Too Late CEO: The Runaway Wife Returns

The phone connected.

For three seconds, the line was completely dead. Leo didn't immediately yell "Mom." The boy was too smart. He was listening to the background noise, sensing the trap.

Damon held Corrie tight against his chest. He lifted the phone to his ear.

"Hello, Leo," Damon said, his deep, magnetic voice vibrating through his chest and into Corrie's back.

Corrie thrashed wildly. She tried to scream, to tell Leo to run.

Damon shifted his weight, pressing her forward until her stomach was pinned hard against the edge of the workbench. He moved his large hand from her wrists and clamped it firmly over her mouth, silencing her screams.

Through the phone speaker, the rapid clicking of a mechanical keyboard echoed.

"Mr. Holloway," Leo's high, childish voice came through, completely devoid of emotion. "Intercepting another person's phone call is a direct violation of the Federal Communications Commission regulations."

Damon's eyebrows shot up. A flash of genuine, shocked admiration crossed his face.

"You know my last name," Damon said, a dark smile playing on his lips. "You've done your homework over the last five years."

"It doesn't take much time to research a scumbag who abandons his wife," Leo shot back, his voice dripping with venom.

Being called a scumbag by his own flesh and blood wiped the smile off Damon's face. His jaw locked. His muscles tensed, and his hand pressing Corrie against the table accidentally pushed harder.

The wooden edge dug into Corrie's ribs. She let out a muffled groan of pain against his palm.

The keyboard clicking on the phone instantly stopped.

"Let her go," Leo demanded, his voice suddenly frantic and vicious. "Take your hands off my mother right now, or I will crash the Holloway Group's stock price by twenty percent in the next ten minutes."

Damon rolled his eyes, assuming it was a child's empty threat. "You can try, kid. But right now, you are going to tell me exactly where you are."

Leo let out a cold, sharp laugh.

Suddenly, a loud burst of electronic static blasted through the phone speaker.

At the exact same moment, the tablet in Brad's hand began to blare a loud, red siren alarm. Brad rushed into the room, his face pale.

"Boss!" Brad yelled. "The main servers at HQ are under a massive DDoS attack. The trading algorithms are freezing up!"

Damon stared at the phone in his hand, utterly stunned. A four-and-a-half-year-old boy was taking down a billion-dollar corporate server.

In that split second of Damon's distraction, Corrie turned her head. She opened her mouth and sank her teeth deep into the fleshy part of Damon's palm.

She bit down as hard as she could, tasting hot blood.

Damon hissed in pain and jerked his hand back.

Corrie spun around and snatched the phone from his other hand.

"Leo, cut the connection!" Corrie screamed into the mic. "Don't let him trace your IP!"

The line went dead instantly.

Damon looked down at his right hand. Deep teeth marks punctured his skin, blood welling up and dripping onto the floor. He slowly raised his eyes to Corrie. They were pitch black and incredibly dangerous.

"A genius hacker?" Damon took a slow step toward her. "It seems he inherited my high IQ."

Corrie backed into the corner of the room, her face completely drained of color. She stubbornly held her ground. "He is an Alvarez. He inherited my genes!"

Damon lost the last shred of his patience. He lunged forward, grabbing her by the shoulders and yanking her hard against his chest.

Before she could react, his fingers tangled in her hair. He pulled hard, plucking a single strand from her scalp.

He shoved the hair into Brad's hand. "Take this to the private lab. Run a rush DNA comparison with my profile. Keep the technicians working all night if you have to. I want the results on my desk by tomorrow morning."

Corrie watched Brad run out the door. The absolute certainty of the DNA test shattered her last hope. Her lies were useless now.

Damon looked down at her pale, defeated face. He decided to crush her final illusion.

"You think you can hide them?" Damon whispered, his face inches from hers. "Look at the boy's eyes. Look at the girl's eyes. That exact shade of icy blue... it is identical to mine. I have never seen it outside the Holloway family. They are my children."

The words were the final blow.

Corrie's mental defenses violently collapsed. The terror she had suppressed for five long years erupted inside her.

The air in the room suddenly felt thick, like water. She couldn't breathe. The phantom sensation of the freezing Hudson River flooded her lungs.

Corrie grabbed the front of her canvas apron, her knuckles white. She opened her mouth, gasping like a fish out of water, but no sound came out. Cold sweat poured down her face.

Damon frowned. He thought she was acting, trying to manipulate him.

"Stop faking it, Corrie," he said coldly.

Before the words fully left his mouth, Corrie's chest convulsed.

She bent forward and coughed violently. A mouthful of dark red blood sprayed from her lips, splattering directly across the crisp white fabric of Damon's expensive dress shirt.