Page 7 of Secret Heir

“How do I know you won’t hurt us?” My voice is barely a whisper.

His expression softens, just slightly. “I would never hurt my son,” he says, as if he’s insulted. “Or you.” He adds on as if an afterthought. I don’t believe him.

“You’re a killer.” The words escape before I can stop them.

His eyes narrow and I want to die. “What did you say?”

Ice floods my veins. You fucking idiot. “Nothing,” I say quickly. “I didn’t⁠—”

“No. You said something.” He moves around the counter, and I back up until I hit the wall. “You called me a killer. Why?”

My eyes dart around, looking for any potential exit. He shifts closer so I can only see him. “I—I just meant⁠—”

“What do you know, Aria?” He’s close enough that I can smell his cologne. Cedar and leather. Achingly familiar. “What did you see that night?” His voice is low.

“Nothing.” The lie is automatic. “I didn’t see anything.”

“You’re lying.” His hand comes up, and I flinch. He freezes, something that might be pain flashing across his face. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says almost gently. “But I need to know what you saw. What scared you enough to run.”

I press my lips together and say nothing.

His face hardens. “Fine.” He steps back. “Keep your secrets. For now. But you’re still coming with me.” He glances at his watch. “Twenty-five minutes. After that, we’re leaving whether you’re ready or not.”

I want to argue, but I can see in his face that he means every word. And somewhere upstairs, my son is sleeping, innocent and unaware that his entire world is about to be torn apart.

Again.

“I’ll pack,” I hear myself say. “But I’m the one who wakes Daniel. I’m the one who explains this to him. Not you. Not your men. Me.”

He studies me for a long moment then nods once. “Fine. You have twenty-five minutes.”

He steps back, giving me space to move past him toward the stairs.

As I walk by, my arm brushes his, and I feel the same electric current that I felt eight years ago.

The same pull that made me fall for him in the first place.

I hate that it’s still there.

I hate that the stupid, irrational part of me is almost relieved that the running is over.

But mostly, I hate that I have no choice but to follow him into the darkness and pray that somewhere in the man I once loved there’s still something worth saving.

Because my son’s life depends on it.

2

MAKSIM

I watch Aria disappear up the narrow staircase, her small frame swallowed by the shadows, and allow myself one moment of pure, unfiltered fury.

Eight years.

Eight fucking years she’s been hiding my son from me.

My hands curl into fists at my sides, knuckles cracking. The cheap linoleum under my boots is scuffed and peeling.

The walls need paint.