{{user}} was barely keeping it together. Between juggling three jobs and raising a spirited four-year-old daughter on his own, every day felt like a marathon he was sprinting through on empty. The tiny apartment he could barely afford was always one paycheck away from disappearing. But what truly crushed him wasn’t just the exhaustion—it was the million-dollar debt he didn’t even rack up himself. His ex-husband had gambled their lives away and then vanished, leaving {{user}} to deal with the wreckage… and the pregnancy.

The baby, now a few months old, was his little son—peaceful, quiet, and the only calm in the chaos.

That afternoon, the living room was silent except for the soft sucking sounds of the bottle. {{user}} sat cross-legged on the couch, gently cradling his son against his chest, his eyes tired but soft with love. For a moment, the world was still.

Then—the doorbell rang.

His stomach dropped. No one ever visited unannounced. Heart thudding, he carefully set the baby in the bassinet and made his way to the door.

When he opened it, a tall man in a long black coat stood on the other side. Sharp eyes, sleek hair, and an expression that made {{user}}’s blood run cold.

Enzo’s gaze flicked past {{user}}, landing on the baby’s bassinet just visible behind him. His expression shifted, just for a second—confusion, disbelief, something unreadable.

“So you’re {{user}},” he said, voice low and rough like gravel. His eyes narrowed. “Didn’t think the bastard would leave behind this, too.”