His Secret Heir In Her Arms

The rain was cold, but Ivana was numb.

She walked with her head down, shielding her face with the tote bag.

Every step was a reminder of four years ago.

Flashback.

The Sharpe Estate study. The smell of old leather and cigar smoke.

Hampton Sharpe, Gannon's grandfather, sat behind the mahogany desk. He looked like a vulture.

He slid two papers across the desk.

"Sign the NDA, Ivana. Leave him. And I will authorize the experimental treatment for your brother."

Ivana was crying. "I can't leave him. He needs me. He's still in the ICU."

"Hampton sneered. "He is in the ICU because of you. Because of your reckless driving. You are poison to this family."

It wasn't true. She had swerved to avoid a deer. She had pulled Gannon out of the wreckage. She had cut her arm to the bone saving him.

But Hampton controlled the narrative. And he controlled the hospital board.

"Sign, or Leo dies."

She signed. She signed away her life to save Leo. And it hadn't mattered. Leo had died six months later, his body rejecting the treatment. The money Hampton sent had evaporated into medical bills and funeral costs. Now, Elena was all she had left. She couldn't fail her too.

End Flashback.

Ivana stepped into a puddle, the water soaking through her canvas sneaker.

She shivered.

A car slowed down beside her.

She didn't look up. She kept walking.

The car honked. A short, polite beep.

She turned. It was a generic black sedan. Not a Maybach. A Toyota.

The passenger window rolled down. An older woman with gray hair looked out.

"Miss?" she called out.

Ivana stopped. "Yes?"

The woman held out a large black umbrella.

"Here," she said. "Take this."

Ivana hesitated. "Why?"

The woman shrugged. "You looked like you needed it."

Ivana took the umbrella. It was heavy. Expensive. The handle was solid wood.

"Thank you," she said.

The woman nodded and the window rolled up. The car drove away.

Ivana opened the umbrella. It was huge, creating a dry sanctuary around her.

She looked at the handle. There was no logo. But near the release button, there was a small, intentional groove carved into the dark wood. It was shaped like a crescent moon.

Ivana's breath hitched. She ran her thumb over it. She had carved this herself, four years ago, while they sat on a park bench in Central Park. It was his umbrella. The one he kept in the foyer of the penthouse.

She looked down the street. The black sedan turned a corner.

He had sent someone.

He had kicked her out into the rain, screamed at her, and then sent a stranger to give her his umbrella.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

She gripped the handle tighter.

He still cared.

And that was the most dangerous thing of all.