All Chapters of His Heir, Her Secret: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

LucienThere are moments in a man’s life that sharpen him into something unrecognizable.Watching Isla shrink back from Damon’s grip—that was mine.I had known rage before. In boardrooms. In betrayal. In loss. But this—this was something far more primal. It hit me in the gut, then flared through my chest like fire licking bone.He touched her.He threatened my son.And he smiled while doing it.I didn’t wait for him to reach the end of the driveway before I turned to Marco. “I want him followed. Twenty-four-seven. I want to know where he eats, who he calls, what his lawyer had for breakfast. If he so much as breathes in Leo’s direction again—”“He’ll choke on it,” Marco finished, already dialing.I looked back at Isla. Her eyes were wide, her posture taut. But she hadn’t crumbled—not even when Damon made that disgusting claim about custody. She stood there like a lioness guarding her cub, and I swear I fell harder in that moment than I did when I first saw her again in Venice.I stepp

Lucien“Run it again. From the top.”I stood at the head of the long conference table, the windows behind me flooding the room with pale morning light. The skyline was a sharp line of glass and ambition—unforgiving, unrelenting. Just like the war I was about to wage.My legal team—five of the sharpest attorneys in New York, each of them handpicked by me—flipped through the dossiers and documents spread across the table. Every page had Damon’s name on it. Every page was a brick in the wall I was building to keep him far away from Isla and Leo.A junior associate cleared her throat and began again. “Damon Creed has no record of legal infractions—”“Public ones,” I corrected coldly. “Let’s not pretend the absence of evidence is the evidence of absence.”She flinched but nodded.Another lawyer, Myra—older, sharper, and too seasoned to be intimidated by my interruptions—tapped a file. “But this,” she said, “is our strongest angle. The old restraining order Isla filed back in college. It wa

Lucien I watched Isla disappear into the elevator, her hand still warm from mine, and for a full minute after the doors closed, I didn’t move. She had no idea how powerful she was. Walking into that room and recounting everything Damon had done to her—it would’ve shattered most people. But not Isla. She sat there, trembling but unbroken, a mother determined to protect her child. And when I looked into her eyes, I didn’t see the girl who ran from me years ago. I saw a woman who had clawed her way out of hell and stood taller because of it. And now it was my turn to make sure hell didn’t come back. I headed straight to my office, ignoring every phone call, every assistant trying to grab my attention. I shut the door behind me, locked it, and pulled up the secured file I’d been building for the last week. Damon Lancaster wasn’t just some scorned ex. He was dangerous, reckless, and unstable—and I had the documentation to prove it. I’d dug up employment records, restraining orders fi

Damon’s POV The world always had a way of biting back when you least expected it. I was in my office, nursing a scotch far too expensive for the kind of rage pulsing in my veins, when the news broke. I hadn’t even turned on the television—didn’t need to. My phone exploded with notifications. Mentions. Messages. Headlines blaring across my screen in bold, unapologetic fonts. LUXURY TYCOON LUCIEN Wolfe ANNOUNCES SECRET HEIR AND LONG-LOST LOVE The Wolfe Empire Now Has an Heir Public Statement: “They are the best part of my life—and I intend to protect and love them…” Protect and love. I smashed the glass against the edge of my desk. The sound shattered through the room, sharp and satisfying. My assistant flinched in the hallway beyond the glass door, but I didn’t call her in. Let her wonder. Lucien. Wolfe. That self-righteous bastard. He’d done it. He’d announced them to the world. He’d claimed what was mine. I strode to the television, turned it on, and watched as every m

Lucien There’s a particular silence in war rooms. It’s not the absence of noise—but the quiet hum of brains turning faster than mouths can speak. That’s what filled the floor of Wolfe & Price’s private legal conference suite this morning. A hush sharpened by the clatter of typed notes, paper shuffling, and the low, clipped phrases between attorneys. I stood at the head of the glass conference table, arms crossed, jaw locked tight. “This is going to get uglier before it gets better,” said Lena Shaw, lead counsel on our family litigation team. Mid-thirties, surgical in precision, and currently scouring Damon Cross’s petition like it had personally offended her. “He’s gone for full custody,” I said. “He’s not even pretending to negotiate.” “Because he doesn’t care about custody,” she replied coolly. “He cares about optics, control, and headlines. He’s posturing, Lucien. And I don’t think he knows what we’re capable of.” Oh, he didn’t. Not yet. “He has no proof,” I said. “He left