"Then you should have thought of that before you kept him from me." I straightened, cold fury replacing the initial shock. "My driver will pick you up at seven."
"No. I won’t let you ambush my son like this. If you're going to meet him, we'll do it properly. Gradually. On his terms, not yours."
"His terms? He's two and a half."
"Exactly. He's two and a half, and his entire world is about to change.” Her voice softened. "Please, Cassian. If you care about him at all, let's do this right."
I wanted to refuse. To assert my rights. But the photo caught my eye—that little boy smiling without a care.
"Fine." I stepped back, giving her space. "We do this your way. For now."
Relief washed over her. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." I fixed her with a cold stare. "This doesn't change what you did. Starting with a DNA test."
She flinched. "You don't believe he's yours?"
"I believe in verification. I'll have my doctor come to your apartment tonight. Discreet. Professional."
"And after that?"
"After that, we establish a new arrangement. One where I'm part of my son's life."
"And us?" she asked quietly. "What happens to us?"
The question hung between us. Part of me wanted to pull her into my arms, to recapture what we'd had Friday night. Another part wanted to punish her for her deception, to keep her at arm's length.
"There is no us," I said finally. "There never was. Just two people using fake names for one night. And you and me and Leo now.”
Hurt flickered across her face. "Of course. I understand."
I left her standing there, the weight of her deception—and my calculated response—settling over both of us.
I turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Seven o'clock. Be ready."
"Ready for what?"
"To introduce me to my son."
"What?" Panic flooded her voice. "Cassian, you just said we'd do this my way—"
"I lied. Or rather, I tried to be reasonable. But walking away knowing my son is out there? Knowing he's going to go to bed tonight without knowing his father exists?"
I shook my head. "I can't do it, Isla. I've already missed two and a half years. I'm not missing another day."
"You can't just—he's not ready!"
"Then you have until seven o'clock to prepare him." My voice was hard. "Tell him whatever you need to tell him. That you have a friend you want him to meet. I don't care. But at seven o'clock, I'm meeting my son."
"This isn't what you agreed to—"
"You're right. It's not." I moved back toward her desk. "But you didn't agree to tell me about him for two and a half years, so forgive me if I'm not feeling particularly bound by agreements made five minutes ago."
Her face crumpled. "Please. He's just a baby—"
"He's my baby. And I've been patient enough." I checked my watch. "You have eight hours. Use them."
I left before her tears could change my mind.
