was complicated.

I glared at him.

“You’re really—”

“Stop using foul language, Calista,” he interrupted. He stood rigidly, about a meter away from me. “You’re acting like you weren’t raised properly.”

My blood boiled.

“What do I care?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Please, enlighten me,” I said sarcastically.

His eyes hardened. “Watch your words. You’re in my place, and you’re wearing my clothes.”

Then he walked toward one of the three doors in the hallway—the one that led to his room.

I looked down at the white shirt I was wearing.

So what if I’m wearing his clothes? Would he take them back if I angered him?

I pushed those thoughts aside and followed him.

When we entered his room, I didn’t bother admiring it. It was simple—minimalist. Just the essentials. Everything looked expensive but practical.

Maybe he rarely stays here.

I avoided staring at him too long. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and I refused to let my gaze wander.

He gestured for me to sit. I sat on the sofa while he remained standing in front of me, towering over me.

“I want Luzon to live here,” he said firmly.

“I already know my answer, Lazarus,” I replied, leaning back against the sofa. I deliberately kept my eyes on his face.

“I’m not asking,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m informing you.”

“Can you please stop this?” My hands clenched against my thighs.

Ever since I saw him again, my temper had been on edge. I was constantly holding myself back.

“All I want is simple, Calista,” he said calmly. Even when I could see anger flicker in his eyes, his voice remained steady. “I want my child.”

The finality in his tone tightened my chest.

“This isn’t fair,” I said. “He’s not even your child! If you want children, there are plenty of women who would willingly give them to you. Just stay away from my son, Lazarus!”

“The child himself said I’m his father.”

Neither of us would back down.

“Lie to me again,” he said coldly, scrutinizing me.

I lowered my gaze. “This conversation is going nowhere.” I turned slightly away from him. “I’m leaving.”

I stood up but stopped when another thought crossed my mind. I faced him again.

“I won’t let my son live here. He might grow up to be like you—”

Before I could finish, he pushed me back onto the sofa.

I gasped.

He placed his hand firmly on the backrest beside my head and leaned closer.

I froze as he stepped between my legs, trapping me in place.

“Lazarus! Get away from me—”

He leaned in dangerously close.

“Who’s the asshole now, Calista?”