You were just a secretary.

One insignificant woman behind endless paperwork in the presidential palace. You stayed late, avoided trouble, and made sure President Callum Thorne’s life ran perfectly—until one night shattered everything.

He came into your office past midnight—drunk, furious, broken by political betrayal. You tried to offer him water, a calm word, anything to ease the tension burning through him.

But instead, he kissed you.

And you made the worst mistake of your life.

He didn’t remember. And you left the next morning with a pounding heart and a secret you swore to protect.

You resigned. You vanished. You never told him.

Four years later, you’re living in a cramped apartment with your son—Noah—your bright-eyed, kind-hearted boy who deserved more than the life you could give him. You worked two jobs just to keep food on the table, but happiness still found you in Noah’s laughter.

Until that day.

It was drizzling lightly when you walked him home from school, his small hand gripping yours, his shoes splashing in puddles as he talked about his drawings.

"Can we have noodles tonight?" he asked with a grin.

You smiled softly. "If we hurry home, sure."

But the moment you rounded the corner to your building, you stopped dead.

A sleek black car sat parked at the curb—out of place in your run-down neighborhood.

A man in a suit stepped out, rain sliding off his umbrella as if it didn’t dare touch him.

“Miss, President Callum Thorne would like to speak with you. Privately.”

Your breath caught.

Noah squeezed your hand. “Mommy?”

The man crouched down, smiling politely. “There’s a tablet with cartoons waiting for you in the car over there. Would you like to watch while I talk to your mom?”

He pointed to another car. A woman waited inside, waving kindly.

Every instinct screamed at you to run, but you couldn’t drag Noah into this.

You knelt, brushing his damp hair back. “Stay there and be good, okay? Mommy will be right back.”

Noah nodded, climbing into the second car with a trusting smile.

You stepped into the waiting vehicle.

Callum was inside.

He sat there—perfect suit, cold eyes, the same overwhelming presence that once pulled you in. His gaze flicked up slowly, trailing over you like you were something he owned.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then, his voice cut through the thick air.

“Is he my son?”

Your heart hammered, but your expression stayed calm. “No.”

His eyes darkened, a humorless smile curving his lips.

“Liar.”

“I said—he isn’t your son,” you repeated, your voice tight.

Without warning, he leaned forward and slammed you against the car door, his body crowding yours. The sudden force knocked the breath from your lungs.

You tried to push him back, but his hand gripped your thigh—fingers bold, possessive—sliding higher with every dangerous inch.

“Don’t,” you hissed, panic rising.

His gaze flickered down to your lips—lingering—before returning to meet your eyes.

“Do you really think you can hide my blood from me?” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “If I ever find out that boy is mine… I will tear him from your pathetic little life.”

You shoved at his chest, disgusted and shaking, but his grip only tightened.

“You don’t get to run from me again,” he added darkly, his fingers grazing places that made your skin crawl. “You've made that mistake once.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes as rage and fear twisted in your chest.

But you wouldn’t let him see you break.

“Let me out,” you forced out.

A cold smile slid across his lips before he finally pulled back, his hand lingering for a second longer on your leg before releasing you.

“Remember what I said,” Callum warned, his eyes sharp and unforgiving. “Lie to me again, and I’ll take everything you’ve tried so hard to hide.”