His Secret Heir In Her Arms

Ivana scrambled to fumble with the phone, her fingers slipping on the sleek glass.

"Mommy, are you okay?" Cohen asked again. His voice was small, worried.

Gannon froze. His entire body went rigid.

He turned his head slowly. His eyes were like lasers, burning into the phone in Ivana's hand.

Ivana finally managed to hit the button to turn off the speaker, jamming the phone against her ear.

"I'm here," she whispered, turning her body away from Gannon, curling into the door. "I'm fine. I'll be there soon."

She hung up without waiting for a response.

Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.

Gannon was staring at her. His expression had shifted from disdain to something dangerous.

"Who was that?" he asked. His voice was dangerously soft.

Ivana's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

"Wrong number," she said.

Gannon laughed. A dry, humorless sound. "A wrong number that calls you Mommy?"

Ivana licked her dry lips. "It's... the kid I nanny for. He's very attached. He gets confused sometimes."

It was a terrible lie. She knew it. He knew it.

Gannon studied her face. He was looking for the tell. He was looking for the truth.

But his mind slammed on the brakes. The reports from the private investigator were clear: Ivana had been spotted at galas in Paris, casinos in Monaco. There was no child. Breann had shown him the photos herself. If there was a child, it couldn't be his. And if it wasn't his, then she had moved on. She had started a family with someone else while he was still bleeding.

The thought was so agonizing he physically recoiled from it. He chose to believe the lie because the truth-or his version of it-was too painful to entertain.

"You're a nanny?" he asked, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You threw away a life with me to wipe some other kid's nose?"

"It pays the bills," Ivana said, staring at her knees.

Gannon felt a surge of irrational fury. He hated that she was struggling. He hated that she was serving someone else. He hated that hearing that child's voice had made his own heart stop for a second.

He looked at the chocolate box in her lap.

"That's fifty dollars," he said.

Ivana blinked. "What?"

"The chocolates. You ate half the box. Fifty dollars."

Ivana stared at him. "You gave them to me."

"Nothing is free, Ivana. You taught me that."

She felt the blood rush to her face. She dug into her pocket. She pulled out the crumpled twenty dollar bill and a handful of quarters.

It was all she had left after the transfer.

"I... I only have twenty-two dollars," she whispered.

She held it out to him.

Gannon looked at the pathetic pile of money in her shaking hand.

He felt like a monster. He wanted to take the money and throw it out the window. He wanted to pull her into his arms.

He swatted her hand away. The bills and coins scattered onto the floor of the car.

"Get out," he said.

Ivana looked out the window. "We're not there yet. We're blocks away."

"I said get out!" Gannon shouted.

He slammed his hand against the partition. "Stop the car!"

The Maybach lurched to a halt.

Outside, the sky had opened up. A summer thunderstorm was raging. Rain lashed against the windows.

Ivana looked at him, her eyes wide with shock.

"Gannon, please. It's pouring."

"Get out, Ivana. Before I do something I regret."

He couldn't be near her. He couldn't smell her scent-rain and cheap soap-and not want to destroy everything he had built to forget her.

Ivana grabbed her bag. She opened the door.

The wind caught it, ripping it from her hand. Rain soaked her instantly.

She stepped out into the deluge.

The door slammed shut behind her.

The lock clicked.

Ivana stood on the sidewalk, the rain plastering her hair to her face. She clutched the chocolate box-he hadn't taken it back-to her chest.

The Maybach sped away, tires spraying a wave of dirty puddle water over her legs.

She watched the taillights disappear into the gray mist.

She was alone. She was broke. She was wet. And her money was still scattered on the floor of his car.

She started to walk.