Chapter 3 - The Billionaire's ShadowBy 8:00 PM that same evening, my phone began to buzz against the mahogany kitchen island of my townhouse in Lincoln Park.
I ignored the first call.
Then came a text message from an unknown, heavily encrypted number: I know where you live, Nia. Open the door, or I will kick it down.
I let out a long, slow sigh, walked over to the front entryway, and unlocked the heavy oak deadbolt before pulling the door open.
Luca stood on the porch, battered by the Chicago wind, his dark overcoat unbuttoned, his tie pulled loose. He looked like a man who had stared into the abyss and found it staring right back at him.
"You're predictable, Luca," I said, leaning against the doorframe, blocking his entry. "Did you really think threats would work on me after all this time?"
"They aren't threats, Nia. They're a statement of fact," he said, his voice rough and exhausted. He stared down at me, his chest rising and falling heavily. "How old are they?"
"Good evening to you too," I replied dryly.
"Nia, stop playing games!" he snapped, taking a step forward, forcing me to retreat slightly into the foyer. "How old are the twins?"
"Four," I said.
Luca froze. His eyes widened as the simple math slammed into his brain with the force of a freight train.
Four years old.
Which meant they had been conceived during the final, miserable months of our marriage—right around the time Luca was spending eighty hours a week at his office, sleeping in his corporate suite, and convincing himself that my inability to get pregnant was proof that our marriage was dead.
"Four," he whispered, pressing a hand against his face, his fingers digging into his hair. "They were born... they were born right after you left."
"Right around then, yes."
"Why?" The word ripped out of his throat, raw and bleeding. He dropped his hand, staring at me with a mixture of agony and incandescent fury. "Why didn't you tell me? They're my children! You kept my flesh and blood from me for four years!"
"Your flesh and blood?" I laughed, a bitter, humorless sound that echoed off the hardwood floors. "Is that what you called them when you stood in our kitchen four years ago and told me you didn't love me anymore? Is that what you thought when your mother and your high-society friends whispered that I was a barren liability holding back your career?"
Luca flinched as if I had struck him across the face with a lead pipe.
"I never said you were barren," he defended weakly.
"You didn't have to," I fired back, stepping directly into his personal space, my eyes flashing with years of accumulated pain. "You let everyone else say it. You agreed with them by your silence. You walked away because you wanted a wife who looked good on your arm and fit into your pristine corporate blueprint. And when I couldn't give you a child fast enough to suit your timeline, you checked out of our marriage long before I packed my bags."
Luca swallowed hard, his throat working convulsively. "I was wrong. I know I was wrong. I went to specialists a year ago, Nia. I found out... I found out there was never anything wrong with you. The issue was on my end, stress-related or genetic, doctors couldn't pin it down, but... it wasn't you."
"Oh, so now you've done your research?" I mocked, crossing my arms over my chest. "How convenient, Luca. After you traded me in for a newer model, you decided to check your engine."
"Eyn is my wife in name only," Luca growled, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming the small entryway. "You know how these corporate mergers work. But those children out there—" he pointed toward the upstairs hallway where the twins were sleeping soundly— "those children are mine. And you cannot keep them from me."
"Watch me," I whispered, my voice dropping into a register of pure ice. "You signed the divorce papers, Luca. You gave up all legal claims to my life. And as far as the state of Illinois is concerned, my children were born to a single mother with no recorded father on the birth certificate."
Luca’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, predatory glint. The ruthless billionaire was waking up.
"You think a piece of paper and a blank birth certificate can hide my blood from me, Nia?" he asked softly, leaning down until his lips were inches from my ear. "You think you can outsmart the lawyers I keep on retainer? I built this city. If I have to drag you through every court in America to get custody of my children, I will."
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"Try it," I whispered, holding my ground without blinking. "And I'll make sure the world knows how the great Luca Moretti abandoned his wife the moment she stopped being convenient—and how he only came back when he realized his empire needed an heir."
He stared at me for a long, quiet moment, realizing that the sweet, compliant wife he had left behind four years ago was gone forever. In her place stood a woman who wasn't afraid of him at all.
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