Chapter 10
Isla
Ilocked the door to my office with trembling fingers. The click of the latch felt like a gunshot in the silent room, reverberating through my bones.
My legs gave out. I slid down against the door, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to breathe through the panic clawing at my throat.
The world was collapsing around me, faster than I could process.
My heart hammered so violently I could feel it in my fingertips, my vision blurring at the edges as cold sweat prickled along my hairline.
Leo's photo on my desk caught the morning light.
His smile—Cassian's smile—beamed back at me, oblivious to how everything had just changed.
The frame might as well have been radioactive for how it burned into my consciousness.
I could almost feel the heat of it across the room, a physical reminder of the secret I'd kept hidden for so long.
"There is no 'us.' There's you and me and Leo."
Cassian's words echoed in my head, cold and final, like ice water down my spine.
The way he'd looked at me—like I was a stranger.
An adversary. An enemy. Not the woman he'd held in his arms two nights ago, whose skin still tingled with the memory of his touch.
Not the mother of his child. Just an obstacle between him and what he wanted.
The betrayal in his eyes had cut deeper than any knife could.
"He looked at me like I was the enemy," I whispered to the empty room, my voice cracking on the last word. "But I was just trying to protect my son."
Our son.
I forced myself to stand on wobbly legs, the carpet rough against my palms as I pushed myself up, and made it to my desk chair.
The leather felt cool against my feverish skin.
My laptop sat open, cursor blinking hypnotically.
I opened a new email, addressed it to HR, and began typing my resignation.
The words flowed easily—personal reasons, effective immediately, grateful for the opportunity—the tap of each key a tiny surrender.
My finger hovered over the send button, trembling in the air-conditioned chill of the office.
What would happen if I quit? Would that make things better or worse? If I walked away from Barone Industries, would Cassian see it as surrender or defiance? Would it give him ammunition to paint me as unstable, unreliable? My stomach twisted with nausea at the thought.
I deleted the draft, watching each letter disappear like my options.
With shaking hands, I opened a browser window and typed "parental rights New York" into the search bar. The results loaded, each headline worse than the last, each one a hammer blow to my already fragile composure.
"Fathers' rights in custody battles"
"Establishing paternity in New York State"
"How wealth influences custody decisions"
I clicked through pages, scanning paragraphs about DNA testing, custody arrangements, and visitation schedules.
Words jumped out at me: "primary custodial parent," "financial stability," "best interests of the child.
" My mouth went dry, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth as dread pooled in my stomach.
Every article seemed designed to confirm my worst fears. Cassian had resources I couldn't dream of. Power I couldn't fight. Connections I couldn't match. The weight of his empire pressed down on my chest until I could barely breathe.
"If he tries to take Leo from me…" My voice broke. I closed my eyes, seeing my son's face, feeling his small arms around my neck, smelling the sweet baby shampoo scent of his hair. "No. I won't let that happen."
I couldn't lose Leo. I wouldn't.
My computer pinged with a calendar notification, the sound jarring in the quiet room. "Meeting with C. Barone – 11:30 a.m."
My stomach dropped like an elevator in free-fall. He was summoning me already. Testing his control. The bitter taste of fear filled my mouth.
I checked my reflection in my phone's camera, wiped away smeared mascara, and tried to compose myself. My eyes were red-rimmed, skin blotchy. I couldn't let him see me broken. Not when Leo's future hung in the balance.
The walk to Cassian's office felt like marching to an execution. My desk sat just outside his door—convenient for my role as his assistant, torture for moments like this. I could see his silhouette through the frosted glass, seated at his desk, waiting.
I knocked softly.
"Come in."
He sat behind his massive desk, suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up to expose powerful forearms. The same arms that had held me Friday night, skin warm against mine.
His expression gave nothing away—no anger, no hurt, just cold calculation.
The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker—filled the space between us, a cruel reminder of intimacy now shattered.
"Close the door."
I did as instructed, forcing myself to meet his gaze, though it felt like staring into the sun.
"I've arranged for a car to take you home earlier today, before four." His voice was businesslike, as if discussing a routine delivery, but I could hear the steel beneath the silk. "My doctor will arrive at your apartment at seven. The procedure is simple—a cheek swab for both you and Leo."
"Leo will be confused," I said, hating how my voice wavered, how my throat constricted around the words. "He doesn't understand why a stranger would—"
"You're resourceful. You'll explain it however you need to." He shuffled papers on his desk, the rustle unnaturally loud in the tense silence. "Results should be available by morning. I want it on file before lunch tomorrow."
"On file? With whom?" My fingers dug into my palms, nails leaving crescent moons in the flesh.
"My lawyers." He didn't look up. "Once paternity is confirmed, we'll discuss arrangements."
"Arrangements." The word tasted bitter, like copper pennies on my tongue. "You mean custody."
Now he looked at me, eyes hard as polished stone, the warm brown I'd once lost myself in now cold and unyielding. "Among other things."
"Cassian, please. Can we just talk about this? Like two adults who both want what's best for Leo?" I hated the pleading note in my voice, the way my hands shook as I clasped them together.
"Best for Leo?" Something dangerous flashed across his face, a ripple in still water. "What's best for my son is knowing who his father is. Having his rightful name. His rightful inheritance. His rightful place in this world."
"I understand you're angry—"
"Angry doesn't begin to cover it." He stood suddenly, palms flat on the desk, the sound making me flinch. "You had no right to keep him from me. No right to make that decision alone."
"You weren't there!" The words burst out before I could stop them, raw and painful in my throat. "You walked away, Cassian. You didn't leave a number, a last name, anything. What was I supposed to do?"
"You could have tried to find me." His jaw clenched, a vein pulsing at his temple.
"How? Search for arrogant billionaire with trust issues and hope you popped up?" I crossed my arms, feeling the rapid thud of my heart against my wrist. "I didn't even know your real name until—"
"Don't." His voice was lethal. "Don't you dare lie to me again. You admitted yesterday that you tracked me down years ago. Through conference attendee lists. That you've known I was Cassian Barone since Leo was a baby."
I froze, the lie dying on my lips.
"So spare me the innocent act, Isla. You found me. You knew who I was. And you chose to keep my son a secret for over two years." He leaned forward. "That's the truth we're working with now."
My cheeks burned with shame. He was right. "I was scared—"
"Then you should have been honest about that from the beginning. Instead of playing games.” His eyes held mine. "No more lies, Isla. Not about Leo. Not about anything."
"I was scared." The admission felt like ripping off a bandage, exposing the raw truth beneath.
"Of what?"
"Of this!" I gestured between us, the air crackling with tension. "Of you using your power, your money, your influence to take him away from me."
"And now?"
"Now I'm terrified." The admission cost me, but honesty was all I had left, my voice breaking on the words.
"Because I look at you, and I don't see the man I spent the night with in Miami.
I don't even see the boss I've worked for these past weeks.
I see someone who views my son as property to be claimed. "
"Our son." Each syllable precise, cutting.
"Yes. Our son." I took a deep breath, inhaling the lingering scent of coffee and his cologne. "Who loves his books and his dinosaur and who cries when the wrong person puts him to bed. Who needs stability and love and parents who can at least be civil to each other?"
Something flickered in Cassian's eyes—doubt, perhaps. Or maybe just calculation. For a moment, I glimpsed the man I'd met in Miami, vulnerable beneath the armor.
"You've had more than two years to speak," he said finally, the moment gone. "Now it's my turn."
He walked to the window, back rigid with tension, sunlight casting his silhouette in sharp relief. "The car will be waiting at four. Be ready."
I recognized the dismissal. There was nothing left to say, no argument that would reach him now. I turned to leave, dignity intact only through sheer force of will, the taste of defeat bitter on my tongue.
"Isla."
I paused at the door, not turning, the handle cool beneath my palm.
"Don't run." His voice was softer but no less threatening, a velvet glove over an iron fist. "It won't end well for either of us."
I left without responding, walking calmly past his assistant, past the curious eyes in the bullpen, all the way back to my office, where I finally allowed myself to shake apart. My lungs burned with suppressed sobs as I pressed my fist against my mouth to stay silent.
I'd spent nearly three years building a life for Leo and me, from the moment I learned I was pregnant.
Years of late nights and early mornings, of budgeting every penny, of singing him to sleep when he was sick, and celebrating every milestone.
Years of believing I could handle anything life threw at us.
But I was wrong.
Cassian Barone isn't a man. He's a storm—and I've just landed in the eye of it.