Chapter 21
The resemblance had been haunting him ever since he'd opened Brenson's file, but standing in the lobby of James Floyd's clothing store was something else entirely.
His palms were damp, his throat felt like it was closing up.
Every step towards the reception desk in the admin wing felt weighted, as though the floor itself might give way.
The blonde secretary looked up from her computer, her face lighting with easy recognition followed by confusion. Then she frowned, blinking twice, her eyes rounding. "Oh... Hello," she said warmly. "You look so much like James. Are you related?"
Ronin's mouth opened but nothing came out. But before he could answer, the office door swung open, and James Floyd stepped out.
His face was open, easy, the kind of expression that invited trust. Then his gaze caught Ronin, and he stopped dead.
The confusion was immediate and unguarded. His eyes roamed Ronin's face, scanning, cataloguing every similarity, as if he were staring into an unfinished reflection.
"I don't...know you," James said slowly. His brows drew together, then lifted with a half-smile that didn't quite disguise his unease. "But is there something my parents haven't told me?"
Ronin swallowed, his pulse loud in his ears. Not your parents, he thought bitterly. The words scraped his throat. "No," he managed. "But I do need to talk to you. May I come in?"
James hesitated, still studying him, still trying to fit Ronin into some frame of recognition. Then, reluctantly, he stepped aside. "Yes," he said at last, pushing the door wide.
As Ronin crossed the threshold, he knew the next conversation was going to change his life. Behind him, the door clicked shut.
Ronin was still in a daze after the events of the last few days when the doorbell rang.
And the person on the other side was the last person he wanted to see.
He consciously relaxed his grip on the door as he stared at the woman who had wrecked his life. Who was he kidding? He had done it to himself.
"Go home, Amanda," he said, his tone laced with steel.
"No," she said quickly, her voice low but sharp.
"You have been avoiding me. If you don't want the whole neighbourhood to know what we have been up to, then you'd better let me in.
" Her chin lifted towards the low hedge where Gwenda lingered, pretending to busy herself with the roses, but stealing glances all the same.
Something flickered across Ronin's face then, a hardness that hadn't been there before.
He used to soften when Amanda looked at him like that—eyes shining, mouth tremulous, as though she were the wounded one.
It used to make him feel he owed her something.
Like he was powerful and macho and had all the answers to her problems.
But not anymore.
His mouth was a flat line, his tone iron. "Not today. Not here. You've done enough damage already."
Amanda's lips parted, stunned by the steel in his voice, but he didn't wait for her answer. He closed the door firmly, the click of the latch final, and leaned back against it, breathing hard.
For the first time in months, he hadn't caved.
He could hear more footsteps crunching the gravel on the path followed by low voices. Ronin knew who that was and hurried to open the door and stop the trainwreck.
Too late.
David, still in his school kit, slung his bag higher on his shoulder as he came up the drive. His stride faltered when he saw Amanda on the step, baby basket at her feet—the picture of a woman who didn't belong there and was determined to force herself in, anyway.
"How are you, David?" she asked brightly, as if they'd known each other for years, her voice lilting with false familiarity.
David stared at her like she were something the cat had dragged in, then turned his gaze on his father, sharp and accusing. His mouth thinned , betrayal flickering in his eyes.
Ronin felt the ground tilt beneath him. "Let's take this inside," he muttered, stepping aside.
Amanda triumphantly swept up the basket and crossed the threshold, the faint smell of baby powder following her.
David dropped his bag in the hall with a thud and stalked into the kitchen, but Ronin knew he was hovering.
He didn’t run upstairs like usual. The boy's presence was heavy, a silent witness just out of sight.
Every cupboard door left ajar, every creak of the floorboards in the kitchen told him David was straining to hear.
Ronin could only brace himself and let this play out. There would be no hiding whatever came next.
Amanda made herself comfortable on the sofa, her coat sliding off one shoulder, as though she belonged there. Her gaze swept the room, lingering too long on the original paintings Sage had chosen, on the polished wood and expensive furniture.
"You have a beautiful house," she said lightly, but there was no mistaking the gleam of avarice in her eyes—hungry, possessive, as though she were already imagining herself inside these walls.
Then her gaze swung back to him as the mask slid in place, softer now, lips parted just so.
"I'm leaving James. I can't keep doing this.
You know he's not kind to me. And this baby.
.." She brushed her hand over the blanket in the basket where the baby gurgled.
"You need to take responsibility, Ronin. I have nowhere else to go."
Ronin stood with his hands on the back of a chair, listening, his expression flat. "I'm sorry, Amanda. But I can't help you."
Her eyes widened, lips trembling with what he realized was practiced hurt.
He went on, voice hardening. "If the paternity test shows I'm the father—which I highly doubt—then I'll support the child.
But Amanda, I've never been with you without protection.
Even the last few times a year ago, when I was drunk, I still remembered to use a condom every single time.
" He exhaled sharply. "You mentioned family. Go back to yours."
Amanda rose, her movements fluid, calculated. She closed the space between them with a slow sway of her hips, her hand brushing against his arm.
Ronin flinched back, circling behind the sofa as though it were a shield between them. His jaw tightened. "Don't."
Her face crumpled into a wounded pout. "You're really going to push me away? After everything we were to each other? It's Sage, isn't it? But you never married her. And you kept coming back to me."
"I'm asking you to leave," he said, ignoring everything she said. "Or would you rather I call the police?"
For a moment she just stared at him, stunned, as though no one had ever spoken to her that way.
Then the doorbell rang.
Ronin's posture seemed to relax a little. He quickly crossed to the door, half-relieved for the interruption, half-dreading who it might be.
He opened it—and froze.
Sage stood on the step, travel-worn, her hair loose around her face. Her voice was steady, almost casual, though her eyes held something else entirely.
"Hello, Ronin."
Sage brushed past him before he could find the words, the scent of rain and travel clinging to her. It was her house—her home—and she crossed the threshold with the surety of someone who belonged there, even if she had fled ten days prior.
She was halfway down the hall when a whimper stopped her cold. A faint, gurgling cry from the drawing room.
Her body went rigid.
Ronin's hand caught at her arm, voice tight. "Sage—wait. It's not what you think."
But she was already moving, only to come to an abrupt halt. Her buttercup-yellow cardigan was bright against the backdrop of the wide window, her lace undershirt delicate above her jeans. Amanda looked vibrant, alive in a way that only sharpened the hurt already clawing its way into her chest.
The scene in the drawing room landed like a blow. Amanda, perched on the sofa with the baby basket at her feet, her expression composed, but she couldn't hide the smugness creeping in.
Sage's voice was ice. "What is she doing here, Ronin?"