PART 2

Grace didn’t sleep that night. Not really.

She lay on her side on the narrow bed, one arm draped protectively over Ethan, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. The sound anchored her, kept her from drifting too far into thoughts she didn’t want to touch.

Lucas Reed.

The name felt heavy. Expensive. Dangerous.

She’d Googled him. Of course she had. Anyone would’ve. The results were… overwhelming. Headlines. Business journals. A few carefully curated interviews where he smiled just enough to seem human.

Tech billionaire. Private equity. Low public profile. Ruthless reputation.

And then there were the rumors. The ones buried deeper. The kind people whispered about on forums and quickly deleted.

Grace shut her phone off and set it face-down on the nightstand.

“This is a bad idea,” she murmured to the ceiling.

Morning came too fast.

Ethan woke up cheerful, as if yesterday hadn’t happened at all. As if strange men hadn’t shouted at his mother in public. As if one of them hadn’t claimed—casually, impossibly—to be his father.

“Mom,” Ethan said around a mouthful of cereal, “is Uncle Lucas coming back today?”

Grace choked on her coffee. “He’s not— I mean—”

Ethan tilted his head. “You don’t like him?”

“I don’t know him,” she corrected gently.

“But he likes us,” Ethan said, very sure of himself. “He said he’d protect you.”

Children. They noticed everything. And somehow still believed the world was good.

Grace didn’t answer.

She walked Ethan to kindergarten, kissed his forehead, waited until he disappeared inside before letting her shoulders slump. The weight came back instantly, settling where it always did—between her shoulder blades, sharp and familiar.

Her phone vibrated.

Unknown Number

She hesitated. Then answered.

“Ms. Turner,” Lucas’s voice said, calm as ever. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” she lied. “What do you want?”

Straight to the point. He paused, like he respected that.

“Dinner,” he said. “Tonight.”

“That’s not happening.”

“I’ll send a car.”

“I said no.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“Grace,” he said quietly. Hearing her name like that—softened—made her stomach twist. “I owe you an explanation. At least that.”

She closed her eyes.

“Public place,” she said finally. “One hour.”

“Fair.”

He hung up before she could change her mind.

The restaurant he chose wasn’t flashy. That annoyed her more than if it had been. Warm lighting. Wood tables. The kind of place where people talked, not stared.

Lucas stood when she arrived.

Up close, he was… disarming. No smug grin. No arrogant posture. Just a man who looked tired in an expensive way.

“You look well,” he said.

She snorted. “You need glasses.”

They sat.

For a moment, neither spoke. Silverware clinked. Someone laughed at another table.

“Why did you say you were his father?” Grace asked, finally.

Lucas didn’t dodge it. Didn’t sugarcoat it.

“Because I believed it,” he said.

Her laugh came out brittle. “Based on what?”

“Timing. Location. And a scar on his wrist shaped exactly like mine.”

Her breath caught.

She’d never told anyone about that. Not even her mother.

“That’s not proof,” she said, weaker now.

“No,” he agreed. “But it’s enough to investigate.”

Grace folded her hands in her lap, nails biting into skin. “You don’t get to walk back into our lives because of a hunch.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

He leaned forward slightly. “Six years ago, someone erased a night from my life. From both of ours, apparently. I woke up alone in a hotel room. No memory past midnight. I was told it was nothing. A mistake. I believed them.”

She stared at him. “And now?”

“And now,” he said, voice lower, “I’m done believing people who benefit from my ignorance.”

The words hung between them.

Grace swallowed. “There are… other possibilities.”

“I’m aware,” he said. “But until I’m certain, I won’t disappear.”

Her chest tightened. “You’re engaged.”

His jaw flexed. “That situation is… complicated.”

“Of course it is.”

She stood. “One hour’s up.”

Lucas didn’t stop her. Just said, “I’ll protect him. No matter what the truth is.”

Grace left without responding.

The storm hit two days later.

It started small. A whisper at work. A look held a second too long.

Then HR called her in.

“Grace,” her supervisor said, not meeting her eyes, “there are concerns about your conduct.”

“Conduct?” she repeated.

“There are rumors,” another woman chimed in. “About… inappropriate relationships. Using men for advancement.”

Grace laughed. It sounded wrong even to her own ears. “I work overtime. I submit everything early. I don’t even take lunch breaks.”

The supervisor sighed. “It’s about image.”

Image. Always that word.

By lunch, someone had taped a printed photo to the breakroom wall.

Her. Getting out of Lucas’s car.

Someone had circled her face in red marker.

The humiliation burned hotter than before.

She ripped it down, hands shaking.

That night, Lucas showed up at her apartment.

Unannounced.

She opened the door and immediately regretted it.

“I didn’t ask for help,” she snapped.

“You didn’t have to,” he said. “I fired three people today.”

Her heart dropped. “What?”

“For harassment. Defamation. Abuse of power.”

“You can’t just—”

“I can,” he said gently. “And I will.”

Ethan peeked around the corner. “Uncle Lucas!”

Lucas smiled. Real this time.

Grace looked between them, panic and gratitude warring inside her.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she warned.

Lucas nodded. “I know.”

But when Ethan grabbed his hand, Lucas didn’t let go.

And Grace, despite everything, didn’t pull them apart.

That night, after Ethan fell asleep on the couch with his head against Lucas’s leg, Grace whispered, “If you hurt him—”

“I won’t,” Lucas said quietly.

She studied his face, searching for lies.

She didn’t find any.

What she found instead terrified her more.

Hope.

End of Part 2