Buried at Birth, Raised by His Mistress

Ten seconds. I counted them by the erratic thumping against my ribs.

The glowing text glared back at me. *You scared Noah today. He keeps asking why Daddy hates him.*

Adrian groaned. The mattress dipped as he shifted his weight, rolling toward me in the dark.

I pressed the power button, plunging the room into blackness, and slid beneath the duvet. His heavy arm draped over my waist, pulling me against his chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing my breathing to match his steady rhythm until morning.

Sunlight flooded the kitchen. Adrian poured steaming coffee into my mug, his bespoke suit immaculate, his expression completely relaxed.

"That boy from yesterday," I started, tracing the rim of my cup. "He seemed so convinced."

Adrian set the French press down. Not a single muscle in his face twitched.

"Vanessa is a single mother," he said, taking his seat at the island. "The Blackwood Foundation sponsors her family. The kid probably saw me at the annual charity gala and got confused."

"He called you Daddy."

Adrian chuckled. He leaned across the marble counter and pinched my chin. "Are you jealous of a four-year-old, Evie?"

"He knew your face. He expected you."

"Children have wild imaginations." He released my chin and picked up his tablet. "Plus, I'm the one who signs the checks that keep food on their table. Maybe she tells him I'm a father figure. It’s a sad situation."

I forced a smile. "Just a strange encounter."

"Forget about them." He stood up and kissed my forehead. "I have a board meeting. I'll be home late."

The front door clicked shut. I immediately picked up my phone and dialed a number.

"Mr. Miller. I need a background check. Vanessa Reed."

Three hours later, my phone rang.

"I have the information, Mrs. Blackwood," the private investigator said.

"Tell me."

"She resides in an Upper East Side penthouse. Property records trace back to a blind trust. I dug through the shell company. It’s managed by Blackwood Capital."

My knuckles whitened around the phone. "What else?"

"The boy, Noah. Enrolled at Oakridge Academy. The tuition is sixty thousand a year. It gets wired directly from Adrian Blackwood's personal account. Has been for three years."

"Anything on her past with my husband?"

"They dated at Yale. Three years. She left New York shortly after graduation, then returned exactly five years ago."

"Five years ago. What month?"

"October."

The month my son died.

"Thank you, Mr. Miller." I ended the call.

The wrought-iron gates of Oakridge Academy stood tall against the afternoon sky. I parked across the street, gripping the steering wheel.

A bell chimed. Children spilled onto the sidewalk, their laughter cutting through the crisp autumn air.

Vanessa waited by a brick pillar. She wore a cashmere coat today, her eyes scanning the crowd. Noah ran out, clutching a drawing. He slammed into her legs.

I rolled my window down.

Noah turned his head. His bright eyes locked onto my car.

He pointed a tiny finger straight at me.

"That bad woman!" Noah yelled, his voice carrying clearly over the street traffic. "She made Daddy mad yesterday!"

Vanessa followed his gaze. She spotted my car. She didn't flinch. She didn't look guilty.

Instead, she crouched down, smoothing the boy's blonde hair.

"Don't worry, sweetie," Vanessa murmured, her voice loud enough for the wind to carry the words to my open window. "She won't take Daddy away."

Ice flooded my veins.

I slammed the car into drive and sped away from the curb.

The dining room at the Blackwood estate felt like a mausoleum. Crystal chandeliers cast sharp shadows over the mahogany table.

"I ran into an old employee of Adrian's yesterday," I said, slicing my steak. "Vanessa Reed. She had a little boy with her. Noah."

Margaret Blackwood's hand jerked. The red wine in her crystal goblet sloshed dangerously close to the rim, spilling a single crimson drop onto the white tablecloth.

She set the glass down with a sharp clink.

"I don't know the woman," Margaret said, her tone rigid.

"He looked exactly like Adrian," I pushed, watching my mother-in-law's face. "And Adrian pays for his school."

Margaret’s eyes narrowed into icy slits. "Evelyn. Look at me."

I met her glare.

"I understand losing your baby was difficult," Margaret snapped. "But projecting an unhealthy obsession onto other people's children is pathetic. Stop this nonsense immediately."

"I'm not projecting—"

"You are grieving," she interrupted. "Grieving is one thing. Stalking former employees because they have what you lost is madness. Do not ruin my dinner with your paranoia."

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. "Of course, Margaret."

Adrian returned to the table, completely oblivious to the tension. "Sorry about that. Work emergency."

After dessert, Adrian excused himself to take another call. Margaret followed him out into the hallway.

I waited five minutes before pushing my chair back. I wandered down the corridor, keeping my footsteps light on the Persian rugs.

Muffled voices drifted from the cracked oak door of the study. I pressed my back against the wall, straining to listen.

"She's asking questions, Adrian," Margaret hissed.

"I'll distract her. I always do," Adrian shot back.

"You were careless. You let her see them."

"It was a coincidence. They were in SoHo. I handled it."

"Handled it?" Margaret's voice grew sharp enough to cut glass. "Since you decided to give that child to Vanessa back then, you should have ensured he never appeared in front of Evelyn."

My fingers curled into my palms. My nails dug into my skin until it stung.

*Give that child to Vanessa.*

I stood completely frozen outside the door, the truth tearing my reality to shreds.