Page 124 of Ruthless Claim

Or Seraphina?

Was there a complication from the birth that Emma hasn’t recovered from?

Or Leo. Leo has enemies and if someone got to Leo and Valentina found out before I⁠—

Or Connor. If Connor did something, said something to her, made a move without telling me⁠—

The call connects.

“You need to come home.”

Her voice stops my racing thoughts. Not the words—it’s how she says them. I’ve heard Valentina angry, raging, and completely untethered. This isn’t that.

This is calm and controlled in a way I’ve never heard. It’s worse than anything she’s ever yelled at me.

“What happened?” I press the phone hard against my ear, my heart still pounding. “Are you okay? Is it the baby⁠—”

“The baby is fine.”

My knees nearly buckle with relief. “Then what⁠—?”

“Claire Murphy is here,” she says icily. “With her—or should I say your—son.”

The restaurant goes silent.

Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe everyone’s still clattering plates and talking, and my brain just…stopped hearing it, frozen on the slow-motion disaster unfolding behind my eyes.

Claire.

Is in my apartment.

With Valentina.

Oh, fuck.

I swallow, suddenly glad I didn’t touch any of that disgusting coffee. “I⁠—”

“You have thirty minutes,” Valentina continues, her voice like death. “Twenty-nine now.” She hangs up and I stand in the hallway of the restaurant, contemplating how my entire life has blown up.

A month. I have been running the most careful operation of my adult life. But I did not account for Claire Murphy deciding that the silence was too much and showing up in person.

I did not plan for that and did not see this coming, which was such a fucking rookie mistake.

Valentina is in our apartment with the woman I’ve been secretly meeting for a month and my alleged son and I have twenty-nine minutes.

Twenty-seven now.

I shove through the door back into the private room so hard it swings wide and cracks against the wall. It startles Doyle and Kristoff, who jump in their seats. I don’t care. I go straight for my bag on the back of the chair and knock the chair sideways getting to it. I don’t pick it up.

“I have to go,” I tell them, trying to keep my voice neutral but it’s coming out all wrong.

“What? We’re not finished,” Kristoff complains, recovering from his earlier fright. “We still have’t resolved the March discrepancy and I need your sign-off on the delivery windows before I can⁠—”

“Cillian, you can’t leave,” Doyle says, his brow furrowed. “Whatever it is, it can wait an hour. Connor wants these numbers closed today and if we don’t⁠—”

Holy fuck, none of this is important. “I said I have to go,” I nearly snap, feeling my nerves stretch like a rubber band.

“You can’t walk out in the middle of our meeting!” Kristoff says shrilly, looking insulted that I want to get out of here. “Connor is expecting a report by end of business day and I didn’t fly in from⁠—”