DAMIEN
Two Weeks Earlier
I was sitting at my desk, but my mind was anywhere but here. The report on my screen may as well have been in hieroglyphics, because not a single word was sticking. I’d read the same paragraph four times, and still couldn’t tell you what it said.
All because of Diana Stewart.
She had called me out of the blue yesterday, casually dropping a bomb like it was a weather report: I had your baby.
I had stared at the phone in my hand for almost a full minute, trying to process what the hell she just said. A baby? Mine? After almost nine months of silence?
The first thing that kicked in was doubt. The second? A knot in my gut that refused to loosen.
It wasn’t that I didn’t remember the night. I remembered enough. I remembered the drugged haze from that idiotic party, the heat of frustration that drove me to book a room, and the action that changed everything. A girl had run into the room, nervous, and shaken, and one thing led to another.
I’d tried to convince myself that I hadn’t been the worst kind of man that night, but guilt had a funny way of clinging to your ribs. I gave Diana twenty million dollars. Not as payment, but as restitution. As a way to sleep at night. She hadn’t asked for it. I handed it over and made her sign an NDA to protect my name, yes, but part of me hoped it would also buy her a new beginning.
She took it. And vanished.
Nine months of silence. Not a whisper. Then suddenly, “Congratulations, Daddy.”
Hell no. I wasn’t that easy to play.
Still… I went to the hospital. Took my personal physician with me—Dr. Kai Lin, a man I trusted like family. Diana looked the part. Exhausted, pale, hair clinging to her temples. The baby lay in a crib nearby, red-faced and squirming. I didn’t linger—ten, maybe fifteen minutes at most. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to get attached until I knew the truth.
So I ordered a buccal swab on the baby, had Kai collect my blood sample afterward, and now—here I was. Waiting.
Eight more minutes until the result hit my inbox, and my heart was already pounding like a damn bass drum. I stood up from my chair and began pacing the length of my office, hands shoved deep into my pockets, jaw tight. The floor beneath my shoes felt uneven, like reality itself was tilting beneath me.
What if it wasn’t mine?
What if she was trying to play me?
And what if it was mine?
My entire life had been built around control. I built my empire from the ground up. StoneCore Industries. Every part of me was structured, calculated, controlled. But a child? A flesh-and-blood version of me, vulnerable, loud, unpredictable?
I didn’t know what kind of father I’d be. But I knew one thing: if that boy was mine, no one was going to raise him but me.
Three minutes left.
The door opened at this time. “Sir?”
I turned sharply. Amara Blake. Executive Director of Evelyn Stone Trust. Her sleek black suit was buttoned to perfection, clipboard in one hand, expression calm but with that glint in her eye she always had when she came bearing news, or game-changers.
I had almost forgotten this was the time of year we picked a prisoner to receive our private assistance. A small initiative under the ‘Evelyn Stone Trust’—but a powerful one. We didn’t publicize it. We didn’t post about it online. We just found someone quietly suffering injustice….. and fixed it.
She stepped forward. “We’ve selected this year’s beneficiary.”
I nodded, and asked her to go on.
“She’s nineteen, going on twenty,” Amara continued. “Sentenced under what looks like very suspicious circumstances. Blind, recently attacked while in prison. Her story is… brutal, honestly. Her name is….”
“Hold that thought,” I said, raising a finger as my phone began to ring. “Give me one minute.”
She nodded and stepped back. I picked up my phone and lifted it to my ear.
“Doc?”
The doctor’s voice didn’t hesitate.
“Congratulations, Damien. The DNA was a match.”
I froze, every noise around me dulled by the pulse in my ears. “You’re certain?”
“Yes. One hundred percent. I’ve already sent the report to your email, but I wanted to tell you myself.”
He hung up, and for a full second, I just stood there…. motionless. Then I practically lunged toward my desk, pulled up the email, and stared at the results. There it was in black and white.
Probability of paternity: 99.99%.
My hands trembled slightly. Not from fear… not quite. It was something more layered. Joy. Terror. Responsibility. That strange ache in your chest when your entire future shifts in a blink.
I had a son.
I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes briefly, and let the wave wash over me.
“Amazing news?” Amara asked from across the room, brows raised.
I exhaled. “I’m a father.”
She smiled. “Wow. Congratulations. That’s huge.”
“It is,” I said, still blinking through the fog of disbelief.
She placed the file in her hand, on my desk. “I’ll leave this here for when you’re ready. It’s about the prisoner we discussed…”
“How long have you been working with me?” I asked, cutting her off.
“Five years.”
“Exactly. I trust your judgment. Handle this however you see fit. Use whatever resources you need.”
“Sir, I really think you should just…”
“I need to be with my son,” I said firmly. “Nothing matters more right now.”
She hesitated but nodded. “Of course. Congratulations again.”
I grabbed my keys and left without another word.
The hospital room was quiet when I stepped in. Diana sat on the bed, the baby in her arms. She looked… tired. Hollow, almost. Her skin was pale, her hair tangled and dull. But the baby…
Tiny. Wrinkled. Quiet.
I approached slowly. “Is this… him?”
She looked up, startled for a second, then nodded.
I reached for the baby, and she handed him over without protest. I held him close, my arm cradling the fragile body. His little fists were curled, and when he shifted, I saw it—the same deep-set eyes. My eyes.
A strange tightness gripped my chest.
“Hey there,” I whispered. “Daddy’s here. Daddy loves you.”
It felt ridiculous saying it out loud. But something in me needed him to hear it.
After a while, I placed him gently in the crib beside Diana. Then I turned to her, hands in my pockets.
“So… What do you want?”
She blinked. “What?”
“I paid you twenty million. That was more than enough to take care of yourself and prevent a pregnancy. Yet here we are. So tell me…. what do you want in return now?”
Her mouth parted, then closed again. When she finally spoke, her voice was shaky. “Nothing. I’m not here to demand anything from you.”
I folded my arms. “Really?”
She looked down. “That night was… my first time. I didn’t think I’d get pregnant. I was reckless. Scared. But I’ve never stopped thinking about you. I know it means nothing to you, but you’re… you were my first love.”
I raised a brow.
“I’m not asking for your love,” she rushed to say. “I just need you to understand. I didn’t hide the pregnancy to trap you. I was afraid. You’d already given me more than I deserved. What if you told me to get rid of the baby?”
She met my gaze. “When I gave birth and saw him… I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep him from you. He deserves a father. And you… you deserved to know.”
Silence stretched between us. I watched her carefully. She wasn’t acting. If she was lying, she was damn good at it.
I sighed, running a hand down my face. “You’ve been through a lot. And no matter how this started, you brought him into this world. That matters.”
Her eyes welled up.
“I want the best for my son,” I added. “He deserves a real family. But I’ve never believed in marriage. Not for myself.”
She nodded slowly. “I understand. I won’t force you. Just… let me stay close. Let me be with him. Even if it’s from a distance.”
I studied her. No demands. No tantrums. Not even a plea. Only raw, broken honesty. And maybe that’s what made me say it.
“If I ever do get married,” I said carefully, “it would be for him. And it would be to you. For now, I’m willing to let you be… my fiancée. But only for his sake. That’s all.”
A tear slid down her cheek, but she smiled. “That’s more than I could have ever hoped for. Thank you, Damien.”
I nodded once.
“I haven’t named him yet,” she said, touching the crib. “What should we call him?”
I thought of a name I’d always liked. But I changed it mid-thought as someone’s face came to mind—Evelyn. My sister. Gone too soon. Her favorite name growing up had been Jeff.
“Jeff,” I murmured. “My son will be called Jeff Stone.”
Diana whispered it back like a prayer. “Jeff Stone. It’s a wonderful name.”
