Chapter 8 - The Choice
The news broke before sunrise.
Santa saw the headline on Mark's phone while packing Luke's overnight bag with trembling fingers that refused to steady.
For a moment, the world narrowed until all he could hear was the faint rustle of fabric and the distant beeping of hospital monitors down the corridor.
His stomach dropped.
"I told him not to show anyone," Santa whispered, voice barely there.
Mark frowned immediately, lowering his phone. "You can't blame him," he said carefully. "This isn't his fault. The media was always going to catch something."
Santa didn't respond, because it didn't feel like "something" had been caught, but it felt like everything had been exposed.
Outside the hospital entrance, cameras clustered like vultures.
The moment the sliding doors opened, noise rushed in like a physical force.
Flashes and shouts everywhere while questions overlapping into chaos.
Santa flinched instinctively.
His grip tightened around Luke without meaning to, pulling him closer to his chest as if instinct alone could shield him from lenses and judgment.
Luke stirred slightly, confused by the sudden pressure. "Papa...?" he mumbled sleepily.
Santa swallowed hard. "It's okay, sweetheart," he murmured, forcing calm into his voice. "Just stay close."
Perth stepped forward before Santa could retreat.
Force was already at his side, expression unreadable and sharp enough to cut through the noise.
But the cameras didn't stop, they never did.
Perth didn't look at them. He looked at Santa, then at half asleep Luke, his small face pressed against Santa's shoulder, and something in him made a decision so absolute that it didn't need time.
He turned toward the crowd.
"Yes," Perth said calmly.
Silence cracked open instantly.
Every camera froze for half a heartbeat before erupting into rapid flashes.
Gasps rippled through the reporters like wind through dry leaves.
Santa's breath caught painfully in his chest. He hadn't expected hesitation, but he also hadn't expected certainty like this.
For the first time, the crowd actually stepped back.
Force moved instantly, guiding them toward the car with practiced efficiency.
Santa couldn't move properly.
His mind was still stuck on those words.
My son.
Inside the car, silence pressed heavy and suffocating. Luke was carefully buckled into a seat, still half asleep, blinking slowly at the unfamiliar tension.
Santa stared at Perth in disbelief.
"You didn't have to..." he began, voice breaking slightly, unable to finish the sentence.
Perth looked at him then.
Santa's chest tightened painfully.
Luke shifted in his seat, rubbing his eyes. "Papa," he mumbled, confused. "Why were people yelling?"
Santa immediately leaned over, brushing his hair gently. "Because they talk too much," he said softly, forcing a small smile.
Luke considered this seriously.
Then nodded. "Daddy said loud people don't matter."
Perth's mouth softened almost imperceptibly at that.
Tanapon Residence was not warm.
It was not welcoming, it was marble floor filled with silence and ceilings were too high for comfort. Every step echoed like a reminder that this place had never been meant for softness.
Perth carried Luke inside carefully while Santa followed slightly behind, unsure where to place his hands, his presence, his breathing.
The air itself felt expensive, and heavy. Perth's father was already waiting in the sitting room.
The moment his eyes landed on Luke, his expression darkened. "What is this?" the man demanded sharply.
No greeting or acknowledgment, just a pure judgment.
Perth stepped forward immediately.
"This is my son," he said simply.
Silence fell.
Santa instinctively moved closer to Luke, protective without even thinking.
The older man's gaze sharpened.
"A child born out of wedlock will destroy your reputation," he snapped. "Do you have any idea what this does to the company? To the family name?"
Perth's jaw clenched.
"I don't care."
The response was immediate that it made the old man's eyes hardened further.
Santa went pale.
His fingers tightened around Luke so quickly it startled the child slightly.
Perth moved instantly.
He stepped closer to Santa, placing one steady hand on his back. Then his other hand rested lightly on Luke's shoulder.
Silence deepened, even the air seemed to hesitate.
His father scoffed. "You're choosing sentiment over power."
Perth looked at him directly now.
"No," he said. "I'm choosing my family."
Luke peeked out from behind Santa's shoulder, curious and unafraid in the way only children could be.
The room froze again.
Luke tilted his head slightly. "Daddy says I should say hello."
A beat, then another.
Something in the older man's expression shifted, not softening, not yet, but cracking in a place long unused.
That night, Santa sat alone on the balcony.
The city stretched endlessly below them, lights flickering like a second sky.
He wrapped his arms around himself, unsure if the cold was from the wind or everything that had happened.
Footsteps approached softly behind him. Then two cups of tea were placed on the small table between them.
Perth nodded once. "Neither did I."
They sat side by side, not touching yet not apart. The silence between them was no longer empty, but it was full.
Perth didn't answer immediately.
His gaze stayed on the city below.
Then he spoke.
He turned slightly toward Santa.
"I can survive anything else."
A pause.
"But not that."
Santa's breath trembled.
For a moment, he looked like he might speak, like he might finally say everything.
Instead, he only nodded.
"I won't run," he said softly. "Not anymore."
Perth's hand slowly found his on the balcony railing.
Inside, Luke slept peacefully between unfamiliar luxury pillows, one arm tucked under his cheek, completely unaware that his existence had already shifted the balance of empires outside his door.
And for the first time in a long time...
Santa didn't feel like he was standing alone at the edge of a decision anymore.