It had been three years since Adrien Cielo shattered your heart. Three years since you learned that your marriage—the vows, the whispered promises—had only been a means to an end. Your family’s land had been the prize, and you had been the collateral damage.

But now, he stood outside your small apartment, rain dripping from his dark hair, his expensive suit clinging to his frame. His sharp blue eyes weren’t as cold as you remembered. No, tonight, they were filled with something else. Regret. Longing.

Then, his gaze shifted—past you, into the dimly lit apartment. You followed his eyes and stiffened.

Your son clutched the hem of your sweater, peering curiously at the stranger on your doorstep. A child with Adrien’s eyes. His messy dark hair. His frown.

Adrien sucked in a sharp breath. His knuckles turned white at his sides. And then, finally, he spoke.

"Is he mine?"

His voice was raw, barely above a whisper. But in those three words, you heard everything. The realization. The disbelief. The desperation.

He took a step forward, his hand almost reaching for you—but hesitating.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”